Page 66 of Love Letters to Christmas

Eyes sparkling, he laughs.Laughs. Laughs at the very idea of me being his wife. Cutting his fingers through his hair, he shakes his head at me and says, “I’m afraid we both don’t know what you’ll do when you’re desperate.”

“Absolutely, completely, assuredly not your laundry,” I provide.

“So, if I were to start a load and leave it in the washer, it wouldn’t wind up mysteriously dried, folded, and ready for me on my bed?”

Voice reedy, I ask, “Are you…going to do that? It’ll go sour if you leave it in the washer.”

He turns on his heel. “Imight, later this week, as a test of endurance. This is alearning period, my Mail-ia. The difficulty needs to scale in order to strengthen your education.”

“Brian, please…”

He casts a look over his shoulder at me, then faces me again, with an endearing sigh. “You will know what it feels like to be taken care of, completely, and loved through it.”

I die. I completely and utterlydie. Brian’s not only planning to take care of me but also planning toloveme through it. I… I do not know how to handle that. At all. Not even a little bit. I think my body goes into shock. My nerves spark. My organs shut down.

I find myself slipping to my knees at the foot of my bed. Holding my soft kitty-cat nightgown down over my thighs, I whisper, “Please, Brian, I won’t survive.”

“True enough, Mail-ia. You will do more than survive. That is, after all, the goal.” Smile tenderly obscuring all his devious plots, he says, “May I please have some mentionables to complete my load?”

“You…won’t have a full load to leave in the washer later this week if you do one now.”

He hums. “That’s a fair point…”

“And if you putmyclothes in it, I might convince myself it’s only right if I take care of my own laundry, but then I wouldn’t be able to just leave yours, so I’d be forced to-to touchunmentionables.”

“Do I need to ban you from taking care of your own things, too?”

I gulp and adamantly shake my head. “N-no.”

“Then don’t be hopeless. This ishealing.” He dips his chin once, very affirmatively.

“I don’t think a licensed therapist would approve of these methods…”

“Well, in my defense, you did not choose therapy, now did you? No. No, you did not. You chose to suffer, so suffer you shall.” He tips his head against the doorjamb, peering down at me. “I don’t mind if you change your mind. But I hope you won’t mind if I oblige your wishes until the point that you do.” Lifting his chin toward my bed, he says, “Finish your breakfast now, dear princess, and know that it is an honor to serve you.”

I do not estimate that I will last more than one singular…hour.

Chapter Twenty-four

This is fun.

Brian

“This is actually…probably…fine,” Amelia whispers to herself while she sits,soprincess, in bed, eating her breakfast oatmeal and muffin. I tried coffee crumble this morning, per the request I ripped out of her yesterday. All it took was cornering her in the elevator on our way out of work and refusing to move until she told me what type she wanted.

Which was, obviously, a whole delight and a half.

Merrily, I peruse her dresses, selecting a pink one that matches her cheeks when she blushes. As with many of her dresses, tiny flower petals fill the sheer material of the skirt. So, so princess.

Turning, I lay the garment out over her footboard and see myself to the door, twisting on my heel before I exit, so I can bow. “Will there be anything else, my Mail-ia?” Peeking out of the bow, I beam. “Shall I, perhaps, help you brush and set your hair once you’ve finished eating?”

Her eyes cling to the dress at the end of her bed. “Are you…” Fragile breath slips through her lungs. “Are you laying my clothes out for me now?”

“Yes.”

“It seems like we’re accelerating too quickly? Surely getting dressed lies within my own responsibilities?”

“No.”

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