An island home in Bermuda... Yeah, no. She had never wanted to live in Bermuda. She preferred the climates of Ireland. That said, she would have liked some place like Vermont. But yeah, the cruise had kind of ruined any ideas of a syrup farm... Not that she'd had those ideas. Although she did now.
He snorted at his squeamishness and covered the scar up again rather dismissively. He'd seen it a hundred times before when they were having sex. How could he possibly not stand it now?
<"They seem to be stupid enough for that to be fine but when there's that one person who says that's not enough, what then?"> On the rare occasions she thought ahead, it was pretty serious. Usually she just went with whatever Cathair said. Not this time. What Cathair said had gotten them into this mess. She wanted to know so they'd cross that bridge now.
She didn't fight him and pressed her ear to his chest so she could listen to his heart. She did that when she could because the thudding inside was just... familiar to her from all the time's she'd fallen asleep in the same way before they were even close to being married. Those times of overwork, overstudying, overeverything.