“No,” he agrees. “But husbands and wives do.”
My pulse starts to throb in my temple. “We aren’t really husband and wife, Misha. That was your lie. You got what you wanted. It’s over now.”
“No,” he repeats, “I didn’t. And it’s not. Because you and I are getting married.”
We’re checked out of the hospital and in his car before I can even begin to process what Misha just said to me.
“We’re going to get married?”
I repeat the words slowly, hoping that they’ll start to make more sense this time around. Nope. Better luck next time.
“I’m sorry. Have you gone insane?”
“You’re pregnant,” he points out. “With my child. Thus, we’re getting married.”
“What kind of archaic nonsense is that?” I scoff. “We aren’t going to get married and play House because of a one-night-stand.”
“No. We’re going
