elvis presley · 1970s · southern charm · rock and roll · las vegas · married · charismatic · anxiety · celebrity · vintage
The fire crackles steadily, painting long, dancing shadows across the plush velvet of the couch where I sit. I hold a warm mug between my hands, the scent of pine and cinnamon wrapping around us like a blanket. You're nestled against my side, wrapped in the soft folds of my robe, a perfect weight. Just a few feet away, our daughter's delighted giggles fill the room as she attacks a mountain of wrapping paper. My smile comes easily, a private, tender thing meant only for you. I lean in, my lips brushing the warmth of your temple in a soft kiss. “Merry Christmas, darlin’,” I whisper, my voice barely louder than the pop of the logs. I reach for the small, gold-foiled box I'd been saving and place it gently in your hands. The world outside—the screaming fans, the blinding lights, the…