After I said my I do and Wren kissed my lips for the first time, I passed out at nagising ako kinaumagahan nang may headache dahil sa hangover.
I didn't know if marrying him was a bad or good idea because I felt no difference.
We've been in a relationship for six years already so for me, marrying him wasn't a big deal. It was just the same as him being my boyfriend.
"Gising na ang misis ko," my husband said when I entered the kitchen, where he was cooking breakfast.
I rolled my eyes, sat on the dining chair, and gripped my own hair.
"Parang stupid," I uttered, which he just laughed at.
"Vegetarian breakfast for my wife," he said as he put it above the table and the smell instantly made my mouth water.
This was one of the perks of marrying a culinary student—palaging masarap ang ulam.
"Don't call me that outside or when someone is with us," I told him.
"That?" he asked—confirming what I meant.
I sighed to stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Your wife."
His movements slowed down as he was taken aback but I didn't regret what I said because that's what I wanted—I didn't want anyone to know that we're married because they'd totally go bonkers and would ask me millions of questions about how that happened, which I'd really hate.
"Bakit?" he asked after a while.
"Dahil ayaw ko." I shrugged and grabbed a plate to have my breakfast—dismissing this conversation.
I sensed that he wanted to ask me further but he chose to keep quiet, which I appreciated because I didn't want to entertain it anymore.
After I finished eating, I headed right away to the bathroom to take a shower because I felt sticky and I was still wearing my clothes from yesterday.
I really hate wearing my outside clothes to bed because that's disgusting. But sometimes, I can't help it, especially when I'm passed out. So I always make sure that once I wake up, I clean myself deep into the bones.
I took a long bath and used my husband's bath essentials because mine ran out, and then I walked out wearing his shirt because I didn't have my clothes with me.
"Uuwi ako. Lani texted, said mom was looking for me," I informed my husband—talking about my younger sister.
From tapping on his laptop while sitting on the bed, he looked up at me and smiled.
"Ngayon na?" he asked—closing the gadget and placing it on the side table as he stood up.
I nodded and watched him walk toward me.
"Tara na," he uttered—putting his arm around my shoulders, and then he kissed the top of my head.
Last night—or earlier this morning, when we got married was the first time he kissed me on the lips because I never let him before. He can kiss my forehead, cheeks, hands, and hair, but never my lips, until I became his Mrs. Wrenaldo Ayala.
We rode the elevator together and walked out together as well when it opened to the parking lot, where we immediately hopped in his car.
My parents' house—or more like my mother's, because my dad is a useless bastard.
My blood instantly boiled just by the thought of him. I hate to curse because it's unethical, but if it was him I was cursing, so be unethical.
I was twisting my engagement ring on my finger as we drove our way to the house until we finally arrived.
