Marcus' lips curled into a gentle smile. "Lila, I love you more than I love myself. Even if you wanted my life, I would give it to you."
He was still the same as before—putting on a show, making sure that no matter the setting, no matter the audience, his love for me appeared unwavering.
Just as he was about to lean in and pull me into his arms, I shoved him away, disgust curling in my stomach.
"I want to eat cake," I said flatly.
Marcus chuckled and playfully tapped my nose. "Don’t eat too much. I’m taking you to my mother’s house later."
"I already bought the gifts for you."
Every time we visited his mother, Marcus—the ever-filial son—would bring a pile of gifts and then tell her they were from me, her future daughter-in-law.
His mother neither liked nor disliked me. To her, whoever married her son would be family, as long as she could provide grandchildren.
She lived in the suburbs, in a farmhouse Marcus had bought for his parents. The elderly couple preferred a quiet life in the mountains, tending to their vegetable garden and raising chickens in the spacious yard.
As soon as our car stopped, Vivian came bounding toward Marcus like an excited bird, throwing herself into his arms.