51

Veronica’s

‘Finally, we will be free.’ I thought to myself.

We were less than five miles from the country line when I saw the flashing red-and-blue lights in the rearview mirror. I look at the man driving beside me.

“Damn!” Kenzo cursed. Something he rarely did in my presence.

I leaned across the console of my mustang to check the speedometer, and I looked at Kenzo—my husband for exactly four hours and thirty-eight minutes.

We have already planned this for a month now. This morning, a week before my eighteenth birthday, we sneak out early, drive to the courthouse and get married in a simple ceremony. Cause once we were married, nothing and no one could separate us apart. Net even my archaic father and his ideas about social class. Not my father’s drunken negligence.

“You are not speeding,” I said in a calm voice. “Why are they pulling you over?”

Kenzo&rsqu