The bottle of firewhiskey momentarily stopped him in his tracks. Had she pulled that out in reaction to his moving to find a glass? Or had she been planning this all day, anticipating by the time they reached their hotel room that he would have frayed through the last edges of his nerves and would need alcohol to soothe them back down? Merlin. They'd been married less than five hours and already he was a terrible husband. Already she was going far out of her way to cater to his whims. Meanwhile, he had done nothing for her — unless one counted the wedding itself as something he'd gone through with only for her sake, which wouldn't be terribly far off the mark.
He accepted the glass and the bottle and retreated to a chair. He felt somewhat chastened by the gift, but not enough to derail him from this particular train of thought. He'd disagreed with almost every part of the vows they'd recited in the church that afternoon, and he had decided it was important to clear the air between them early on rather than continuing under false pretenses. Whether she really agreed or whether she was only trying to make him more comfortable was unclear, but in either case, he was pressing on.
"Then we'll start now," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat as he poured himself a drink. "Starting with 'forsaking all others.' That's rubbish," he pronounced. "And I know what you're thinking, about — you said before if I — that's not it. It's that I don't want you vowing to forsake all others," he explained. He was being less articulate than he would have liked, but given how tense he'd been all day he could hardly expect to be suave. "Because some women end up..." He faltered, unsure how much he wanted to say at first, then took a breath and continued in a slightly more level tone. "I've slept with a good number of married women. Their marriage gets stale and stifling and they're lonely, and miserable, until they can't take it any more and they find someone like me to make them feel better, and then afterwards they feel so guilty. And I know right now you're all optimism about this whole thing, but if we're talking about vows, if we're talking about forever, I want you to know that don't want your connection to me to leave you feeling lonely or miserable or guilty."
He accepted the glass and the bottle and retreated to a chair. He felt somewhat chastened by the gift, but not enough to derail him from this particular train of thought. He'd disagreed with almost every part of the vows they'd recited in the church that afternoon, and he had decided it was important to clear the air between them early on rather than continuing under false pretenses. Whether she really agreed or whether she was only trying to make him more comfortable was unclear, but in either case, he was pressing on.
"Then we'll start now," he said, swallowing a lump in his throat as he poured himself a drink. "Starting with 'forsaking all others.' That's rubbish," he pronounced. "And I know what you're thinking, about — you said before if I — that's not it. It's that I don't want you vowing to forsake all others," he explained. He was being less articulate than he would have liked, but given how tense he'd been all day he could hardly expect to be suave. "Because some women end up..." He faltered, unsure how much he wanted to say at first, then took a breath and continued in a slightly more level tone. "I've slept with a good number of married women. Their marriage gets stale and stifling and they're lonely, and miserable, until they can't take it any more and they find someone like me to make them feel better, and then afterwards they feel so guilty. And I know right now you're all optimism about this whole thing, but if we're talking about vows, if we're talking about forever, I want you to know that don't want your connection to me to leave you feeling lonely or miserable or guilty."
Lou made this! <3