“I didn’t want to marry you,” she says, her voice soft and unlike I’ve ever heard it before. A lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. Such a familiar fucking sentiment. “So you keep saying.” “What do you expect me to do here?” she asks, pushing up out of her seat. She wobbles, off balance for a half second, before gathering herself and crossing her arms over her chest. I’m hit with the tangy, sweet pomegranate scent of her shampoo, and I’m half tempted to draw her into my arms and show her what I should expect of her as my new wife. All the ways I’d worship her tight, perfect
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