My wife was beautiful.

For that I was lucky. Because despite one month passing with no success at securing a job, she presented me with a hearty breakfast. Today was the first time she woke up late, so late that she still wore her nightgown, and hurried with my food.

I felt like a king, and I ate like one, too.

But I watched her. And the longer I kept my eyes on her, the more I feared that I leered.

Her hair was down, something I'd never seen before. She looked so vibrant that way. It rested in thick dark blond waves on her shoulders. I tried to keep my eyes there and not lower as the rest of her came into view each time she made her way to the kitchen and back.

The white gown caught the morning light in one instance, outlining her entire body and my eyes flew to the ceiling.

She set my coffee down, something she insisted was not too expensive since I did not like it all that strong. But what I'd seen of her stayed with me even as she leaned over me and fixed my ascot.

"Today will be a success, I'm sure," she said.

But as she leaned in, I caught her by the waist, intent on guiding her back lest I lose my resolve. Putting hands on her in this fashion was so different. This fabric was thin, not at all like the heavy cloth of her usual clothes.

My intention of pushing her back failed and she instead leaned close, her bosom mere inches from my face, as she looked my hair over.

"Shall I give you another trim before you go?"

My hands shook. I cleared my throat.

When she eased back and peered down at me, my face burned hot.

She looked to where my hands were then at me and gasp. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm not even dressed."

I could only clench my jaw as she put the last of my breakfast down and made her way to her room, picking her hair up along the way.

Even closing my eyes made the image of her more vivid and I needed a long moment to regain control of myself. One month. One month and I was an abject failure.

And I'd tried it all. I'd done carpentering, fishing, even stable work. After the first week, I even tried my namesake and took on masonry. I couldn't stomach any of them.

I made some money but working for others, being told what to do and ordered about, was beyond me.

At this rate, I feared I'd die never consummating.

But how much longer could I hope to hold out? Most men lost their women to others for far less.

I let out a sigh and stood, admitting defeat finally. To be fair, I had a lot planned for the day but I'd forget it all and consider my marriage, I decided.

When I reached her door, I raised my hand to knock. Hesitating was foolish. We were married. She washed my clothes. And I'd seen her unmentionables a time or two. So rather than knock, I opened the door.

She gasped at first, hands crossed at her chest. I didn't know what I'd expected but I hadn't expected her to be wearing nothing but the corset.

Her posture was guarded at first but then she calmed and lowered her arms, watching me as if asking me to take up the challenge.

I couldn't move. It was a lot to take in in broad daylight. Especially from someone usually so reserved.

The moment she took a step to approach, I dragged the door closed and turned to press my back against it.

My pulse raced. My heart ached from its frantic effort to keep pumping blood through me. I couldn't go in there. At this rate, she'd end up with more of a small army rather than a family if I indulged.

"Mason?" her muffled voice called and I closed my eyes then made my way to the table to eat my food.

Sometime later, her door opened yet again. She exited in a lovely navy dress, putting her hair up. For a week now, she'd taken to wearing frocks that accentuated her feminine attributes. That was probably my fault—I hadn't gone near her.

At my foot, my satchel rested and she leaned over to pick it up.

Usually, I would protest but I turned to meet up on her cleavage and I sat back to escape.

"Do you have everything you need?" she asked, opening the bag.

I remembered myself and stood to pluck it from her hands. "That's a surprise. You cannot read it until it's staring back at you on a bookshelf."

Her big eyes took me in as she nodded. "All right." After a slight hesitation, she offered, "Then...then perhaps we can celebrate."

We stared at one another for ages before I focused on my bag and secured it again.

"Yes, of course."

When I sat down to finish my food this time, I could barely get through it.

She'd made me some lovely treats I knew weren't easy for her. They were so difficult, in fact, that she made enough for two day's worth.

Sometimes I wondered if she made up for what I failed to give her physically, by providing food instead. If that was the case, we were both starving.

My interest in my meal now ruined, I stared at the table.

"Mason?"

The sound of my name made me flinch. When she fell into my lap, arms around me, my hands dampened.

"May I ask you something?"

I swallowed in response but perhaps I nodded because she continued.

"You—we used to kiss quite often...."

Her parted lips took my focus and I gave her a peck. The scowl was understandable. I hadn't told her of my goal, not with how many jobs I'd blundered. Some had ended in actual fisticuffs.

That was why I decided to try for selling my stories.

"I feel very good about today," I attested. "And...and we'll be as before."

She didn't seem convinced but I could do no better.

