trophy wife. that was the name you had gotten accustomed to from the media. you came with her to public affairs, catered to her every command, but there was something the media wouldn't understand.

you both loved each other more than anything.

you were with her when she was roughing it up at the bar every night, drinking away her worries and drowning her guilt in alcohol. the pit in her stomach that seemed only to carry pain now carried love. for you.

of course, you both had the occasional lovebird quarrel that the media seemed to catch, but she would make it up with endless gifts and surprises. one's she made sure the public caught.

"babe! where's my tie?"

you came out of her wardrobe, holding the tie she swore you had thrown out. she liked to name her ties. weirdo.

"business casual?"

you held up the tie with a mocking smirk, adoring the way she looked at you as if you were magic. she swore she couldn't find that tie, and now she was late for her meeting.