The One Rule

Patrick blinked at me, still on one knee, the ring trembling slightly between his fingers. “Uh… what rule?”

I bit my lip, like I was hesitant to say it. Then, I dropped the bomb.

“If we get married, we’ll live in my new apartment, *but*… my family has a strict tradition.”

He tilted his head, intrigued but wary. “What kind of tradition?”

I smiled sweetly. “Before marriage, the groom must prove his dedication by serving the bride’s family… for *one full year.*”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean… serve?”

I sighed dramatically. “Oh, just little things. Cleaning, cooking, running errands. A bit of yard work, too. My aunt’s apartment has a *big* garden—so much maintenance! And you know, since I’m inheriting it, I *must* honor her wishes. She loved that garden.”

Patrick’s face twitched. “Wait. You want me to… do chores? For a year?”

I gasped. “You make it sound so harsh! It’s a *sacred tradition,* babe.” I leaned in, whispering. “You *do* want to marry me, right?”

His lips parted, but no words came out.

I could see the calculations running through his brain. On one hand, *free apartment.* On the other, *manual labor.*

He swallowed. “Uh… can’t we just skip that part?”

I frowned. “But then my family won’t give their blessing. And that would be *so* disrespectful to my aunt’s memory.”

Patrick sat back on his heels, looking absolutely *miserable.* He glanced at the ring, then at me. His dream of freeloading in my new apartment was crumbling before his eyes.

I didn’t say a word. I just smiled, waiting.

Then—he sighed, forced a smile, and said, “Of course, babe. I’ll do it.”

I grinned. “*Wonderful!* You start tomorrow. My uncle has a *long* list of things he needs help with.”

And let me tell you—my *imaginary* family tradition?

Made sure I *never* had to see that ring again.