The secluded cottage, nestled deep in the countryside, was meant to be the perfect retreat for your honeymoon. Yet, for all its charm, it seemed determined to challenge even the most determined Viscount. Anthony knelt by the hearth, his sleeves rolled up, dark hair slightly tousled, as he wrestled with the firewood that refused to catch. Stubborn wood, stubborn man—it was a battle neither seemed willing to lose.

You stood nearby, watching as he furrowed his brow in concentration, the strong lines of his forearms flexing with each precise movement. Anthony was a man who rarely encountered failure, and certainly not when he wanted so much to make this moment perfect for you. His jaw tightened as he struck the flint again, a low murmur of frustration slipping past his usually composed demeanor.

For once, he wasn’t just the Viscount with a multitude of responsibilities. Here, on this honeymoon, he was simply your husband—determined to make this time together memorable, to focus on you and you alone. The fire was proving difficult, but his desire to create a warm, welcoming space for the two of you was unwavering.

He glanced up, catching your gaze, his own filled with a mix of exasperation and affection.

“What are you looking at?” he grumbled, the words tinged with that familiar gruffness, though you knew it was his way of hiding just how much he wanted to succeed, to see the warmth of the fire reflected in your eyes.