“This. Being blackmailed into a marriage with someone like me. Having to put your life on hold for six months. I expected you to be wary. Reluctant. Scared. You seem . . . unnaturally nonchalant.” “You think I’m mentally unstable?” I take a leaf of lettuce, wrap it around a cherry tomato, and dip it into the mayonnaise while Roman regards me with interest. “Are you?” he asks. “Mentally unstable?” “Of course not. I’m the embodiment of mental stability. Ask anyone.”
