a/n: This story was my entry for the category Envy in the Sinfully Romione fest'18. thanks to everyone who voted and chose this as a winning entry under that category.

Also, I'd like to quickly apologise for not updating my other WIPs in a very long time. Hubs and I recently launched our new startup and life has been very crazy. But expect one fic to be updated soon and I should be able to share my other oneshots which were written for the fest. Apologies for the long a/n and hope you guys like this one!

She dropped her trusted beaded bag carelessly on the floor and it landed with a loud thump, knocking off the small flowerpot that sat at the edge of the wall. With a deep sigh of frustration Hermione set it straight before ridding herself of her heavy woolen cloak, dropping it on the couch and striding away to their bedroom.

The door was shut with a loud bang, although it was a waste show of anger really. The person the aggression was aimed at was far away in a brightly lit, enormous joke showroom, most likely hanging on to every word the horse-faced, blonde spoke in broken english.

Muttering words that were borrowed from her husband's colourful vocabulary, Hermione proceeded to take off her shoes and stockings, and undid the slender string of pearls gracing her neck. Finally, she plopped down on the bed, wiping off angry tears.

With every passing second, her indignation grew in leaps and bounds. Unfortunately, not all of it was aimed at the redhead idiot she called husband; a fair part of it was for herself. She was older and more mature now than her sixteen-year-old self, and she was married to the guy, for heaven sake! Most importantly, in all these years, Ron had never given her a chance to doubt his fidelity. And, if she was completely honest, a fair bit of her jealousy tonight had been spurred by her own insecurities. And then he had just gone ahead and made it worse.

At the sound of a loud crack in the hall, she rose promptly and picked up a wet tissue, urgently wiping off the stains of mascara left behind on her cheeks.

"Hermione?" he called; hurried footsteps making their way towards their bedroom, and Hermione, as the mature woman she was, ran into the bath to escape.

"You in there?"

His words were full of genuine concern; somehow it annoyed her all the more.

"Yes," she replied, trying her level best to sound casual and unperturbed. It was hard to say if it worked; Ron was always very perceptive of her emotions. She turned on the shower to cut out his voice, although she merely stood staring at her reflection in the mirror. That girl was quite a beauty, she thought with resentment- long platinum blonde hair, flawless skin, tall and figure of a model...

She knew on instinct that Ron would still be just beyond the door, and sure enough, he cleared his throat barely a second later. She looked over her shoulder towards the closed door, almost picturing his tall frame leaning against the wall, brows furrowed in concern.

"I- Alright," he sighed in a very weary and unconvinced voice. A pause and then he knocked again. "You okay in there?"

"Yes," she replied, barely holding back from stomping back, opening the door and bombarding him with a tirade of sarcastic comments and complaints.

"Great…" he paused, "Umm… I've gotta finish a few things, I'll be in the study. Be there when you're done?"

"Alright," she replied. His forced casual tone was straining at her self-control and fury. He really had the gall to pretend all was fine?!

Or maybe...just maybe...she was mistaken about the whole episode at the store?

No, she told herself firmly as she roughly undid the zipper holding her black silk dress together. It fell in a pool around her feet and she stepped out of it without a backward glance. She was absolutely positive she was right. And it had happened not once or twice but three times.

Fuming, she unhooked her bra, stripping it off angrily and pulled down her knickers, dropping them over the discarded dress to walk into the shower. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes; the water was supposed to cool her down, soothe her senses and prepare her to tackle the situation like a level-headed mature woman she was. But all she could think of was the way the woman clung on to Ron's arms, and the way he entertained her while showing her around the showroom. It was really fine until then- after all Hermione was used to seeing girls trying to flirt with Ron.

But tonight was different…

She left the shower after a long time. The bedroom was empty but she could hear voices from the study. The urge to go straight to bed was paramount, but that knowing well that it would only make her more furious, she dressed quickly, picking the most boring sleeping tee and shorts she owned.

Ron was kneeling in front of the fireplace, talking to George whose head was bobbing in the grate, surrounded by green flames.

"Fuck those buggers," fumed her husband, running his fingers through his hair in a familiar fashion.

"I hate to say, this but it seems we've got to look elsewhere," stated George morosely. Hermione walked ahead and pulled a chair for herself. Ron glanced over his shoulder briefly and gave her a tired smile. She turned away, concentrating on the study were papers strewn all over the desk, maps, legal contracts and thick accounting books from the shop.

"-can't believe after everything they are -"

She caught fragments of their conversation and assumed it had to do with the land in France the brothers were working hard to buy. In fact, the party at the showroom was to woo these very same owners who were unwilling to sell but didn't seem against renting off their property- in exchange for an absurd amount of Galleons of course.

