“What the hell?”
“Hi.”
His eyes went from my face to the suitcase by the door and back again. I was in a simple fitted white dress, hair done, makeup perfect. Nothing princess-like. But there was no mistaking what it was.
“Change of plans. We’re flying to Vegas.”
“I’m not marrying you just because you got some idea in your head,” he said.
I almost laughed. “Who said I’m marrying you?”
“What?”
“I’m going to Vegas. I’ll decide there.”
“Vegas? What’s gotten into you?”
“Who said I’m marrying you?”
I held out the folded paper. He read the first line and went pale.
“You went through my stuff?”
“I was putting your keys away.”
“That’s private.”
“In bed, six out of ten?”
“Jesus.”
“Vegas? What’s gotten into you?”
“Cleaning, nine. At least I excel somewhere.”
“Can we please talk about this?”
“We did. Last night.”
I picked up the suitcase. He stepped in front of the door.
