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Maeve jumps. "What are ya doing in here?"
I spin her so her back is to me, reach for the zipper, and slide it upward. I answer, "Helping my wife."
"I can do it myself," she snaps.
I grunt. "Sure ya can, but ya don't have to." I finish pulling the zipper up and secure it. Then I pat her ass, staring at her in the mirror. "Looks perfect. Told ya it would."
She cautiously assesses her reflection, muttering, "Well, aren't you the fashion police."
I grunt, asking, "Wouldn't you rather have a husband who knows what to get you to wear than one who can't pick out an outfit for you?"
She shrugs. "It was never on the top of my list."
"That's because ya never thought you'd have someone as special as me, huh?" I tease.
She softly laughs. "Are ya ever not arrogant?"
"I wouldn't call it arrogant, I'd call it confident."
"Sure," she says, then stares at herself.
"Ya look really good," I tell her again.
She softly replies, "Thanks."
"So what was on the top of your list?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing important."
"It is if it's at the top."
"No. It's not. Can ya unzip me now?"
I pull the zipper down and wait.
She turns, declaring, "You can leave the room while I get a new dress on."
I lean into her ear and murmur, "Did ya already forget I'm your husband? There's no reason I shouldn't be in here with ya."
"So I have no privacy now?"
I chuckle. "No, ya don't. Just like I don't. You get to see me." I drag my finger down her cheek. "And I get to see you."
She holds her breath.
I lower my voice further. "Then there are all the dirty things we get to do to each other. Things you're going to beg for me to do to ya."
She elbows me in the rib cage.
"Ow," I burst out.
"Serves ya right." She steps out of the dress and holds it out to me. "At least make yourself useful and put it back on the hanger."
"Yes, ma'am," I say, grabbing the empty wooden frame.
She takes the next dress off the hanger and slides into it.
I zip it up, and we do that several times till we've gone through all the dresses.
