Olivia laughed softly, her cheeks glowing with warmth from the kiss and her fingers still tangled loosely in his. "I don't even have a proper wedding dress," she said, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "And I definitely don't look pretty right now. I look like a mess."
Damon's brow furrowed, and he cupped her cheek again, his thumb brushing just beneath her eye. There were wounds that had healed but left a mark on her skin and her soul. But he did not mind then, he had his own wound bruising him badly.
"You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen, Olivia. You could wear the oldest dress and I would still want to marry you. Or later, if you feel that your dress is not beautiful, you can decide not to wear it."
She gasped with a playful surprise and then laughed, "You are bad!"
"Yes," he said without hesitation. "But only for you. Because I am hopelessly in love with you. But if you still want a dress, I will get you one."
