Emma looked up at him, eyes defiant yet shy, her lips curving ever so slightly. "You said we were married, didn't you?" she asked softly.
Elias straightened, towel forgotten in his hand. "I—yes, but you were angry, I thought—"
"Of course, I was angry." She smoothed the folds of her skirt, her movements deliberate, nervous. "You got us married without telling me. Who does that?"
He winced. "Me, apparently."
Her gaze flicked to him with his beautiful the damp hair, the clean shirt, the guilt written all over his face. Then she sighed, shaking her head. "But since I'm married, I suppose I should look the part."
Elias's heart skipped. "You mean… you're not angry?"
"Oh, I'm furious," she said, walking closer until she stood just before him. Her blush deepened. "But I can't exactly stay mad at my husband on our wedding day, can I?"
Elias's lips parted. His heart felt too big for his chest. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.
