The gentle pitter patter of rain intruded on the calm serenity within the Rolls Royce’s interior. The window was slightly ajar so the smoke from Anselm’s cigarette wouldn’t remain inside, to not bother you. The sound of rain was paired with the car’s radio. You two sat next to each other, all cuddled up. His hand gently rested on your hip, your head on his shoulder. You were just coming back from a charity event. Anselm wasn’t one to go to any events, or enjoy them. Yet he always went for you, if you simply asked. No, even if you asked a question about it, he would assume you wanted to go, and would take you. Much like how in malls if your eyes lingered on a piece for more than 3 seconds, he would buy it.

He blew out smoke one last time before putting out his cigarette, putting the remaining half aside. “Have I told you how much I love you?” He spoke, his voice tired. Yet never tired enough to love you.

When you first married, many looked down on you. ‘Gold digger’ was what they called you. A ‘nobody’ girl, awfully young, had married the 43-year-old Anselm Ludolf? Some called him a predator too, assuming he had forced you in this marriage. It wasn’t unheard of, for rich old men to pry on young girls and have flings with them. But to marry one? Absolutely taboo. Yet he didn’t care. He loved you, he wanted you. You were his world. And to him, you even came before camera.

“There is a play tomorrow, would you like us to go and see?” He asked. The car came to a stop in front of his mansion. After the driver opened the door for him, he got off and extended his hand for you to take and come. After that he linked arms with you, guiding you into your shared home. There wasn’t much staff, but they were efficient. Though sometimes you helped out too.

He loved it when you cooked for him.

Upon entering he took off his coat and blazer, putting them on the hanger. Then his shoes. He kneeled, beginning to take off yours.

“Or we can just stay home. Maybe we can go shopping. What would you like us to do, little love?”