I cotton on to her way of thinking fast. I smile. ‘What will it cost me for your silence?’

‘A whole night of worshipping,’ she states with confidence and without delay.

‘You really don’t have a choice in the matter.’ I secure my arm around her tiny waist and carry her to my couch, sitting down and arranging her on my lap, all the while maintaining her wonderful hello kiss.

‘I don’t want one, so yes, this is a pointless discussion. I agree.’

‘Smart girl.’ I sound arrogant. I don’t care. ‘Thank you for stopping by, sweet girl.’

She rips her busy lips away, and I growl lowly, but soon forget my grievance when I’m presented with her flawless face and gorgeous hair. My fingers are instantly delving into the strands and twiddling. ‘You thank me every day like it’s my choice,’ she whispers.

I feel my eyebrows lift. ‘I never make you do anything that I know you don’t want to do,’ I remind her, relishing in that sassy scowl when it’s tossed in my direction. ‘Do I?’

‘Noooo,’ she says, drawing the word out on a long exasperated exhale. ‘But this one of your obsessive habits kind of interferes with my working day. I might see to it that your therapist tackles it next.’

I scoff. ‘She even tries, then I’ll no longer utilise her services.’ I can’t deny it. I have gained some more obsessive little ways, but I’ve dealt with many, too, so I shouldn’t be penalised. I should be rewarded.

She doesn’t hit me with her sass this time, though I can see she’s dying to. But even my perfect wife has figured out that no amount of her so-called therapy will see me wiping any obsessive habit that relates to her from my life. And anyway, I know she enjoys most of them. I don’t know why she tries to pretend she doesn’t, that I’m hampering her life.

Her lack of retort leaves silence and me time to absorb her, which I do with the greatest of pleasure. I really haven’t laid my eyes on anything so perfect in all of my life. I correct myself on a smile when the most adorable little boy settles at the front of my mind.

‘What are you thinking?’ she asks on a little cock of her beautiful head.

‘I’m thinking you and my little man put perfection to shame.’

Sparkling sapphires send me cross-eyed. ‘Speaking of your little man . . .’

My contentment disintegrates quickly. ‘What’s he done now?’ My mind races with a million scenarios, praying he hasn’t shown any tell-tale signs of obsessive behaviour.

‘He stole Missy’s socks.’

My relief is profound. This again? I try to hide my amusement. I really do. ‘Why?’ I know why.

Olivia looks at me like I’m stupid. ‘Because they were odd.’ She isn’t amused. Not at all.

‘I empathise.’

She slaps my shoulder on a scornful look, and I give her a hurt face, rubbing at her target. ‘It’s not funny.’

I sag beneath her. How many times do we need to go over this? ‘I’ve told them. Tell all the kids to wear matching socks. Simple.’ Christ almighty, how hard can it be?

‘Miller, he stands at the entrance and makes the other children show him their socks.’

I nod, pouting. ‘Very thorough.’

‘Or very annoying when he pinches them if they’re odd. Are you going to explain to the parents why their children keep going home from school with no socks on their feet?’

‘Yes. And I’ll tell them how to remedy the problem.’ I watch her sigh, exasperated. I don’t know why. She overthinks stuff, as always, and I’m not having the parents of my boy’s school friends making her think there’s something wrong with our son. ‘I’ll deal with it,’ I assure her, glancing at my fingers that are tangled in her locks. I frown, flicking my eyes to Livy’s. ‘There’s something different about you.’ I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before.

Worry kicks in when guilt floods her sapphires and she removes herself from my lap, spending an exceptional amount of time straightening herself out. I push myself up from the couch, my eyes narrowing. ‘I know my sweet girl inside out, and right now she’s as guilty as sin.’

Her sass rears its ugly head and daggers fire from angry eyes with such force, I’m nearly nailed to the wall behind me. ‘I had an inch off!’

I gasp. I knew it! ‘You cut your hair!’

‘I had split ends!’ she argues. ‘It was beginning to look tatty!’

‘No, it wasn’t!’ I fire back in disgust, pursing my lips. ‘Why would you do that to me?’

‘I didn’t do it to you. I did it to me!’

‘Oh,’ I laugh, outraged. ‘Like that, is it?’ I march off to the bathroom, knowing she’s in hot pursuit.

‘Don’t you dare, Miller!’

‘I made you a promise. I keep my promises.’ I open the cupboard and pull out the clippers, shoving the plug viciously into the socket. She cut her hair!

‘An inch, that’s all! It’s still skimming my arse!’

‘My possession!’ I bark, taking the clippers to my head with every intention to see my promise through.

‘Fine,’ she says calmly, throwing me off course. ‘Shave your hair off. I’ll still love you.’

I pull up and look at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s resting up against the doorframe. And she looks cocky. ‘I’ll do it,’ I threaten, jerking the clippers closer to my head.

‘Yes, so you say.’ She’s goading me.

‘OK,’ I toss back, bringing it nearer still, looking at myself in the mirror as I watch the device creeping closer to my dark waves. The dark waves I love. I’m beginning to get nervous. ‘Fuck,’ I say calmly, my hand dropping to my side with the clippers. I can’t do it. I stare at my reflection for a while, giving myself a mental good talking-to, looking past my defeated face when she appears behind me in the mirror.

‘You still fascinate me, Miller Hart.’ She reaches up and toys with my earlobe, not making a big deal of her victory. ‘A little trim.’

I sigh, knowing I’m being over the top but finding it difficult to reason with myself. ‘I love you, too. Let me taste you.’

She obliges, worming her way between me and the sink, and lets me take my time indulging in her. ‘I need to get to work.’ She disturbs my bliss, pulling back and pecking me on the nose.

‘Noted,’ I relent dejectedly. ‘Me and my boy are going to see Nan after I pick him up from school.’

‘Great.’

‘Then we’re going to that silly therapist’s office.’

She smiles brightly and cuddles me fiercely. ‘Thank you.’

I don’t argue. I might make a fuss of it, but I can’t deny that I enjoy my time with my boy while we’re there. ‘Will you dance with me before you go?’

‘Here?’

‘No.’ I take her hand, loving the curiosity on her face, and lead her up to the club.

‘I need to get to work, Miller,’ she insists on a laugh, telling me she’s in no rush. Not that it matters. She doesn’t have a choice. She should know that by now. So I ignore her and place her accurately in the middle of the dance floor when we arrive there, brushing her hair over her shoulders, before making my way to the DJ stand, immediately frowning at the millions of switches and buttons.