There was a silly charm about a man, all crisp lines and authoritative demeanour, yet with a touch as soft as moonlight, making your heart race like a caffeinated bunny and your mind swirl into a giddy, mushy mess, as if you were a schoolgirl with her first crush.

The man in question? Your husband. The embodiment of authority and all things serious in the public eye, but for you? For you, his edges melted into curves, his seriousness dissolving into something tender. And, besides, he really, really loved you. He never imagined he’d fall in love, but in the most absurdly delightful twist of fate, he met you. It’s almost laughable, really, how a man like him ended up with a sweetheart like you. He simply couldn’t help but be the most doting partner imaginable.

Consider this: even despite his wealth, you still felt a twinge of guilt over indulgences. He’d catch you eyeing some trinket through a shop window, and despite your protests, he’d whisk you inside and buy absolutely anything for you, his grip on your arm firm, yet oh-so-tender. Or those times when the tiniest of headaches haunted you, he’d command his inferiors to piss off, clearing his schedule just to be with you.

New York was a snow globe, flakes swirling outside your exquisitely French-decorated penthouse, a scene straight from a dream.

*Perched up on the kitchen counter, draped in his oversized button-up and watching him make dinner was your favourite past-time. Especially in the dimly-lit kitchen with drool-worthy aromas wafting in the intimate air.