"Let me just go through our accounts once more. Maybe, if we can convince her to cooperate, it'll work out in our favour in the end," Ron said. She didn't catch George's reply but the flames in the fireplace died and Ron picked himself up. He dusted the back of his trousers and Hermione cursed herself at the sight. He had dropped his cloak but that well fitting dress shirt strained across his broad shoulders. She reminded herself sternly that she was infuriated with him, and turned away as he collapsed on the chair next to her, while she pretended to be engrossed in the contract.

"Now they want more money," he said without a preamble, "Fucking leeches."

"I don't see why George is adamant about that location," she replied, still avoiding looking at him in the eye. However, she noticed Ron undo a couple of buttons and roll up his sleeves, and swore quietly to herself.

"Y'know he has an uncanny knack of figuring out the most profitable locations. I trust his instincts."

She shrugged and placed the document she was reading back in the envelope. It was tiring, she didn't know how to turn the conversation around without sounding like a immature, jealous wife.

If Ron wasn't so engrossed he'd have picked up on her anguish easily; he could always read her so well. But he had gone back to his papers, flicking through thick accounting books, one hand running through his hair, the quill flicking between his index and middle finger of the other in a familiar gesture of frustration.

"I'm off to bed," she declared, and exactly as expected, it caught his attention.

"Already?" he asked bemused and checked his watch. "Won't you sit here for a while?"

She picked herself up and made her way to the bookshelf, pulled out a random book before she answered. "How does it matter? You seem busy."

He let out an incredulous laugh. "Hermione! We spend most of our time in this room, doing our own stuff till we both decide to go to bed- together!"

She flipped through the book, not catching a single word, a little relieved to be getting the opening she was craving for but at the same time, extremely annoyed at herself for the way she was manipulating their conversation.

"Maybe I just don't want to sit here with you today," she replied in a flat voice, shut the book with a snap and turned around- only to crash against his chest. The hint of his familiar cologne sent shivers through her spine and she backtracked, distancing herself.

"You're acting very strange, y'know?"

"Am I now?" she snapped, and huffed before making another attempt to get away but he blocked her path.

"Okay, what's wrong?" he asked, brows furrowed, looking concerned but amused.

"As if you don't know!" she retorted sharply, and he looked genuinely taken aback. Hermione, literally shaking with fury, pushed him aside and in the hustle the book fell on the floor. Ron caught her hands and promptly lifted her in his arms and carried her to the couch before putting her down, even as she frayed her arms in angry protests. He proceeded to kneel down infront of her and pushed back the locks of wet curls away from her face. Her fury had finally taken the form of tears and were rolling down unabashed.

"What's bothering you?" he asked, tenderly cupping her face and watching, genuinely concerned.

There was a long, mature and well-planned speech she had prepared while in the shower, but what she said was neither well-thought nor mature. "Why are you touching me now?" she spat, jerking her hand and trying to get away.

"Why won't I touch you?" he asked, a little hurt, "I mean, I won't if you don't want me to but-"

"Don't you dare turn it around, Ron!" she cried and stomped her feet, feeling utterly ashamed of the way she was behaving but unable to help. It was the same feeling of hurt and jealousy she had felt back in their sixth year- only it was so much worse now. "You are the one who moved away every time I tried to touch you tonight!" she said finally. The memories made her blood boil. The first time she had thought he just needed his hands free as he showed the guests around the store. The second time she noticed, he averted his eyes, paying more attention to the gorgeous witch instead, and the third time, he practically pried her fingers off his arms.

She didn't even want to be in his vicinity anymore, she decided as more angry tears rolled down and she wiped them off hastily, frustrated with him, herself and the situation.

"Is that what you are mad about?"

"I'm sorry if it sounds silly to you, but I find it a little hard to digest when my husband flirts with a French witch right in front of me, while definitely ignoring me!" she sneered.

"You- Are you barmy? I wasn't flirting with her!" he replied, incredulous, and Hermione realised, she really wanted to believe him.

"Seemed that way to me," she grumbled. She could read him like an open book. So maybe he wasn't doing it intentionally. She sighed helplessly to herself. Jealousy was dying down to be replaced with hurt.

"She's a Veela," he said quietly, and her eyes snapped back at him. "And we're hoping she'll let us use her blood for some of the new ideas George has."

"So she was using all her Veela charms on you?" she asked, hurt and fury bubbling back to the surface. Well, George had a lot to answer to.

"I wouldn't know, would I? Seems I am immune to it now."

She gaped, wide eyed. Ron chuckled at her expression and used his index finger at her chin to help her close her mouth, and followed it up with tracing her lips with his finger. Tenderness that was only for her to see, was reflecting on his hard features. "It doesn't work on me at all, 'Ermione," he breathed, "George wants to use my blood as an antidote- well, that's if she agrees to let us use hers in the first place."

