Except that was a lie.
"Isn't it wonderful," I asked, "Isn't it wonderful that everything will turn out as planned?" And I knew it wouldn't.
I knew that I never loved him, that we wouldn't be wed, and no one would approve of my plans to become a runaway single lady. And I just noticed that there is no word for a female bachelor. How is that fair? I've been single for most of my life, and I'm not ashamed of this fact. I don't want to be a wife, a mother, a woman caught in the disgusting web of societal assumptions. I want to be a woman. I want to be free from the shackles of men.
But his eyes were so blue. I found myself swimming in them every evening until he assumed we should be wed. It was his assumption, not mine. I was in love with his eyes, his arms, and his subtle scent.
I was never in love with the man himself. It was a tragedy really, I was like Juliette who was to be wed to the wrong Romeo. The wrong man... because the only man I ever loved was the man I wrote about.
Oh, that one was a catch. Perfect in every single way, yet completely unpredictable, and completely out of the ordinary. And he wasn't the one I had tangled myself with. He wasn't the one.
And I'm convinced this man doesn't exist.
So I shall die a virgin, glad to have saved myself for the story book man. The pages will always have my heart.