He carries her into the hotel room like a princess, careful to avoid letting any part of her make contact with a wall or banister – the building might be elegant and pretty, but the hallways are narrow and they were on a budget – but once they get in and lock the door, she's in charge of him.
Nice takes Jacuzzi's hand and starts pulling him towards the bedroom, but he catches on soon enough and she can see the fear spread across his face, his eyes filling up with tears in a familiar sight as she grabs his arm in a futile game of tug-of-war. She can't deny that he's both bigger and stronger than her, and it has to be easier to move in a suit than a wedding dress. However, Jacuzzi is pulling her in the direction of the bathroom. Nice can work with that.
The bed was probably overstuffed, anyway.
She slips past him and skips to the bedroom door, an almost murderous grin spreading across her face as she grabs the handle. "C'mon, Jacuzzi. Do you not want to do this? Is it me?"
Her words seem insecure, but her tone is as playful and confident as ever, and that look – before he knows it, Jacuzzi is sprinting to the door.
The force of his body slamming against her is enough to throw the door open wide, and Nice is surprised at how forceful he seems, at how he hasn't completely broken down in tears. Jacuzzi runs his hands through her hair and down the beaded bodice of her dress, searching for some kind of clasp or zipper or something, but his efforts are useless and once they tumble into the oversized, pearly bathtub, his hands are pinned under her and she's taking care of that issue on her own.
In the few seconds it takes to get untangled and into a slightly more comfortable position, Jacuzzi contemplates what has just happened.
And then it hits him.
The tap – one of them, at least, there's got to be twenty damn taps in this stupid thing – is turned on, water pouring down Nice's neck and onto her dress because her head hit a button when oh god, when they fell into the tub because he ran into her because oh god oh god, what has he done?
Nice props herself up, her snow white dress spilling over the edges of the tub and the back of her head stinging slightly. She looks up at Jacuzzi, sees the tears running down his face mixed with the water from the shower head above them (did she press the button for that when she sat up, or was it him when he leaned back off of her and started to bawl?), and can't help but smile and sigh as he starts in on a million frantic apologies.
So this is her husband.
Nice's tongue is rough against his cheek when she licks the water and tears away, but her lips are soft. The wedding dress might be soaked and ruined, but it doesn't stay on for long – and besides, you only ever wear that kind of thing once, right?