Page 122 of Six Month Wife
“Technically, it was just over a month,” I say, arching a brow.
Laughter ripples through the room, but he doesn’t look away.
“You stayed,” he says quietly. “You saw the mess, the flaws, all the broken parts, and you stayed. Somehow, you made all of it make sense.”
His voice drops.
"I want to marry you forever this time, Adair. Not for a month or six months. I'm asking you if you'll give me your forever? I want you to be my forever wife."
My heart stumbles in my chest.
“I want forever this time. Not months. Not a clause. Just you. My forever wife.”
My heart stumbles.
“I want forever with you,” I whisper, bending until our noses almost touch. “It’s always been you.”
He slides the ring on my finger. Simple. Perfect.
“Yes?” he asks.
Later, as the music swells and we sway beneath the flicker of candlelight and chandeliers, his hand finds the small of my back—familiar, sure, possessive in the best way. He leans in, lips brushing my temple. “I love you, Adair.”
It’s not for the crowd. Not for the story.
It’s for me.
I tip my chin, meet his gaze. “I love you, too.”
Then I smirk. “Even if you did trick me into marriage.”
He laughs against my mouth. “Had to lock down the best thing that ever happened to me, even if I didn’t know how to understand it at the time.”
“Damn right,” I murmur.
I press my cheek to his chest. His heartbeat is solid under my palm, steady in a way nothing used to be.
The music swells again. Laughter rolls behind us. Glasses clink. But in here, in this hold, in this moment, I’m exactly where I belong.
No contracts. No conditions. Just us.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “This is forever.”
Six Months Later
The mirrorin front of me is big enough to host its own bridal party. I lean in, swipe a finger under my eye, and try not to cry before the mascara sets.
Behind me, Jenna tosses a tube of lip gloss into her clutch and flops onto the velvet bench like she’s the one about to walk down the aisle.
“You know,” she says, stretching her legs out in front of her like a cat, “for someone getting marriedagain, you’re weirdly calm.”
I glance at her in the mirror. “Because I’m doing it on purpose this time. That helps.”
She snorts. “Still weird.”
I roll my eyes and turn to face her. “What did you expect? A panic spiral? Me pulling a runaway bride in Jimmy Choos?”
“You know I love a little drama,” Jenna says, popping a strawberry into her mouth from the silver tray the club insisted on. “I am an aspiring actress, after all.”