"You realise that it can also mean you were actually flirting with her?"

"Blimey, did it seem that way?" he asked like a confused seventeen-year-old, scratching the back of his neck, "I swear I wasn't trying to flirt. I was only trying to coax her into agreeing."

She knew he was not lying, after all she knew him more than she knew herself, "Did it work?" she asked, fed up with the idiot she was insanely in love with.

"Well, her uncle is still demanding an exorbitant amount," he sighed exasperatedly. "If we manage to convince her, the new products will help a lot with the -" he shrugged, cupped her face and ran his thumb tenderly over her cheeks, wiping away the tear strains. "You are the only one who's charms work on me,"

She snorted and pushed his hands away. "Really? Then why did you move away every time I tried to hold your hand tonight?"

He let go of her and sat back, palms flat on the floor, slightly at an angle to his body, long legs stretched in front of him.

"You really wanna know, why?" he asked, and she felt the familiar jitters run down her spine.

"Yes," she replied in a tone much softer than intended.

"C'mere," he called with a small tilt of his head, and she picked herself up from the couch and sat herself on his lap wordlessly. Hermione was sure those blue orbs had the power to hypnotize people, or maybe it worked only on her, but she was powerless anyway.

He smiled, a small, lopsided curl of his lips as he balanced his weight, placing a palm at the small of her back, scorching her skin with need- even through the cotton.

"You feel it, 'Ermione?" he breathed quietly into her nape, every syllable a wisp of air, setting all her nerve endings on fire. "I know you feel it," he added, his left hand moved into her hair, tugging them ever so slightly to angle her face and bit softly on her earlobe before burying his face deeper into her neck. She sucked in a breath, trying hard to hold onto to her anger but failing miserably. It was as if every bit of her had imbibed his fragrance. She wasn't her own self anymore… she was all his...

"Every touch of yours, even the smallest and the most innocent ones, make me feel like this," he confessed. "It rips me off the ability to think straight." He inhaled deeply, his nose tickling her. Her half-formed chuckle turned into a moan when he untucked her top and pressed his palm firmly on her bare skin, still just at her waist. Her need for him never seemed to dim in the least- no matter how many times they made love, no matter how many years they spent together. Some people had said they'd tire of each other. But despite spending more than half her life with him, Hermione never once felt that way. On the contrary, the love, the need and the desire only seem to get stronger with time.

"All I can think of is touching you," Ron murmured, pulling her closer, pressing his lips to her jaw. "It's barmy perhaps but your touch makes me wanna forget the word and hold on to you. Makes me wanna kiss you till you are fed up and jinx me into oblivion. All I crave for is to bury myself inside you. Every time you touch me, I want wrap my arms around you and never let go, show you how you own . 'Ermione...You know it, don't you?" he asked again before burying his face into her nape, sucking softly on the tender skin.

"Yes…" she whispered in reply. He exhaled and let go a little. Hermione opened her eyes that had fluttered shut in desire even without her realising it. The person she loved best in the whole wide world was still watching her.

"I'm sorry if I've hurt you, Hermione," he sighed, brushing the pad of his thumb over her jaw, "Swear didn't mean to, had no clue… just wanted to keep my head in place, get the deal done and get back to you at the earliest…"

With her heart so full that it made it impossible to frame sentences, Hermione cupped his face and pressed her lips onto his. He moaned into her mouth, wrapping his arms around her and pressing her into him, the urgency of the kiss amplifying with every breath. Her body was practically crying out to have him close, feel his skin on hers. Ron tugged her closer and she whimpered aloud at the feel of his arousal pressing into her.

"I love you, I love you, I love you," he breathed, punctuating every sentence with random kisses on her lips."You, just You, always You, 'Ermione," he added peppering kisses on her jaw and neck. He grabbed the neckline of her tee and pulled it off her shoulder, placing kisses on the newly exposed skin.

Overwhelmed at his frenzied declaration of things she knew about him already, she grabbed him by the shoulders and pressed her lips to his, again. Her arms wrapped around his neck and she threaded her fingers through his hair, pressing herself firmly into him, wishing to blend into one being. Hermione didn't know how it was humanly possible to love someone so much, as if he was a part of her very soul-living in a separate body.

"You are mine," she declared eventually, grabbing and shaking him by the collar, biting him softly on the lips and poking him on his chest with a finger, "Only and forever mine, you understand?"

Ron laughed aloud, his shoulders shaking, and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "I do, 'Ermione …" he replied, his eyes lingering on her lips before meeting hers, " I'm only yours, for all eternity and beyond."