We ran out of there as though we’d be caught at any moment, which was stupid, considering we weren’t doing anything wrong. Our contracts stated we could divorce, but they said nothing about remarrying. We didn’t make it home. We made it to an old, dilapidated barn behind the ferry station, my poor lace gown mauled by Jude’s hungry hands. “I got to wear white, after all,” I said between kisses. My dress was an exact replica of the one I’d worn to our first wedding; only it was white instead of black. “What do you mean?” He unzipped his pants, then got back to work on peeling the flowing sea of
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