A barely perceptible smile played on his lips—that resolute smile I knew all too well.
He was certain I loved him to the core and could never bear to leave.
He pulled out his phone and sent me a message, as if bestowing a favor, [Terra, you're the one who pretended to be dead and lied. Go home now and apologize properly and I'll forgive you.]
The message went unanswered.
He replied coldly, [No reply in half an hour, wedding canceled.]
He waited for an hour.
The quiet air felt heavy and suffocating him.
Just when I thought Maximo's patience had run out, he suddenly put down his phone, stood up and opened the refrigerator.
Half an hour later, three of my favorite dishes were on the table.
He snapped a photo and sent it to me, [I already told you I treated Matilda first because she had a seizure. You were only lightly bumped a few times, but she was scared and crying. Can’t you be more understanding?]
He sighed, as if making some grand compromise, [You don’t have to apologize this time. But don’t let it happen again. We’re getting married—don’t be so childish. Come back soon, we’ll get our marriage certificate after dinner.]
The message had just been sent when a phone call popped up.