"Yeah." She whispered close to his ear, "Your wife is back."
Morris Jackson lifted her hand off his eyes and his blurred gaze fell on Lyra Smith's face. After a brief eye contact, he called out softly, "Wife."
His voice was gentle, carrying the husky magnetism from intoxication and a sexy deep tone.
Lyra felt that this time, his calling her "wife" sounded even better than any of the times before on the bed.
Her heart stirred slightly, and her dark lashes trembled lightly. She responded softly, "Yes, I'm here."
"We're getting married." He said.
Lyra answered him, "Yes, getting married."
"This time it's for real, on New Year's Day."
Lyra followed his words, "Yes, on New Year's Day."
"Just over a month left."
"Yes, just over a month."
"Lyra."
"Huh?"
Morris Jackson said, "My uncle and aunt have given their approval; I can finally bring you home as my proper wife."
"Yes, going home with you." Lyra kept smiling. He'd say a sentence, and she'd smile and pick up the next one.
