“You’re still my wife, Sylvie. I’m not just going to get rid of you.” “Technically…” I start, about to point out the fact that we are neither real nor fake married anymore. “Don’t say it,” he groans. “We will be fixing that as soon as I recover from this bloody jet lag.” “What?” I snap, staring at him in shock. “Getting married?” “Yes,” he mumbles. I let out a gasp as I try to move away. “You’re not even going to ask me first?” “I don’t need to ask you,” he complains. “Why not?” I shriek. “Because I know what you’ll say. What the fuck is the point of asking?” “To be romantic!” I try to climb
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