Chapter 94: Happy Wife, Happy Home
Yes, we slept in the fort. All night. And yes, she did exactly what she promised before we even zipped ourselves in for the night. Don’t look at me like that—I’m not going to sit here and pretend I didn’t want it. I did. Of course I did.
But that was last night.
This morning was different.
I woke up to warmth pressed against me, the faint tickle of her hair brushing my jaw, and then—before my mind even caught up—a kiss. Not a light brush, not something quick and teasing, but a deep, heavy kiss that dragged me awake with a groan.
Her lips were curved into a smile against mine when I finally opened my eyes. She was glowing. Way too bright for this hour.
"Morning, husband," she whispered, way too pleased with herself. "You look tired."
I blinked at her, voice rough with sleep. "I am tired."
Her smirk widened. "I wonder why."
The memory of last night flickered through my head, and I groaned, burying my face into the pillow. She giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.
"Don’t," I mumbled, eyes already slipping shut again.
"Nooo," she whined, tugging at my arm until I shifted.
"What?" I muttered, refusing to open my eyes.
"Don’t sleep. I wanna talk."
Another groan left me. "Okay. I’m listening." My voice was flat, my eyes still glued shut.
Her gasp was full of outrage. "No! Open your eyes. Look at me."
I smirked faintly, too tired to lift my head. "I don’t need my eyes to hear you."
She went quiet for a second, and I thought I’d won. But then—
"Well, maybe I need your eyes on me to talk properly," she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
My eyes cracked open at that. She was leaning over me, her chin propped on her hands, her elbows pressing into my chest. Her grin was blinding.
"See? Much better," she said, settling comfortably like she owned me. Which, honestly, she kind of did.
I let out a long breath, resigned. "What do you want to talk about?"
"My birthday," she said without hesitation.
That woke me up a little. "Your... birthday?"
"Mhm." She tilted her head, strands of hair falling into her face. "It’s about a month away."
My brain stuttered. I froze. She caught it immediately.
Her smile dropped into a pout. "You don’t know my birthday, do you?"
My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing safe came out.
"Wow." She sat up straighter, pulling her arms off my chest like she was withdrawing ownership. "Unbelievable. You’re supposed to know everything about me."
"Hold on—" I tried, but she steamrolled me, her pout deepening.
"Everything, Kai. Not just the big things. The little things too. That’s in the job description."
I dragged a hand over my face. "You don’t know my birthday either."
Her smirk returned, slow and deliberate. "June fifteenth."
I blinked. Hard. "...What?"
"June fifteenth." She leaned back over me, smug written all over her face. "Your birthday."
I sat up halfway, staring at her like she’d grown another head. "How the hell do you—"
"I just know," she cut me off smoothly, her tone sweet but her smirk saying more.
"You—" I narrowed my eyes. "You looked it up, didn’t you?"
Her only answer was a mischievous hum.
I groaned, flopping back down. "Unbelievable."
She poked my cheek. "Admit it. Worst boyfriend ever."
"I’m not—" I stopped, sighed, then admitted, "Fine. I’m a bad boyfriend."
She lit up instantly, her pout melting into triumph. "You said it yourself, not me."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "I know how to make you feel better."
She sat up taller, folding her arms like a queen on her throne. "Good. Then remember this: April twenty-third."
I blinked. "...What?"
"My birthday." She narrowed her eyes. "Never forget it."
I held up both hands in surrender. "April twenty-third. Got it. Burned into my brain. Forever."
Her glare softened into satisfaction, her smug little smile returning. "Good."
I cleared my throat. "We should probably get a bath before we keep arguing about birthdays."
Her head tilted. "Bath?"
"Mhm. Wash up. Start the day."
She narrowed her eyes again. "Are you trying to dodge?"
"I’m not dodging."
> "Prove it."
"...Prove what, exactly?"
Her expression shifted, sly and shy at the same time. Only she could manage that. Her voice softened, smug under the nerves.
> "Let me bathe with you."
My brain short-circuited. "...Val."
"You heard me." Her grin widened.
I stared at her, hoping she’d crack, that she’d burst out laughing and call it a joke. She didn’t. She just kept staring, eyes sparkling with both challenge and mischief.
