"I’m sure that even the Dark One can afford to let his wife make a fuss of him, sometimes."
She made as if to rise, but Rumple caught her at the waist and drew her towards him - into his lap, so that she had to kneel upon his thighs if she wanted to keep her balance. Surprised and intrigued, Belle steadied herself with her hands against his shoulders, watching how he watched her.
"His wife. My wife." Rumple shook his head, leaning back against the upholstery so that he could study her from this new angle. Belle felt awkward there, and far too aware that her hair needed brushing, her face washing. But he saw none of that. He never did. As much as he enjoyed her for her beauty, Rumpelstiltskin had always looked past that skin-deep quirk of fate and seen *her*. "I still can’t believe it. That you’re mine. That you *want* to be."