"You married me," I remind him again.
"I'm starting to think that was a mistake."
I lean one hip against the foot of the bed. "You don't get to regret it yet. It's been less than five hours."
"Give me time," he says. "I'm still itchy
"Good."
He watches me with that sharp focus he always has, like he's cataloging every movement. "You enjoyed it."
"Did I enjoy you losing control?" I correct. "Yes I very much did."
He exhales slowly. "You're going to be a problem little spit fire."
I smile. "Stop calling me that and I already am."
A nurse knocks lightly and steps in, checking his vitals, adjusting something on the IV. Zane answers her questions with clipped efficiency. I step back, giving space, once again aware of the ridiculousness of my dress, the fact that I'm standing here married and barefoot in a hospital room.
When the nurse leaves, Zane looks at me again. "They cancelled the reception."
"I heard."
"My mother is furious."
