Rhys had a conundrum.

And it was a very large, very prickly one.

Also known as the demon nightmare that was the Christmas tree.

Branches poked into his side, and he felt humiliation mingling with frustration as his head stuck out from underneath the tree into their apartment, his legs and torso trapped underneath the pine needles and bulky mass of the pine.

He should have never bet against Feyre.

She'd laughingly joked with Mor that Rhys, having grown up with a privileged past and servants and riches, wouldn't survive two seconds trying to make his own Christmas.

He'd taken it as a personal challenge.

Finding the tree had been hellish enough (he'd had to bribe their doorman not to tell Feyre how he'd literally strapped the tree to his back, after driving two hours out of the city, then trudging six miles through the snow and 'attempting' to fell his own tree—attempting being the operative word—and eventually succeeding, only for the damn thing to fall on top of him) and he'd somehow managed to get it to stay semi-upright. Now if only he could get out from under the tree and the stupid decorations would start behaving.

Rhys wriggled, cursing. "Damn it, Cassian is never going to let me live this down," he muttered. He'd found one of the largest trees in the forest, thinking it to be the most impressive, but now he was starting to wish he'd chosen an undergrown shrub instead.

Star ornaments were tangled in his hair and face, and he tried to grab them, but his arms were pinned.

This was such a bad idea.

There was the sound of a door opened, then closing, and soft footsteps—

Rhys froze.

"Shit."

vVv

Feyre was having a perfectly good day. The rest of their little group were all coming over tonight for Christmas dinner, she and Nesta weren't fighting, and she'd just finished one of her larger, more elaborate pieces, and had seen one of the clients at the gallery eyeing it.

If she was charming enough, she could probably squeeze some extra money out of him. Not that she really needed it, since she'd married Rhysand, but fighting for each scrap of survival had become an instinct after so long.

She smiled at the doorman as she entered their brownstone building in residential Brooklyn, going into the empty elevator and pressing the button for the top floor.

She was honestly a bit scared of what she'd find when she got home. Rhys was full of surprises, but Christmas decorating did seem a bit beyond him.

This was her second real Christmas, the first being with their friends last year, just after she'd…broken it off with Tamlin.

The first of the two of them as a family.

Feyre fished her keys out of her purse, unlocking the door and stepping into their apartment, which was the entirety of the spacious top floor. Her wedding ring flashed and glittered in the light.

Closing the door behind her, she looked around—and her eyes fell right to the enormous pine tree taking up residence in the corner of their living room.

And her husband frozen and trapped beneath it.

Rhys's face was upside down and his eyes were wide, but he said casually, as though he wasn't doing a veritable circus act, "Feyre, darling. Good to see you home. How was work?"

Feyre fought not to raise her eyebrows. "…Fine?" She set down her keys on the coffee table and squinted at him. "Are you okay?"

He gave her a breezy smirk. "Oh, just peachy. I went shopping earlier; there's ice cream in the freezer."

"Rhys."

"Yes?"

She gestured, torn between laughter and anger. "What…what happened here?"

He smirked at her, ornaments tangled in his hair, upside down and tangled with a Christmas tree and said, "We got into a fight. The tree got in a few good punches."

"Really? To me it looks like it won the entire match."

Rhys hesitated, then, finally he cracked.

"Alright, fine!" He threw up his arms. Or tried to. "This whole Christmas thing is much harder than it looks." He looked at her with a begging, humiliated expression. "Feyre help, I'm trapped under the tree and the star's tangled in my hair."

She squinted. "Why were you under the tree?

"...Because I'm a gift to this world?" he tried.

Feyre snorted under her breath and crouched in front of him. She absentmindedly ran her hands through his hair, and he leaned into her touch, almost purring.

Great.

What on earth was she supposed to do now?

vVv

Rhys was humiliated. Thank God it was just Feyre, or he would have literally died.

His wife's fingers in his hair felt like heaven, but after a moment she withdrew, and frowned disapprovingly at him. "I told you I should have handled the decorations," she scolded him.

Rhys squirmed a bit. "I know. I'm sorry. And I'll let you do all the work, or hire someone to do it for us—fuck, you can ask Mor to do it—but please, just get me out of here!" he was almost begging. If this wasn't humiliation, he didn't know what was.

Feyre narrowed her eyes, her beautiful face unfortunately upside down and therefore not in an ogle able angle. Though he did have a rather good view down the part of her blouse. He could see the swell of her breasts, encased in black lace, something that made him very eager to get out of this ridiculous position and into one more pleasurable for both of them.

She leaned in and said, "I'll get you out. But…" she added, when he started grinning, "only if you publicly announce that I was right, you were wrong, and you will listen to me without comment forever to the entire group tonight. Oh, and you have to let me take a few pictures."

Oh, Cassian was going to give him so much hell for this.

But the alternative…

"Throw in a naked shower and you've got yourself a deal."

Feyre stood up and winked at him. "Do we usually shower dressed?" was her only reply.

vVv

It took Feyre almost an entire hour (and the help of their doorman) to get Rhys out from under the tree, and by the end he was red faced and sworn to never, ever use the front entrance of their building again. He would take up mountain climbing, just to avoid Freddie (the doorman).

Now alone, he gave Feyre a strained smile.

She was silent, her face unusually blank…

Until she burst out laughing.

Rhys groaned, throwing himself onto the couch and debating the merits of jumping out the window right now, just to end the misery.

"This," he grumbled, "is not funny."

Feyre took one look at his face before she started cackling again, almost falling over she was laughing so hard.

"Sorry, sorry," she gasped. "Just…your face…and the pictures…" She started laughing more.

