I kept crying, turning my wet face against his neck. When he kissed my cheek, I startled. 

I whispered back, our faces close. "You want to spend the rest of your life with a murderer? Are you crazy?" The floors whooshed by outside. "You don't know me. This isn't really me. This is the prep team and the stylist and make up and a fancy dress that I will never wear again." But wouldn't it be beautiful if he knew what he was getting into and actually loved me?