He had known something was off the moment he talked to her.
There was that paranoia again, making him think it was something he had done and she hated him. No matter how many times he had been proven wrong, he still felt it seeping in on occasion. Maybe that a normal side effect of dating – no, being engaged to – his perfect woman. There was a constant fear of fucking it up, of saying the wrong thing, and of scaring her away. That one day, she would realize how crazy it was to be with him and come to her senses.
He had gotten better at pushing that to the back of his mind and trying to be logical about it. She loved him, she had said yes when he proposed – why would she do that if she wanted to leave? Why would she agree to try for a child together if she wanted to leave?
He found that asking those questions quelled his fears and made it easier to focus on cheering her up. Food was his way of coping with a bad day, so cooking something for her to enjoy upon her arrival to their home was what he settled for. A night in after a long weekend away would do her some good.
When she arrived home and began to explain what had happened, he was both relieved that he hadn't done anything and concerned that someone else would coerce her into running.
This had more to do with a judgmental mother and stepfather than it did him. His fear was replaced with anger. Anger that a man could be so focused on money that he would put thoughts in his wife's head about supporting an engagement that probably wouldn't work out. What made it worse was that those thoughts had transferred to her daughter, leaving her upset and uncertain.
They didn't have faith in their relationship because her past two hadn't worked out. It was stupid logic, he knew, but he still wondered if she was starting to question things too, so of course he had asked the question. They had agreed on complete honesty, after all.
She still wanted to get married. He felt the relief at his core.
Her stepfather's opinion and refusal to pay didn't even matter. He had never expected anyone but the two of them to foot the bill for their wedding. The two of them were well off thanks to some less than legal moves by their other selves, so they didn't need them. They didn't need anyone's approval or help. It was their day, and they could do whatever the hell they wanted. They could elope, for all he cared. As long as he was with her, the details didn't matter.
But he knew they did for her. Things like the dress and a big party. He knew their friends would be upset if they ran off and got hitched without telling him. Well, her friends, but he considered them his as well. His friends probably wouldn't care.
Before he realized what was happening, they were planning their wedding. Ideas were being tossed around. No, they couldn't elope and throw the party after, but they could invite everyone to an engagement party and turn it into a surprise wedding. No, he couldn't cook, as much as he might have wanted to, because it was their day and he shouldn't be doing that level of work. They were going to have an actual wedding, albeit a surprise one, not only to prove a point to her mother but because it was what they wanted. It was a way to appease everyone and still do things in their own, unique way.
The simplicity of planning a wedding, or at least figuring out what they needed to do, made him realize just how well they worked together. Being with her had opened his eyes to a lot of things. In the past, he had settled for the sake of being with someone or confused feelings of lust for love. For the first time, the woman he was with was compatible with him in every way. They both harbored mentally unstable people in their heads, for one – that was important.
In that moment, as they agreed this was what they were doing, he knew without a doubt that she was his soulmate, his proverbial one. He had never really believed in the idea of them before, but she had changed his point of view. She had managed to do that on a lot of things.
He didn't know how he had gotten so lucky, but he was done questioning it.