He tried to sink into the couch, glaring,

Seeing his unhappy expression she giggled and came over to him, perching in his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Oh, you big baby. It's not so bad. At least you didn't give the entire office a strip tease like Cassian did on New Year's last year."

Point.

He rested his hands on her hips and exhaled through his nose. "Still…and don't even think about telling anyone what the apology is about tonight."

Feyre kissed his nose. "Wouldn't dream of it." She smiled at him.

He was still upset…but it was nice to see her laughing. To see her so happy.

Rhys reached up and laced their fingers together, wedding rings brushing together. He still couldn't believe she was his. That she loved him enough to marry him, make a family with him.

Feyre broke the silence after a moment, "Can I at least show the pictures to Mor?"

His glare told her enough.

She giggled. "Oh, fine, fine." She curled up into his chest, her next words muffled by his shirt. "It'll be a good story for the children, anyway."

Rhys froze, staring down at her, but she just sighed and snuggled closer, not seeming to realize what she'd just said.

But…

The idea of children…their children…

Rhys smiled and tucked Feyre in closer, the Christmas tree completely bare in the corner and the snow and light glinting around them.

Soon.

Soon.

"Rhys?" Feyre said after a moment.

"Hmm?"

She craned her neck to look up at him, their eyes meeting. "Merry Christmas."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "Merry Christmas, darling."

vVv

Several hours and a very enjoyable shower later (though he couldn't get Feyre to let him out of his apology, no matter what tricks he employed) the apartment was finally decorated for company and they were preparing for the others to arrive.

Rhys adjusted his tie in the mirror and Feyre, checking on the turkey in the oven (a new one, after he'd accidentally torched the original), smiled at him.

He returned it, just as the doorbell rang, once, twice, three times, a very distinct voice following after.

"Cassian, stop ringing the damn doorbell!" Morrigan.

"I don't get why we have to ring! We have a key, for God's sake. Unless they're having wild monkey sex. Hey, Rhys! Are you and Feyre having wild monkey—"

"Do not finish that sentence." Nesta's voice floated in.

Rhys pulled open the door, smirking and said, "No, we were not in fact having 'wild monkey sex' Cassian, but I'll keep it in mind for next time. And generally one rings the doorbell before entering someone else's home because it's polite."

Cassian scoffed, pushing past him. "Politeness is over rated."

Nesta gave him an eye roll as she followed her boyfriend, his cousin giving him a bright smile and a hug.

Most of them had come together; Amren in her usual disdainful glory, Azriel quiet and gently escorting a festive Elain.

Rhys saw his hand resting on her waist and grinned to himself. Looks like he just made a few bucks off Cassian.

Feyre raised an eyebrow at the sight and mouthed, You owe me twenty.

He mouthed back, Shut up.

She just winked and turned to hug Mor.

Cassian made himself right at home in the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, and he ran an appreciative eye over the apartment. "Nice. Feyre do all the work?"

Rhys drawled, "It may surprise you to know, Cassian, that I have a multitude of talents, including decorating."

There was a clatter in the kitchen as Feyre dropped a pan, and Rhys could see her shoulder shaking with silent laughter as she bent to pick it up.

He gritted his teeth. "But Feyre did do most of it," he conceded reluctantly.

"Oh, did poor little Rhysie get himself in a bind?" Mor cooed as she poured herself a generous glass of wine.

Feyre cut in, "Oh, it was quite adorable."

Now his glare switched to her, and she raised her hands in mock innocence.

Elain, ever the peacemaker, steered the subject away from decorations. "How's the gallery been doing nowadays, Feyre?"

They eased into comfortable banter and conversation, Lucien arriving around twenty minutes later. There was a bit of tension for a moment, what with his and Elain's short lived relationship a few months ago, and his former friendship with Tamlin, but it was smoothed over with the aid of dinner.

They managed to get all the way through dessert without any embarrassing incidents, but as Azriel and Elain rose to help Feyre with the plates she raised a pointed eyebrow at him and he knew what she meant.

At least she'd chosen a time when everyone was distracted and tired.

He smoothed over his face into casual arrogance as he stood and said, "I have an announcement to make."

The room gradually quieted, though Cassian and Nesta continued to glare at each other through whatever argument they'd just been having. Maybe they'd be too distracted to care.

"I…have to apologize to my darling, wonderful wife," she raised a brow and motioned him to go on, while Mor groaned about not being drunk enough to stomach this kind of mush, "for betting against her—in anything—and I now," he paused, flushing as Cassian started smirking, "promise to never, ever say no to her—in whatever capacity, though I wasn't doing a lot of protesting in general, if you please—and will always admit that…she's right. Forever."

There were a few wolf whistles and Mor was fairly cackling with glee.

Amren drawled, "Nice to see you have a mind of your own, boy. At least a sensible driver is holding your reins." As close to a compliment she'd ever give.

"You're whipped, man," Cassian said, shaking his head. "No offence, Feyre."

She smirked. "None taken, Cass."

Elain looked at him sympathetically, but the rest of the males continued to poke and prod at his bruised pride for the rest of the evening, until he was seriously considering throwing someone off the building—one of them or himself. Either would have been fine.

Finally, they all started to leave, though not without a few more wisecracks;

Rhys could see Feyre smirking smugly in the background as he wallowed in humiliation.

Saying she would walk them down (Cassian drank a few too many, and he was having a bit of trouble navigating the stairwell, much to Nesta's vindictive pleasure) Feyre shot him an innocent smile as she passed him, brushing his shoulder and drawling, "Merry Christmas, darling."

Merry Christmas indeed.