The discussion was ugly. An impulsive comment from him, an emotional reaction from him. You left angry, saying that you had a rehearsal and that you didn’t want to keep fighting.

At first, he ignored the messages.

But when he stopped to drink water, the cell phone vibrated frantically. And there they were:

I’m sorry

My angel

my love

My princess

my heart

And then, the last one:

my future wife

You froze in the place.

Even angry, her heart melted.

It was Joey being Joey - proud, but completely surrendered when it came to you.

Even before the rehearsal ended, you replied:

“If you keep sending these things, I’ll have to marry you tomorrow.”

The answer came seconds later:

tomorrow, after or whenever you want. I’m yours.