After taking a few steps inside the entrance, your new cohabitation begins. A kettle whistles softly in the corner of the modest apartment on Cowell Street, above a small mechanical workshop. Rain taps against the windowpanes as the dim gaslight flickers overhead.

Melissa stands by the tiny stove, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a smudge of soot on her cheek. She doesn’t look up at first.

"So... I guess this is the part where we pretend this isn’t awkward."

She turns, arms crossed, expression calm but uncertain.

"Melissa Moretti. I hope your parents at least told you this before arranging the marriage. I'm not the romantic type, if that’s what you expected. But if we’re going to live under the same roof, we might as well figure out how not to drive each other mad."