“You did what?” I turned to Jack, who suddenly became very interested in his cake. My mother sighed dramatically. “I raised you better than this, Giselle.
What kind of normal person pretends to be broke?”
Jack and I just exchanged a look. “We’re insane,” he whispered. “But perfectly matched!” I grinned.
And at the end of the day, that was all that mattered. A few months after our wedding, Jack and I were lounging on his (real) luxury couch, scrolling through apartments to buy together. “You know what I miss?” he said suddenly, looking nostalgic.
“If you say that death trap couch —”
“Martha would be heartbroken to hear that.”
“Martha tried to impale me with a spring!”
He kissed my forehead, chuckling. “I love you!”
“I love you too,” I smiled. “Even if you are a terrible actor who thought a hot plate made your poverty story more believable.”
“Hey, that hot plate performance was Oscar-worthy!” he laughed.
And just like that, we were back to being us. Two ridiculous people who found each other in the most unexpected way, proving that sometimes the best love stories aren’t about wealth or status… they’re about two people who can laugh at themselves, keep each other’s secrets, and fall in love over instant ramen, broken heaters, and a dusty old couch adorned with patchwork.
