My Fiancée and Her Plus One
Beatrice froze for a beat, then tossed the portraits back into the fire.
"Jojo's scared of bugs. I'll draw you new ones later."
"Don't bother," I said.
There was no 'later' for us.
The flames roared, faded, and died, leaving nothing but ash.
Just like us.
I dumped the ashes, then posted: [Five days left, counting today.]
Crashed in the guest room, as far from the master bedroom as I could get.
By morning, my feed was full—friends joking, asking if I was sprinting to marry Beatrice.
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