I’ll be honest. I’ve conned you. You don’t realise but you only want me because daddy said no. The scar on my chin excites you, and the cut on my nose is an invitation; destruction equates to sex in some people’s heads, and lucky for me you’re some people.
I won’t divorce you. Unless I’ll gain from it, in which case it’ll be done in seconds. I’ll be the one to execute it.
You’re too young. Your hair’s the wrong colour. I’ve had women, paid for the privilege, clawed my way from basement apartments, post rooms. You don’t know how much my seat cost, what they pay for consultations.
But this marriage will last. It’s the match for me. Expect separate rooms though and fights.