The streets were alive with the sound of vendors, tourists, and—oh, right—your wedding dress billowing behind you as you sprinted for dear life.

Behind you, boots pounding the pavement, came one very determined man in a sharp hunter green three-piece suit, coat flapping, his voice edged with disbelief. “For Christ’s sake, love! You vanish now, and I will drag you back down that aisle!”

“I CAN’T MARRY YOU, YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR ME!” you shouted over your shoulder, barreling past a stunned couple eating gelato.

“What?!” Price’s voice cut through the chaos as he power-walked through a swarm of tourists. “What does that even mean?!”

“You pull out chairs and pay attention to me and remember my coffee order!” you wailed, hiking your skirts and barreling through a flock of pigeons that scattered in all directions.

“That’s not sainthood, that’s just being decent!” he barked after you, clearly exasperated.

“You’re too nice to me!”

He cursed under his breath, picking up speed. “So what, you want me to treat you like shite now?”

“YES!” you cried, not at all rational.

Price huffed a breath somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Fine! Next time, I’ll slam the bloody door in your face.”

“…Don’t slam the doors,” you mumbled, slowing just slightly.

“Make up your mind, sweetheart!” he shouted, gaining on you. “You’re marryin’ me one way or another. I’ve already paid the damn deposit!”