He's in bed, waiting for Anya to come out of the bathroom.

He's been busy today.

He had to write out invitations and look over things that required his attention.

It was tiring and he just wanted to be with Anya, in their bed, sleeping together.

It was midnight and he was just wearing boxers.

"Honey?"

"Yeah," he answers as he sits up in bed, the covers covering him.

She comes out wearing a short simple mid thigh night gown.

It's see through and he can see her body.

He wants to take off her bra and underwear.

But he shakes that thought out when he sees the look on her face.

"Do you think that Joanne seems a bit...paranoid?"

He frowns.

He doesn't see Joanne a lot.

He doesn't see Anya's servants a lot.

She turns off the light and climbs into bed.

Artie pulls back the covers as she does so and wraps it around them as they snuggle close to each other.

He's feeling better by simply having her in his arms.

"I haven't seen Joanne lately so I'm not sure." He says softly, tucking her head under his chin.

"I mean, she's always so happy but today she looked almost...guilty. I asked her what's wrong but she said it was nothing. I looked for her before I came but no one's seen her."

Artie hugs her tightly and she wraps her arm around his waist.

"Don't worry about it. I'm sure it's nothing."

"You're right." She whispers as she looks up at him.

"Did you do anything today?" He asks, kissing her forehead.

She groans. "All day we've been looking at dresses for the wedding ball. Who knew they were so much? I think you'll become a widow tomorrow because I'll die if I have to look at more dresses."

He laughs softly and places his hand on her thigh.

"You won't die. Besides, I want to show you off in your best. I want the world to lose their breath when they see you. I want the whole world know that you're my wife." He says, moving his hand to her waist.

She blushes. "Isn't that a bit too much?"

He shakes his head. "Maybe, but I don't care as long as I have you."

"You always know what to say." She whispers, placing a hand on his chest.

"It's my job."

They kiss. It's a sweet. A comfort.

They pull away and he places his forehead against hers.

"I like that I can still make you blush."

"You know I hate it when I blush."

"You know, I think you;re adorable with those pink cheeks."

She hides her face in his chest.

They're quiet, except for the pitter patter of the rain and the distant thunder.

"I like storms." She whispers softly when she looks up at him.

He's propped up one elbow and his other hand is caressing her thigh.

"And why is that?" He whispers, leaning close to her face so that he's a mere breath away.

"Because," she says, her hand going to the edge of the his boxers. "No one can hear us satisfy our fantasies."

He looks at her and smiles.

Gently, he climbs over her, her head pressing into the pillows.

She smiles. "You know."

He kisses her hungrily. "I always know what you want." He whispers before placing his hand on her thigh and starts to go up...