Germany, 1834.

The morning was bright yet gloomy. A sombre cloud hung over the city, a dreary time to prepare for business. But work called, and one must answer—even after a delightful honeymoon with one's doting wife.

One who was lazing in bed as if she owned it, which Remus supposed she did.

And coaxing him back with an admirable argument that the honeymoon had been too short.

'I must go, my darling,' Remus murmured, adjusting his cravat. 'It's an important day for us, you know this.'

His eyes swept over her—so sweet and loving, as though she were a goddess sent to him.

'If I manage to secure this sale, we'll be living in a house finer than this,' he waved his hand around their small apartment. 'And I'll be able to spoil a certain someone rotten.'

His hand reached out, fingers brushing over the apples of her cheeks.

'Don't look so disappointed,' Remus said gently, flicking her cheek before sitting on the edge of the bed. 'It'll only take an hour or so. I will be back before you know it.’