I rubbed my temple, muttering, "You’re gonna kill me one day."
Her eyes sparkled as she leaned in, voice dripping smug. "Maybe. But at least you’ll die clean."
Then she giggled, bright and victorious.
---
Again, I’m not telling you how that bath went.
The only thing I’ll say is—it almost turned into sex. Almost. Don’t blame me; she wouldn’t stop teasing. That’s all you need to know.
Now we were at the table eating. Well I was eating. She was just... staring. Fork untouched.
I kept chewing anyway. I wasn’t falling for it this time. Anytime she stared at me like that, it meant trouble. The kind of trouble that made me... vulnerable. That’s the word. Vulnerable.
Her smile wavered into a little pout. "You’re not gonna ask?"
"Nope." I didn’t even glance up, stabbing another bite.
> "You’re not curious?"
"Not even a little."
She made a sound between a whine and a sigh. "Babe..."
I smirked before I could stop myself.
Her eyes narrowed instantly. "You just smirked."
"No, I didn’t."
> "Yes, you did. Right there. That thing your mouth just did? Smirk."
I wiped at my lips with the back of my hand, deadpan. "Must’ve been a twitch."
"Uh-huh." She leaned closer across the table, eyes suspicious but playful. "Well, it’s not about the birthday, so you can relax."
Finally, I let out a breath, leaning back. "Thank God."
Her gasp was loud and dramatic. "Ah-ah! So you were dodging."
I lifted a brow. "Dodging? No. Strategically preserving my peace? Yes."
She swatted at my arm over the table, making her bracelet clink. "You’re impossible."
"And you’re predictable."
Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"
"Every time you look at me like that, you’re about to drop something outrageous."
She pointed her fork at me. "Not outrageous. I’m not even gonna ask for much this time."
I gave her a long look. "Your ’not much’ is usually a lot."
Her lips curved slow, like she was trying to hide the smile but failing. "Depends on your definition of a lot."
"My definition is anything that makes me leave this chair right now."
She laughed, a soft trill that filled the kitchen. "Wow. You really don’t trust me."
"Should I?"
"Yes." She nodded solemnly, then immediately betrayed herself with a grin.
I rolled my eyes, stabbing another bite. "That’s convincing."
She folded her arms, leaning her cheek against her palm as she stared at me again. "You know... you’re supposed to be excited when your girlfriend wants to ask you something."
I chewed, swallowed, then shrugged. "You call it excited. I call it bracing for impact."
She gasped again, clutching at her chest. "Impact? Really?"
"You’re dramatic."
> "You love it."
"Unfortunately," I muttered, but the corner of my mouth twitched.
Her grin returned full force, and suddenly, the air between us felt lighter, like it always did when she got me to bend without realizing.
She poked at her food absentmindedly, humming a tune under her breath. Then, as if she hadn’t already dragged me into circles, she said, "You know, I don’t even think I want to ask anymore."
"Good."
> "...Unless you want me to."
I gave her a flat stare. "You’re unbelievable."
She giggled, covering her mouth like it might hide the sound. "You make it too easy."
We lingered like that, tossing little jabs back and forth. Every time I thought the conversation would fade, she pulled me back in with a tilt of her head, a whine, or one of those sly looks that told me she was enjoying every second of keeping me on edge.
By the time I’d finished eating, she still hadn’t touched more than two bites of her food. I reached across the table, tapping her plate with my fork. "Eat."
She wrinkled her nose. "Bossy."
"Hungry."
> "You already ate yours."
"Exactly. Your turn."
She pouted, but when I raised a brow, she finally scooped a bite into her mouth, chewing exaggeratedly slow just to annoy me.
"Happy now?" she mumbled through it.
I sighed, leaning back in my chair, watching her with that pout still on her lips, the sunlight catching in her hair, the faint trace of last night’s argument nowhere in sight. And it hit me—this. This exact scene. It was better than any peace offering, better than any apology.
Because she was happy.
And when she was happy... I couldn’t help but be too.
No wonder they say a happy wife makes a happy home.
...or something like that.
---
To be continued...