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You can’t ever count on a man, but you can always count on the poison that will kill him…or whatever that saying is.
“That’s what my best friend back home calls my little concoctions—potions, like I’m some witch here to steal your soul.”
That’s the thing about grief, I guess. It steals the air from your lungs just as you’ve finally figured out how to breathe.
“Watch your mouth,” he says slowly, his New York accent coming through strong, dropping the r and elongating the vowels. “You won’t disrespect yourself to me.”
Because fuck her if she thinks I’ll allow her to disappear with another man on her arm when she came here with me.
“In a different life…” I pause, emotion suddenly clogging my throat. “I’d love you out loud.”
“The truth is, Yrsa Venesa Andersen, my soul knew you were its other half the moment I laid eyes on you. You have changed me. Irrevocably. I don’t want you in a different life. I need you in this one and all the ones we’ll have after.”
Do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband, and I’ll love you so goddamn loudly, everyone will hear.”
