Maddox The mirror whined as I wiped away the condensation with a towel. I’d spent extra time under the hot water of the shower, just as I spent extra time driving home from class, and extra time finding the perfect gift for Travis. Nothing about today would be rushed. I would savor every moment with my husband. My husband. Even after almost a year, the title still sounded so foreign and so natural at the same time. If anyone had told me when I came to college that I would end up married before the end of my freshman year, I would have given them the finger. Some people just aren’t the marrying type. I’m one of them, and so is Travis. Somehow, though, we not only made it work, the last year was the happiest of my life. The towel fell to the floor, and I looked down, inspecting the dark, elegant lines on skin. My fingers tugged gently, making the ink stretch, and then I let go, running over each delicate curve with my fingertip. I was still Mrs. Maddox, and not once did regret coincide with my memory of getting that tattoo, or my crazy idea to run off to Vegas and get married.
