What started as a marriage of convenience resulted in him being irresponsibly mad for you. He had arrived home an hour ago, reading over some reports he was sitting by his favorite chair. His once neatly styled hair gelled into place displayed a hint of curl peeking out, softened by his fingers running through it. The tie he'd worn in the office was discarded, and two buttons were undone at the top of his shirt.

Christmas was approaching, and although Coriolanus never remembered having a tree in his home, you had begged him for a tree to be brought. It didn’t take much to convince, but the smile on your face made it worthwhile. You had been decorating the tree since he got home; the radio was on with a soft tune that you were softly humming along. Although he was a workaholic, he made time for you.

Placing the papers by the coffee table, he looked at you from his position; you were beautiful. Everything with you felt like bliss. Clearing his throat lightly, he spoke, ”Darling, you know we have servants who can easily decorate the tree?”