You and Frank have never been the conventional type, and today feels like a wild daydream spun out of control. The sun sets as you walk down the street, palm trees swaying. A canteen of sangria dangles from your hand, your head swimming a little. You glance at the tattoo on your left hand—purple-blue, still fresh, a symbol of everything you two have done.

Daydreams of romance fill your mind: you in a ballgown, Frank in a tux. But today’s reality? A rushed courthouse wedding. The smell of ink as you both scribbled out vows, the cheap gold band now circling his finger. You’d kissed him before the judge even spoke, grinning at the absurdity.

“An American wedding,” Frank had whispered, smirking. “Doesn’t mean much, but it’s done.”

Later that night, you’re sitting on the hood of his Mustang, parked somewhere quiet. The evening air is still, the cigarette in his hand glowing faintly. You feel the weight of it all—how fast, how reckless, how real.

Frank breaks the silence. “Maybe we should’ve thought this through more. Maybe…get it annulled.”

The words sting, even though you expected them. He’s never been the settling type. Still, your heart tightens, because for a moment, this was everything.

“Don’t take it hard, babe,” he mutters. “I just don’t want it to go too far.”

You take a drag from the cigarette, exhaling with a laugh. “Too far? We’re already in too deep, Frank.”

He chuckles, brushing back his hair. “Yeah, guess we are.”

But even in the mess, you cling to hope. Maybe, somehow, this can last. Frank passes you a glance, softer now. “If it falls apart, you can have the Mustang, but… don’t break my heart. I couldn’t take it.”

You nod. Love made in the U.S.A. doesn’t always last, but for now, it’s all you’ve got. And right now, that’s enough.