“Rings,” the priest says, gesturing toward our hands. “You’re skipping steps, Mr. Anderson.” “Kind of like you skipped courting, proposing, or generally asking for my consent in any of this,” I mutter, watching as Kal reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a burlap pouch. “Would you have said yes?” I blink, frowning. “What?” “If I’d asked.” He pulls one ring out, a simple black band, and shoves it onto his own finger, then reaches for mine. “Would you have said yes?” “I…” In truth, I want to say yes. That my infatuation with this known killer would’ve led me to do anything he asked of me.
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