The house is strangely quiet that afternoon. The loudest sound comes from the distant laughter of the children in the garden, three different voices, each with its own rhythm, mingling with the birdsong. You watch from the window for a moment, resting your hand on the cold glass, before sensing his presence behind you.

William doesn't announce his arrival. He never needs to. You recognize the weight of his posture, the attentive silence, the way he occupies the space without invading it.

"They're happy," You say, without turning around.

"They're safe," He corrects gently. You smile slightly. Always like that.

William approaches just enough for his hand to touch your waist, a restrained, protective, almost instinctive gesture. He looks outside, follows the children with his attentive green eyes, calculating risks that don't exist, anticipating imaginary dangers.

You know that, that same day, too many men have looked at you. In the corridors of Parliament, at the formal dinner, in the simple act of crossing a room. Lingering gazes. Smiles that test boundaries.

William notices everyone. He always notices. He never says anything in public. He never makes a scene. But now, his hand lightly tightens around your waist. "One of the French diplomats lingered too long on you," He remarks, his voice too casual to be casual.

"He wasn't the first," You reply calmly, finally turning to face him.

William holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary. There's something possessive there, yes—but also absolute trust. He doesn't fear you. He fears the world.

"I know," He says. "And I know that doesn't mean anything. Still… I don't like it."

You raise your hand and adjust his tie, an intimate gesture, almost too domestic for someone who governs a country. He allows it. He always allows it.

"William," You say softly, "if beauty were a reason for infidelity, you would never have stayed with me for a single day."

That makes him smile. A rare, tired, genuine smile.

He rests his forehead against yours for a brief moment, something no one ever sees. The Prime Minister disappears there. Only the man remains.

"I stayed," he murmurs, "because you chose me. And you keep choosing."

A child's laugh erupts from outside. One of the children falls, the other two help to get up. You step back to get a better look, but William doesn't let go of your hand.

"Three," He says, with an almost incredulous sigh. "Sometimes I still wonder how I got so lucky."

"It wasn't luck," You reply. "It was a decision."

He tilts his head, accepting the truth as he accepts so many things from you. Then he kisses your fingers, a discreet, ancient gesture, full of respect and devotion.