"There was a time I honestly cared what you thought about me."
"Felicity, what are you talking about?"
"Seriously, Oliver. I swore, I'd never be one of those girls that tried to make herself look good to impress a boy. I would never rely on some guy's approval to make myself feel good. To feel like I was worth something.
"I grew up, watching my mother spend hours in front of the mirror. Curling her hair, fixing her make up, making sure there were no wrinkles on her dress. Because the better she looked, the more men noticed. And the more men noticed, the more tips she got. And sometimes those tips were the difference between a new pair of sneakers for me or wearing ones from a second hand store.
"But I was never going to be that person, not that I'm saying there is anything wrong with that, but it wasn't going to be me. I would impress people with my computer skills, with my talent and intellect, not with my body or the way I looked."
"Okay?"
"But then, you showed up. And you ruined everything."
"… I'm sorry?"
"Suddenly, I was that girl. The girl who spent a extra 20 minutes every morning making sure that I was wearing the perfect dress, doing and redoing my hair, finding the best shade of lipstick to match, making sure there wasn't a single smudge on my glasses. Hoping that you'd notice or tell me that I looked nice."
"…"
"I told myself that it wasn't just for you. That I also had to impress the board members and look better than Isabel, which I never did. I had to prove that I was more than some boring IT girl. I was the CEO's EA and I had to look the part. So, I had to say goodbye to all my clothes and sensible flat shoes and buy new dresses and ridiculously high heels. And I told myself that it was all for the job, there were certain expectations I had to meet. Because God forbid, I look like a slob while I was checking your emails or setting up your meetings. But it was for you too. I just wanted you to notice."
"I noticed. Felicity, I did. I just… I couldn't."
"And now look at me. And the thing is, I don't even care."
"You always look beautiful to me, especially now, you're…"
"But I don't have to put in the effort now."
"Why?"
"Because, Mr Queen, you're stuck with me. You're mine now."
"I'm yours?"
"Yep."
"How is that?"
"Because you married me."
"I did."
"And I'm 800 months pregnant, with your child."
"8 months. But yes."
"So, you're stuck with me."
"I am."
"Even when I feel like a beached whale and can't fit into the dresses with the short skirts you like so much."
"They weren't that short."
"They totally were. Even though my ankles are swollen and I can't wear heels anymore. Even when I wear ratty, old sweatshirts and I'm too tired to shower. Even when I get weird cravings at 2 in the morning or start crying for no reason because my hormones are all out of whack. You're stuck with me."
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Mrs Queen."