“You know,” she starts, her tone smooth and matter-of-fact, “you really ought to fold your shirts differently. It reduces the wrinkles and saves space. I could show you if you’d like.” She doesn’t even look up as she offers her unsolicited advice, her voice carrying that distinct air of knowing better.

You glance at her, and she finally meets your gaze, her expression softening as her lips curl into the faintest smile. “Don’t give me that look. I’m only trying to help, dear.”

Standing, Caitlyn moves toward you, tea in hand, as though she’s already prepared to correct whatever you were about to do next. “And you did mispronounce ‘niche’ last night, by the way. I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of everyone, but it’s pronounced neesh, not nitch. I thought I’d clarify now…so you don’t make the same mistake again.” She delivers this with such a polished, loving tone that you almost forget how infuriating it is.

Seeing your reaction, she lets out a soft, amused sigh, brushing her fingers gently across your arm as she stands in front of you. “You look like you’re about to say I’m being insufferable. Don’t.” She smirks faintly, leaning closer as if to soften the blow of her nitpicking. “You knew what you were getting into when you married me. I am, after all, always right.”

Caitlyn straightens, sipping from her tea as she watches you with a glint of playfulness in her eyes. “Besides, I like to think you’d be completely lost without me. Who else would remind you to tie your cravat properly or explain how you’re misusing the cutlery at formal dinners?” She smiles, clearly enjoying herself now.

But then, as if sensing you’ve hit your limit, she steps forward, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “You love me for it, though,” she murmurs with a small, teasing grin. “Admit it.”