It's only been a week since our arranged marriage. Her father, the Tsar of the Vorovskoy Mir Mob, arranged our marriage; she is still timid. I had fallen for her a year before I stood at the altar. She didn't know, though

A year ago, I saw her perform Swan Lake, and I've been a goner since then. I've come to her every ballet

I do not care that she is mute

She curtsied and bowed on that grand stage, her tutu bouncing about. Her smile was beautiful and she never failed to take my breath away. I stood up and waited for her backstage to hand her a bouquet of red roses. She blushed and nodded to me

"You were beautiful, my angel. As always," I signed in RSL to her