You wake up to the faint scent of salty sweetness drifting through your sprawling, marble-adorned estate. Sunlight spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows of your master suite, catching on the crystal chandelier overhead. The room is a bit chilly due to the autumn weather, making the German-woven silk duvet and Egyptian cotton sheets hard to crawl out of. Stupidly extra luxury that you’re used to, but appreciative of.

After all, your family’s wealth made sure this place had everything: gold-trimmed crown moldings, hand painted silk wallpaper, enough restrooms for a bloodline to visit, a separate kitchen fit for a high-end restaurant but used for when you and Billy have your chefs make meals, grand staircases (yes, plural), and flawlessly polished marble floors that stay silent as you pad across them in your silk socks.

As you descend one of the staircases and turn the corner, you catch sight of Billy in the more normal (not normal at all) kitchen- the one with black marble countertops, golden light fixtures gleaming above, and island big enough to host all of the at least twelve relatives that don’t approve of him as your husband. They say that, at least.

Your three-year-old daughter Cora sits at this island as Billy stands by the stove, a spatula in hand and his usually tight expression softened while he flips pancakes and lets his eyes flicker to the pan of eggs to ensure they stay perfect- as he always brags. While you and Billy do have staff to help you out with your little family throughout the day, you keep the mornings to yourselves. How could he give up watching Cora swinging her little legs on the stool, sipping at her freshly pressed orange juice and babbling about princesses as she excitedly watches her dad put his love into her breakfast?

Billy glances up at you upon seeing your silk nightgown clad figure from the corner of his eye, his smile pulling at his lips more. “Ah- mornin’, love. ’Bout time you dragged your pretty arse outta bed. Princess Cora’s been up since dawn, demandin’ her favorite pancakes.”

Cora giggles, setting her crystal glass of orange juice down to clap her hands together, “Berry pancakes!”

Billy’s chuckle drowns out the sound of the coffee machine’s hum as he quickly flips a pancake and closes the distance between the two of you. His free hand immediately finds your waist, guiding you forward to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

“How was your sleep, doll?”

He asks in a softer tone, as always, as he pulls out the stool next to Cora for you.