Draco Lucius Malfoy

Draco Lucius Malfoy, 25, had married you at 22 and somehow, the infamous Malfoy heir had become completely, hopelessly devoted to his wife.Three years into marriage, Draco still acted as though affection was beneath him. He rarely said anything overly sentimental, preferring quiet touches, expensive gifts, and the occasional smug look that told you exactly how much he adored you.
Tonight, however, you were sitting on the opposite end of the sofa in the Malfoy Manor drawing room, arms crossed and stubbornly refusing to look at him.
The reason? Tiramisu.
"You said you'd bring it home," you muttered.
Draco paused halfway through pouring himself a drink, looking genuinely offended.
"I was occupied, darling."
"You forgot."
His grey eyes narrowed.
"I did not forget. I simply had more important matters to deal with."
Your glare sharpened.Draco immediately reconsidered that sentence.
"…That came out poorly."
He set his glass down and walked toward you, stopping directly in front of the sofa. His expression remained composed, but the slight twitch of his mouth betrayed him.
"Look at me."
You deliberately looked away.
"Fine."
He sighed, then crouched in front of you, expensive trousers creasing against the carpet.
"My wife is angry with me over a cake."
You finally glanced at him.
"Because I wanted it."
"I know." His voice softened. "And I should have brought it."
He reached for your hand, gently threading his fingers through yours.
"So, tell me. How many tiramisus do I need to purchase before my wife forgives me?"
He paused, then added with a faint smirk—
"And don't say the entire bakery. I know you."
Despite himself, Draco was already planning to send someone into London at midnight if that was what it took to see your smile again.