Strawberry Kisses by Phavy Prieto (always you kirsty moseley .TXT) 📕

"Good morning," I whispered half-asleep. My naked body felt slightly sore under the sheets - the consequence of what would be improper to call sport.

"I don't know if I'm going to miss sex or Damian more," I thought for a moment as several images of that night flashed through my mind.

"Breakfast in bed?" he asked as I turned to him. I saw a tray with orange juice, coffee and toasts with strawberry jam, accompanied by a glass of water with a daisy in it.

"Now I know how a princess feels," I said smiling, sitting up in bed.

"You are a princess," he said moving closer to brush my nose with his. "At least for me," he whispered before brushing my lips with his. I placed my hands on his face to hold him close to me for a few moments.

Could Damian be considered the sweetest man I had met? Certainly. Even though I thought he was faking it, it was inevitable to get carried away by emotions.

"What is this?" I asked as I saw a few envelopes next to the plate.

"Those are the drafts of the invitations. Choose the one you like best so that on Monday we send them to be printed."

My heart began to beat fast. Why the rush? Why not wait? There were too many questions I wanted to ask, but it was impossible to ask even one for fear of hearing the answer.

At first I did not have the courage to confess the feeling that was arising in me even to myself, and I pretended not to be involved. Over time the only thing I wanted was that those days never ended.

I took the three envelopes: one cream-colored, another blue, and the last one purple. I opened the cream-colored envelope. The inside had floral decorations, as did the card, our names were written in gold relief followed by the text in a simple and smaller font in black. I liked it but it seemed too pretentious.

I opened the blue envelope, the ivory-colored card was sober, the font elegant, the names were the same color as the envelope.

Finally, I opened the purple one. The inside had geometric patterns, which I liked very much. The card featured an image of a couple and another image that represented something significant: a train station to remember how they met. Unlike the others, all the text was on one page of the card.

"Which one do you like best?" I asked as I wanted to hear his opinion first.

"I like all three of them, but this is the one I'm least excited about," he replied pointing to the card in the cream-colored envelope.

"I like this one," I said pointing to the purple one. "But I don't know what image we could include."

"Several things come to mind but above all a very specific one," he said with a look that made me blush. "If that's the only problem, then the question is settled. I'll tell my mother we've already decided."

"Already?" I asked surprise.

I thought Damian was pretending and he wouldn't say anything to his mother. Yes, certainly he was: he would never communicate our decision to her, and I was sure that those invitations would never be printed.

"You don't have to worry about anything, she loves taking care of these things. She is very excited and knows that you are very busy at work," he said approaching to give me a kiss on the lips. I then saw him disappear behind the bathroom door from where a few moments later I heard the shower water flow.

Soon after we had to meet Damian's friends. I was particularly nervous because we were going to break the news of our marriage to everyone. I had been reflecting the whole week on the fact that, after the fateful fortnight, the likelihood of seeing them again would be practically nil. Thanks to that thought the sense of guilt that gripped me magically evaporated. But not my discomfort: partly because of the desire to be accepted by them, partly because if I made a good impression on them, I thought that somehow Damian and I could still be together.

My passion for Damian had by now taken possession of my mind and my heart. As much as I tried to force myself to enjoy the present and the devotion that Damian showed me, my rational and methodical brain never stopped predicting a disastrous end.

"I will never get over the end of our story," I thought.

How could I, if Damian was perfect in every sense? He was not only intelligent, wealthy, handsome, attractive and without a single physical defect, but he always behaved like a perfect Prince Charming fulfilling or anticipating my every wish.

At that moment the desire to reveal what I was feeling resurfaced with great force. What could happen if I confessed to him what I felt? The answer was very simple: it would be over immediately.

Damian made it clear that our relationship would end in two weeks, that we would be living those weeks so intensely that we'd believe it was all true. Everything had a beginning and an end: including the possible love that we could have felt for each other in the meantime.

No, I was not going to say anything or I would have deprived myself of his company a week in advance, because one of my few certainties was that Damian Devoir would never fall in love with a girl like me.

Because of a stupid prejudice of mine I was convinced that Damian's friends, given their economic and social status, would look down on me. So I chose the only designer dress available in my wardrobe. Instead, it was a real surprise to discover they were simple and friendly people like Damian.

Pablo and Alvaro were the only single guys, while Alberto, Ricardo and Manuel were accompanied by