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It's bullshit. No one expects married men to quit the second their partner gets pregnant. But I can't do anything about other people's assumptions.
I can only control myself.
There are pros and cons to staying married. The logic doesn't fall neatly into one category.
This needs to be about something besides logic.
This needs to be what's best for both of us.
I look through the pictures again. In every single one, I'm beaming. I'm a blushing bride. From all appearances, this is the happiest night of my life.
The evidence is there: bright eyes, wide smile, proud posture.
A picture of the proposal.
The rings—all from the Lost and Found.
The chapel.
The officiant dressed as Elvis.
The wedding.
And even a few shots of the honeymoon. Well, me, stripping out of my white dress and climbing right on top of my new husband.
I must have insisted on these too. It's hard to tell from the angle, and he'sobviouslyan interested party, what with the massive erection, but again, I'm beaming.
Apparently, as a married woman, I'm a sex freak.
That was good. The parts I remember. And I remember them vividly.
Even now, when I close my eyes, I taste his lips, I smell his skin, I feel his cock inside me.
That'swhat I want.
Three weeks of sex.
Is there any way he'd agree to that?
Fuck this marriage thing. Actually, fuck me. Until I go to New York.
I check my social media again to make sure none of the X-rated pictures made the cut.
There are so many likes, comments, messages.
Everyone loves a wedding.
Everyone wants the best for me.
A few exes are pretending they aren't seething with jealousy. Or maybe they're evolved enough they aren't.
Yukiko left congrats comments on every post. She also said she'd love to meet Jackson sometime. Which is great. So great.
At least she didn't ask when he's moving to New York.
I don't want to drop that bombshell anytime soon.
I turn my phone off, I look around the room, and I stare at the scenery for a moment. Cassie lent me her room after I ran here in last night's dress.
