Tessie D

We haven’t slept together yet. Angel slept on the couch all weekend, and I slept in the bed by myself. It wasn’t at all like I’d imagined my honeymoon would be.

I busied myself around the cabin—cleaning, trying to distract myself from the tension.

“Stop. You have to stop,” he says. “You’re my wife, not my servant.”

“Am I? Your wife?”