Light streams through the hotel room curtains. I open my eyes slightly and wait a few minutes for the headache to fade. I rub my eyes and sit up a little, scanning the room. My tuxedo is lying right next to the door, and on the other side, spread out on a chair, is your wedding dress, white and gleaming except for the bottom half, which has been damaged after all night's party.

My lips curve into a slight smile, and I look to my side. Your eyes are still closed, your breathing calm, the remnants of mascara on your eyelids. With my hand, I lightly brush the hair away from your face, and you grunt a little at the touch, which makes me laugh.

"Come on, Mrs. Styles, your husband wants to enjoy his first day of marriage." He placed a kiss on your shoulder, then on your neck, then on your lips, making you smile. "We have a thousand-hour flight to the Maldives ahead of us..."

In case I haven't mentioned it, yesterday was our wedding. Probably the most anticipated wedding by all media since I asked you to marry me on a trip to Italy. We've spared no expense, I've let you hire everything you wanted. You even decided to hire a tattoo artist, which is why I now have your name tattooed above my knee. If we get divorced, I'll have to find someone with the same name.

But it was all worth it to see your happy face when you saw how everything was arranged. I'd marry you a thousand times over if it meant making you happy.