I’m staring at my motherfucking marriage license. We both signed it. “No one’s talking about it on the internet,” Jack tells me. “Which means we somehow did this without paparazzi or people noticing.” “Of course we fucking did.” I fold the piece of paper. “I’m a strategic genius, Highland. I can get married without it being on the news the next day. Apparently, I’m so fucking good, I even hid it from myself.” I start laughing, but it’s a stressed, panicked sound.
