19
JULIETTE
I’m goingto marry him.
The thought hits me before I’m even fully awake, like my brain spent all night processing his casual “we should get married” from last night and came to this conclusion without consulting me.
Rodriguez, who asked me to marry him like he was suggesting we go see a movie, is watching me sleep. I can tell by the way he’s breathing, and the fact that he has zero concept of personal boundaries. I have the wild urge to giggle at the absolute absurdity of the situation.
I crack one eye open to peek at him, and yep, he’s propped up on one elbow, hair everywhere, grinning down at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“Morning, future wife.”
“Staring is creepy. Hasn’t anyone ever told you that?” My voice comes out rough.
“You were asleep, so you couldn’t even tell.”
“I could tell. You know I can’t actually marry you if you don’t tell me your first name.”
“What’s in a name?” He’s doing a terrible Shakespearevoice now. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”
“Oh my god, stop. I already told you the Romeo and Juliet thing isn’t funny. I will literally smother you with a pillow.”
“You don’t even know my name and you’re already threatening murder? That’s honestly very Shakespearean of you.”
I raise my arm, reaching for a pillow from above our heads but he catches my hand and pins it there. “When we get home I’m logging into Marnie’s medical files and looking you up.”
“That’s probably illegal.”
“I don’t care. I need to know what’s going on the marriage certificate.”
He laughs and buries his face into my neck. “You just admitted you’re thinking about the marriage certificate.”
“I admitted nothing.” I struggle against him slightly, his hand tightens on my wrist and I hate that I want to arch up into him. “It’s too early for this. What time is it?”
He leans over me and grabs his phone from the nightstand. “Almost eight thirty.”
“I need to be at the bridal suite by ten.”
He releases my wrist and threads his fingers through my hair, catching slightly on the tangles. “That gives us an hour and a half.”
“For what?”
“For this.” He leans in to kiss me.
I pull back. “Ugh! Morning breath.”
“Bathroom. Now. Both of us.”
We stumble out of bed and into the bathroom. Stand at the double sinks brushing our teeth side by side. He keeps making faces in the mirror, crossing his eyes, puffing out his cheeks with toothpaste foam, until I’m laughing around my toothbrush and nearly choking.
This is stupid. Perfect, but stupid. And I’m finding it way funnier than it probably is.
When we’re done he moves behind me and wraps his armsaround my waist. We’re both looking at our reflection. His chin hooks over my shoulder and I can feel his breath against my neck.
“You know what we haven’t done all week?”
“What?”
