She grins, both at the look on his face as she removes his belt and the idea of suspenders. He's already told her he likes the look -- and that was after she struck him speechless -- but suggesting accessories helps to cement the fact that he's wholly on board, and not just humoring her out of kindness. "And a tie, maybe," she says. "I could always borrow one of yours." He has a variety; surely one of them would work. And the thought of wearing something of his out in public is oddly appealing.

Maybe it's because Thomas has never been possessive, and not often terribly assertive, either. Which is good: both traits would drive her up a tree if they were too liberally applied (she hasn't forgotten how she'd rolled her eyes when her husband insisted on looping his scarf around her neck, the last time she saw him). But the unanticipated (and mildly embarrassing) side effect is that when Thomas does get even the slightest bit pushy, it's ridiculously attractive. Being pinned between him and the counter, mere moments after he told her she couldn't get out of marrying him, is far more delicious than it has any right to be.

"They are a crucial part of the look, dearest," she replies, setting the belt on the counter, where neither of them can tread on it by accident. A cool draft ghosts over her skin where her shirt hangs open, prompting an agreeable little shiver. "Though if you insist..."