Ninth.
Thomas courted me for the next ten months and each time I saw him it stirred up emotions inside me that I never even knew existed. We were blissfully happy, the only thing that still bothered me was that whenever I asked him what drew him to me initially, he told me he couldn't say. It was confusing but I tried to let it roll off of my back. He loved me for whatever reason, and I wasn't going to ruin that because I loved him more than anything in the world.
It was early spring when he finally proposed, the flowers had just peeked out of their winter slumber a few days before. We were walking in the forest towards a small clearing that I had insisted was a fairy ring when we first moved into the cottage. It was a patch of the greenest grass I'd ever seen about ten feet across with tiny white and yellow flowers that bloomed each year without fail. Thomas had brought a blanket to sit on, and we stared into each other's eyes. He reached down and plucked a few of the flowers from the grass and gently placed them in my hair, it made me laugh. Then he pulled some of the longer grass and flowers and I watched as he made a tiny wreath. He looked at me again, very seriously, his hand sweaty and shaking took mine and he asked if I would do him the great honor of becoming his wife. Then he placed the wreath around my finger as I said yes through streams of happy tears.
We were married late in the summer. Thomas' parents were no longer alive, and his only sibling, a brother, had travelled to France a few years back and was yet to return. My mother was our only guest but I still felt like the Belle of the Ball. We had our first kiss in the shade of the fruit trees, in front of the ivy lined cottage on the edge of the woods. I couldn't have planned a more perfect day.