Unlike me who had no steady employment, she'd already secured a post as a maid. I praised her but deep down, I was embarrassed. Her salary wouldn't be enough for the rent and the days were quickly fading. I needed only get half and even that much was beyond me. What sort of man was I?

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

So when she scooted closer on my lap, I guided her to stand. "I must go," I said.

The actual hurt in her eyes told me that wasn't an acceptable response.

"All right," she said, "good luck."

Her lips parted, perhaps awaiting a kiss but I didn't trust myself. Take a kiss now and I couldn't stop.

So instead, I kissed her forehead and made my way to the door.

"Mason," she called in a pant.

Eyes closed, I gripped the doorknob.

Within minutes, she met me with a small bag.

"Eat them for lunch," she told me, "they're your favorite."

Her tone held longing, perhaps saying, "At least I can do this much for you as a wife," but as I took it, I felt more like a heel than a husband.

"Thank you." I grabbed it from her hand and made a quick escape.

I barely made it down the steps before I paused and looked back up at our door. Everything in me said to go back and explain myself but I couldn't. I was a man, a husband, and husbands provided. They didn't live off their wife's hard-earned money.

Satchel under my arm, I set off. By luck, I met the post and took the letters with an eager smile. Three disappointing correspondences later, I made my way to my original destination, the one place I didn't want to go—to visit the frog.

I expected to get the door slammed in my face but the man bade me entry. He even feigned interest as I presented him with my works.

Partway through, I forgot my place in his life as the man who'd humiliated him with my 'mistress' a month earlier and even relaxed.

After reading one of my stories, he sat back and shook his head. "I can't sell this."

I should have known. Of course he'd get my hopes up.

Grinding my teeth, I gathered my papers, muttering a thanks for his time.

"You think I'm being unreasonable," he said.

I let out a sigh. "I do not care anymore."

He mused, "Oh? Because I was going to tell you why it won't work."

I gripped my papers. In this moment, my wife's words came to me about the times she'd felt mocked. Right now, I understood that sentiment. Being vulnerable to someone brought that consequence.

But I'd made a mess with so many small jobs amounting to nothing, I could not afford to brush this off. I needed to know why none of my stories, which were rather good, ultimately went nowhere.

The moment I sat back, he smiled.

My eyes trained on his desk, I begged, "Please let me know what I can change."

He touched his fingertips to one another and pressed his chin on his index fingers.

"You have no villain."

I picked my head up. That was untrue. "The mother—"

"Yes. That was a nice touch. But that's not enough. If the mother was awful, then surely her two daughters were as well."

A pit formed in my stomach. I didn't like where this was going. "Not necessarily. Just because the matriarch was vile does not mean her children fell victim to such spitefulness."

"But you label her as evil."

"Yes. Her actions were—"

"So surely her daughters as well."

We stared each other down and I understood what he was doing. Somehow, he knew who the story was about.

"And you can't have a secondary character as more beautiful than the main character. You were wise enough to use the name that everyone knew well. So why stop there? Why limit it?"

Perhaps my face reflected how badly I wanted to strangle him; my voice certainly did. "In what way?"

"I say two mean, surly stepsisters are a nice touch. That increases the connection the reader has for the beloved main character."

Swallowing hard, I considered his suggestion. "I suppose I could make them a bit meaner. But not vile." The pit in my gut grew but I was desperate. "With those aspects changed, would—would you consider it?"

The frog scoffed. "Of course not. Not from you."

All feeling drained out of me. My senses fled and I shot to my feet. "You vermin!"

He stood as well, challenging me with his diminutive size. "You'll never publish them. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"How exactly," I asked, "does someone with the word 'Christian' in their name, amount to being such a b—"

"Out!" he bellowed, cutting me off.

We stared at one another and I debated the fine I'd pay for pummeling him. It would be more than worth it, I decided. But something else came to mind, my wife. The last time she paid that money on my behalf, I'd wanted to throw myself from that bridge in earnest.

The idea of witnessing her disappointment, especially after she'd found such a menial job while I had nothing, was what drove me to gather my papers, no longer careful if they were smudged or crushed, and shove them in my bag.

I must have been a sight marching out of that office and down those stairs, my little lunch bag clutched in my fist.

My feet took me as far as the main road before I lost power.

I wanted to cry. And this was not a feeling that had ever come to me in the past—not really. But I honestly considered it.

As I walked along the merchants selling their fruit and vegetables, some meat pies and other such things, I suddenly longed to buy some.

But that was a foolish thought. The food I carried was by far the most delicious I'd ever had, and yet, knowing I could not afford anything else, troubled me.

