"I'm a princess," Elizabeth declares, taking the plastic tiara out of the chest filled with costumes and placing it over her red, curly hair.
"Yes you are," Anne says, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead, "you can be whatever you want to be, darling."
"Not whatever I want," Elizabeth scoffs, crossing chubby arms, "that's just silly, Mama."
Henry watches this exchange, amused, from the doorway to the family room. Sunlight falls from the window, catching little spots of fiery red in Anne's long, dark hair, glinting.
"You can!" Anne declares, kneeling on the carpet and taking her face in her hands, "whatever you want. I promise."
"What," she says, derision in her tone (a surprising amount for her four years of age), "even a fairy?"
"Yes, of course," Anne says, she moves around to Elizabeth's back and helps her lace the ribbons on the party gown she's wearing over her jeans, "I'll even help you make the wings. You'll have to tell me what Paris looks like when you fly overhead."
Elizabeth looks up and sees her father, waves a hand and smiles. He waves back, then puts a finger to his lips, the "shh" gesture is one she's familiar with from her preschool teachers.
He is tall, the tallest man in the world, maybe, to her, but always kind and gentle. His height nearly fills the doorway, his head of thick, auburn curls almost reaches the top of it.
Anne looks up from the dress, startles when she sees him, and laughs.
"How long have you been standing there?" she asks.
"Not long enough," he responds.
"Oh, no?" Anne teases, sitting on the floor, Elizabeth sitting on her lap.
"You're too beautiful. Especially when you think no one's watching."
"Yes, your hundreds of creepy candids seem to suggest that," she quips.
"I want to see Daddy," Elizabeth says, "please?"
"It'shardly creepy to take candid photos of my wife," Henry remarks, kneeling to catch Elizabeth in his arms as she runs towards him, "how are you, princess?"
"Fine. It's fairy princess, actually," she informs him, dark eyes wide in a serious expression, biting the knuckles of one hand.
"Oh, excuse me," he gasps, kissing her on the cheek, "how rude of me. Fairy princess, of course."
Anne smiles, then starts to gather the discarded gowns on the floor, folding them, and putting them away.
"Is Mama beautiful? Hm? What do you think?" Henry asks, bouncing her in his arms.
"Of course," Elizabeth says, "I can't believe you even have to ask."
Anne looks over her shoulder, plastic wand in one hand, and uses it to point at Henry.
"I love you," Anne says, beaming.
When she turns back around to the costume chest, she looks like she has a halo around her: the effect of the sunlight, backlit against her figure, especially against the white of her dress, renders her an angel.
That's nothing new to Henry, of course. To him, she's always been the angel unlucky enough to have to walk on this earth, and he's always been the man lucky enough to meet her.