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“And what does my beautiful bride want for her tea this fine bloody evenin’?” Alfie asked you when he entered the sunroom where you were resting; Cyril’s head on your lap and a book in hand.
It was in fact a perfectly nice evening, if a little chilly. You knew, however, how his sciatica acted up whenever the temperature dropped, so you decided not to comment. You just smiled at your husband’s word choice, though couldn’t exactly tear yourself away from your reading.
“Should you still be calling me your bride if it’s been a year already?” you asked casually.
Alfie scoffed at that and barked something you couldn’t understand, though somehow knew it was a swear word. You lifted the book higher to hide your utter delight at the reaction. Teasing him never got old.
“Never. Now,” Alfie approached you and took the book from you only to replace it with a cup of tea. “Drink that, yeah, before ya go blind from all that fuckin’ nonsense. Three workin’ eyes between us and the bloody hound that takes no orders, can’t exactly take no bloody chances, yeah?”
A bit outraged on Cyril’s behalf, it was your time to scoff—though you knew very little could also be done to remedy your husband’s bad opinion of your choice in novels. Jealous, you once called him when he requested you read him some passages out loud and then when he wouldn’t shut up on how bad he thought the writing was.
“Fuck me, that’s bloody ridiculous!”
“What is?” you asked, doing your best not to laugh at his lament.
“Who would’ve gone for some boring bloke, right, when there’s a handsome one-eyed pirate right fuckin’ there! Now, that’s just bad fuckin’ writing, luv, yeah.”
“Oh, shush! I’ll never let you read with me again if you think it’s so bloody boring.”
“Nah, wait, right, I never said that. Keep readin’, right, I’ll take it like a man—”
You almost threw your book at him.
“Excuse me!” You tried to swat him, but he was faster.
Since you were in bed together, he managed to trap you into a tight embrace, one of those impossible to get out of and quite impossible to continue your novel in.
“Alfie!”
“Hm?”
You groaned and pretended to try to get away, but he wouldn’t let you—which was more than alright with you.
Though you did feel obligated to add:
“I don’t throw any tantrums when you play your bloody opera, you know.”
“Now, that’s different, sweetheart, yeah…” he grunted. “‘Cause opera–”
You groaned and tried to place your hand over his mouth only to stop him from going on a tangent on your least favourite subject, which proved impossible since you were the little spoon still.
“The opera, right!” Alfie huffed at you and somehow managed to grab your wrist in the process to completely immobilise you. “Fuck me, you’re a nimble little thing, right…! Shush, luv. Stay still, right, ‘cause the opera, my love, now, that is an experience, right, while your pompous assholes, sweetheart, all they do is run ‘round the fields all day, screamin’ Cathy! , right, an’ then bangin’ their heads against a tree.”
You giggled at that, even though you disagreed–somewhat–but God, how that man could make you laugh… Part of the reason you married him to be honest.
“Well, it sounds bloody awful,” you complained.
“Naah.” Alfie nuzzled your neck, knowing full well it would disarm you.
You sighed and let him win you over, since when he was this affectionate, it was very hard to be cross with him still.
“You just haven’t found your tune, right… But don’t worry, luv, we got plenty of records and nothin’ but time–!”
At this point you managed to wiggle out of the embrace and grab his throat—which to be honest amused the man more than anything else.
“Don’t you dare,” you hissed, though your words seemed to have just the opposite of an effect on him.
Alfie’s smirk only got wider when you straddled his hips and kissed him. No matter , you decided. Horrible music or not, the home you two had created together was still the best thing to ever happen to you.
Very rarely did you two actually argue and you were certain that since he continued to call you his bride way after the wedding, the love you two shared would only grow with time.
That is, if Alfie’s taste in music wouldn’t push you to do unspeakable things to his records first.