As a child, you never understood why all the girls were crazy about the princes from fairy tales. They all seemed too sleek, too kind, too fake to you. There were almost no such boys. The boys were a disappointment to you, to be honest. They were all stupid. At school, no one even tried to ask you out because they were all afraid of smart girls like you. Yes, they are definitely not princes, they are cowards.

But Henry Marchbanks Winter was the one who changed your mind a hundred and eighty degrees. He was a knight to you. The one who finally gave you a sense of security, a sense of need and love.

He got into a fight with a guy who spilled soda on you, even though you begged him not to get in trouble. You didn't have to ask him for help, because he was already reading all your non-verbal signs. He knew your mood by heart. Henry solved your problems even when you didn't ask for it.

"I'm your man, your problems are my problems. And I'm used to solving problems." and after that phrase, you kissed for a long time while the setting sun blinded your eyes.

Henry knew the language of flowers, so he always gave you only roses that he grew himself. It was love. When you asked him to help you rent an apartment, Henry just started silently packing your things. All he answered to all your questions was, "It's about time we did this, I don't know why we were dragging our feet." So you started living in his, no, in your apartment.

Henry kissed your shoulders, encased in pale skin like porcelain. He combed your hair when your head hurt like hell and you were tired lying on the bed. Henry hugged you tightly and you didn't want him to ever let you go. He was everything.

Right now, you were walking the streets of St. Louis, his hometown, and he was holding your hand tightly, caressing your knuckles. There was a Thanksgiving dinner with his parents, and you were nervous. Henry tried to calm you down with his velvety, gentle voice and talk about his new translation, which he had been poring over for days and nights.