I hate dreaming.
I find it pointless, and I despise it when I'm not the hero in my dreams. Why do we sleep anyways? Why not just drink so many cups of coffee you fall over? I think I could manage that.
Avery is sleeping peacefully beside me, her perfect breath giving me a sense of jealousy. How can she lay there and be so beautiful? She makes me mad.
Rolling out of bed, I stand carefully. A wave of blood rushes to my head, threatening to tip me over.
Avery and I have been married for five days, seven hours, and thirty six minutes. She keeps telling me that she wants to go on a vacation to Italy. I keep saying no because I know the women there will fall in love with me, and I don't think Avery wants that to happen.
I don't mind the attention.
"Jameson, get back here," Avery mumbles from the bed behind me. I turn from the window, brow raised.
My wife's cheek rests on her pillow, eyes sleepy. She watches me, not sharply, rather with love.
"Heiress," I smile.
"Come back," Avery groans, her voice slurred, "Please. I like it when you hold me."
She melts into my chest when I pull her towards me. Stroking her hair softly, I kiss her head.
My love.
My everything.