I found a wall and sat against it, watching the people go by for ages. At this rate, I'd never find anything.

But where was the job that required a fanciful rider? Or the one that could do with a fox hunter. Or the one that would pay me handsomely for dancing with ladies?

What was I good for?

And what was the point of me taking a wife if I could provide nothing to her?

All around me, men, dressed far more modest than myself, cried out to the crowd, attracting people to whatever they were selling. I didn't even have something to sell.

My eyes fell to my lunch and a strange thought popped into my head.

I had ten treats, six more than I needed. The excess proved to me once and for all she felt inadequate.

It was foolish, I felt foolish, but I took off my coat and my tie and rolled them up and shoved them into my satchel. Then I ruffled my hair and opened the bag and said, "Treats. Treats for sale."

Nobody heard me.

So I cleared my throat and tried again. Some eyes looked my way but I was too embarrassed to repeat myself.

A little old lady spotted me and gave me a smile. She offered me a coin and walked on. I was so thankful that I nearly let her leave without giving her what she'd bought. After I caught up with her and offered it, she took it, no doubt with the intent to throw it away once I was out of view.

No matter, it was a sale.

Then I went back to my satchel, fearful someone would take it. Nothing inside was of value but the bag itself was all I had.

Thoroughly embarrassed, I wanted to give up but thoughts of this morning plagued me with regret. I'd wanted to kiss her. even a kiss, and I couldn't bring myself to do it. No. I had to sell at least two more of these.

So I sucked in my gut and bellowed, mimicking the men around me.

This time a worker bought one. He gave me less than the old woman but I was thankful. The price was an insult so I tried to offer the next one for more. I failed so I went lower again.

After one hour, I'd sold five.

That would have suited me just fine but the man who'd bought it cheaply previously pushed his way through the crowd and ran to me with a grin on his face.

"That was brilliant. I'll take three more."

Three? For that low price, the nerve. And my wife had worked so hard.

"Of course!" I gave him my new price and he hesitated then made the hard choice of paying what I requested.

All the while, he grumbled, "Crook."

I turned up my nose. That was eight. I'd sold eight. Another person who'd bought it previously also came back for another.

But why wouldn't they? They were the best in town.

One more. If I sold this next one, this final one, I'd hurry home and drag my wife to bed.

No longer hesitant, I called out for the final sale.

A grand hat turned at the sound of my voice. Angelique scanned the crowd, looking for me.

My breathing stopped. All my efforts shriveled up before me at the idea of being spotted selling my lunch on the streets like some beggar.

I turned and grabbed my things and made a speedy escape. When I finally stopped running, my body dripped with sweat.

The sight of the final treat filled me with woe. I couldn't even bring myself to eat it. Instead, I fought back tears.

What was the point? It was too risky to sell like that. Eventually I'd bump into someone I knew. Today it was Angelique. What if it had been Gregor, or...or my father?

I unfolded my coat and walked home. Winter was coming and without more money, we'd be out on the street. Still, the small amount I'd made in an hour's time was far better than I did in some of my day work.

I decided to buy something nice for the governess. Nothing seemed adequate. All the fancy foods cost the entire amount and the cheap ones seemed beneath her.

She'd be expecting me at dinner time but I could go home early and perhaps clean up, be of some use.

As I closed in on my door, I heard voices inside. My heart skipped.

I feared the worst. Maybe she'd found someone to keep her company while I was a way. Perhaps a man.

A sharp sound came from the door and I held the doorknob, ready to charge in.

"You mustn't cry. Oh, calm down. Please.

"But he doesn't want me. What am I to do exactly? I've tried everything you've said!"

Save for sniffs, there was silence. "Perhaps...perhaps, and I didn't want to say it, but perhaps he's having doubts? Without consummating the marriage, he can walk away without obligation."

"Come, that's not true. Of course, he won't leave you."

"Today is the only day off I can take. The rent is soon and I refuse to borrow any more money from Edmond. What am I to do?"

"Well, why not move into a cheaper place!"

A sob preceded the words, 'No. I can't do that. He's not used to such meager standards."

"This is just like you. Doing the impossible! Keep this up and you'll be back living with Mother as a spinster. A proper one!"

Her sister....

I ran my fingers through my hair, less concerned about my wife telling others about my inadequacies and more so about the governess's train of thought. She wasn't wrong. But not entirely correct either.

"You have a nerve calling me stupid! What you should be doing is getting out of this overpriced house and finding yourself a proper husband! Writer my foot!"

"Stop it. Please. He's a good man."

The rest, I did not hear. Instead, I descended those steps with a new plan, and it wasn't one I liked.