Verse 9a || Open
[It was a strange feeling, being on an obligatory honeymoon. He supposed that's what humans did after getting married, though he had married for the purpose of looking like a perfect politician-- with a beautiful wife on hand and a charming smile for his country. And sure, Lucy was pretty, but he really would have preferred to be in the office planning rather than sitting here on a beach.
Nevertheless, the weather was brilliant, and the photographers, both officially hired by the Master himself, and paparazzi who had been lurking around, would have the scoop of a lovely marriage in progress with believable evidence.
The waves rolled in, and he stretched out, yawning and closing his eyes, until he felt a distinct drop in the temperature. Frowning, he looked up.]
"You're in my sun."
