My hands roamed every inch of his immaculate, God-tier torso, while his lips and tongue explored every part of me, leaving my knees buckling under the weight of it all.
But out of nowhere, Elvis’s stupid words startedringing in my head like a never-ending fucking alarm I can’t figure out how to shut off.
In sickness and health.
Sickness and health.
They tried to creep in when he first said them, but I shoved them back.
Now they’re here in full force, echoing louder than I can handle, and I can’t outrun them.
Why couldn’t my brain save this little meltdown for later?
In sickness and in health.
I need to come clean.
It feels wrong to start this new, forced chapter with a lie.
I mean, I’m not technically lying. Just…withholding the truth.
Because the reality of my situation is different from most: I’m trying to navigate life with a brand-new diagnosis—a debilitating chronic illness—while marrying a man I probably won’t even speak to a year from now.
A man who unknowingly has helped me through so much of it already, without even the slightest hint as to what I’m dealing with behind closed doors.
And, unfortunately, I owe him an apology for how I snapped this morning, no matter how justified it felt at the time.
I yelled at him and stormed out of his hotel room.
Over a fucking alarm.
Analarm.
When I got back to my room, Lizzie and Jenna were still asleep.
I went down a rabbit hole, researching what would happen if I accidentally skipped a dose of my medication entirely or took it later than scheduled.
The answer? Nothing.
Nothing would happen.
I overreacted because I panicked, and he didn’t deserve to be on the other end of my wrath. He was right, I am fucking exhausted. My sleep-in this morning was completely necessary, and I felt better for it.
All thanks to him.
My eyes rake over him as he sits at the edge of the bed in just his boxer briefs, me still fully clothed in my wedding dress.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his deep blue eyes staring up at me like he’s trying to predict my next move, but is struggling.
I pulled back the second things started feeling too real. Too intimate.
But now, all I can do is stare at the room with petals and candles scattered. A scene set by someone who clearly gives a damn about me.
"Yes. No. I think so?" I groan with a slight shake of my head. "God, I don’t know. I need to tell you something, I just don’t know where to start," I say, and his face pales.
"You’re not, you know," he says, circling a hand in front of his stomach like he’s miming a baby bump.
I blink at him.
