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“No,” he snapped. As if that wasn’t predictable. I pouted and kicked off my heels. I’d worn a dress, one of the few I owned, and fiddled with the little gold buttons on the bodice, hoping they didn’t look cheap. “I already told you you look beautiful,” said Jackson, still staring out the window. “Stop fussing.” I liked him telling me I looked beautiful. Every time he said it, I felt like a cat stroked down its back. “Yes, but do I look wifely?” I was still worried about making a good impression on his parents. I wasn’t thinking of me. I was thinking of him, and how he’d die of exposure from the elements within a week if he became homeless and had to live under a bridge. Jackson sent me a searing sideways glance. His voice came out rough. “I told you not to worry.” I sighed. “Yes, yo
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