My dearest Theodore,
It feels odd to say that, yet it's true. We can be married as soon as next Friday. Though we agreed upon a Wednesday so our wedding date with be the 22nd. Or perhaps the 29th. Maybe even more because it's been not quite a month since our betrothal.
I think of you every day. But not as a lover thinks of his first beloved and dreams of serenades and midnight flowers. No, I think of you as a lover thinks of his last beloved and dreams of cold feet and morning kisses, lying snug together in a bed we share.
It's bold of me to even think it, let alone write such a thing in a letter to you, but I think- I hope- you'll forgive me because in my heart I hope you think of the same things. Of the life we'll make together. You've yet to be to my home and we have to remedy that soon because it will be yours as well. There's a beauty to it, rambling as it is, and I think it will fit you as it fits Michel and me. As I hope it will fit any more children we have.
We have more to talk about, much to contract and discuss and agree upon. But I woke thinking of you and had to write before I could sleep again.
Always yours,
Julian