She isn't exactly what you'd call a lingerie girl.

The wedding dress lies in puddled folds at the base of the toilet. Pam stands naked in front of the still-fogged mirror, listening to the drain suck down their leftover bathwater, feeling the heavy air all over damp skin. The tile is cold under her feet. She is supposed to be putting on her sole set of lingerie but feels lazy, a little sick with the heat. Jim is waiting in the room, probably already in bed. She knows she should hurry. She knows she should want to hurry. Instead she closes the toilet lid and sits, fingering the thin black lace of the see-thru panties she's supposed to stuff her ass into. Dental floss would be bigger.

She has to give this damp hole of a hotel credit – their suite is pretty damn sweet. It's one big mess of white and gold crown moulding, the ceilings high, the windows wide with a view of the grey sea. They actually get cabel for once, not that they especially need it. The bedroom segues into a small breakfast nook, a round room with more windows and humming fridge. When they first moved from their separate rooms downstairs, arriving in more rain and still giddy from the reception, they'd thrown their suitcases haphazardly onto a cream duvet by the door and Jim had joked about how the bed was definitely not big enough for three.

Somehow they'd managed to fit in a hot bath together but the water was everywhere now, all over the floor, in puddles she kept stepping into. The edge of her ribbed corset is half in a pint-sized lake and she picks it up.

How the hell is she supposed to fit into these? The drain sucks at air now and Pam flips the switch off. She is exhausted from this crazy day, from getting married (twice), from running away, dancing in the midst of bright lights, eating (and then throwing up) the expensive pasta dish they were served. As soon as they'd hit the reception, after thousands of pictures, Jim's tie and jacket came off. Michael became extremely fond Jim's nephew and piggybacked him around while they tried to have their first dance. Her dad made a speech that had her choking back tears.

Pam stands up to put the panties on. Their room had come with champagne on ice and she wishes she could have some of that now – the alcohol would make it infinitely easier for her to forget why she shouldn't be wearing these. She chances a look in the clearing steam of the mirror. The J & P heart that Jim had drawn while she got out of the tub is fading now. Her whole body is lacquered in sweat from the heat, the bare swell of her belly and fullness of her breasts exposed in glass. She does not look like a sexy bride about to make ravenous love with her new husband, nor does she feel like one. The idea that she is to grunt her way into these pinched baby-like undergarments makes her think of an elephant in Cerran wrap. And damn, she was idealizing seductress quality.

Penny had gone with her to Victoria's Secret to help her navigate. Being sexy fell much further in Penny's arena than her own. Growing up, she'd been the one with boyfriends in middle school and the long flipped hair. They'd spent two hours trying on every hot-hued push-up in the store to find her wedding night garb. But that had been when she was two months pregnant. Now she was five. There was a huge difference and she was noticing it right now in the round heaviness of her middle. Jim would laugh.

Okay, no, of course he wouldn't. Still, she feels anything but sex-worthy. Her top is strung with a collection of absurd frilly bows that push her already massive breasts up to her eyes. The back fits together in a row of clasps; she manages four of them and leaves the rest open. The corset hits just at her belly button. Why had they bought this? She wants to call Penny and cry and ask what to do, how the hell to look pretty and of course all she really wants is for this night to be flawless, to meld into wonderful time between the sheets, to enjoy the moment and not feel fat and pregnant.

She looks again in the mirror and takes a breath. This is ridiculous, she thinks. You look fine. Jim loves you. She picks up her wet towel to hang on the hook and is trying to tie her half-damp hair in a messy knot when there's a knock.

“Everything okay in there?”

“Ummm – ”

“I hate to spoil the mood but I'm just making sure you didn't, you know, get lost in the bathtub or something.”

“Oh. No, I'm fine.”

“You sure?”

She opens the door to find him standing there with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair disheveled. “Just – look at this.”

“Wow, you look –”

“No, shut up, I look awful. I am trying to squeeze my way into this stupid lingerie and nothing fits and it's so frustrating!”

He sucks on his lip, clearly trying to stay with her. “But you look so great.”

“Yeah, okay.” She sighs and fights off a sudden urge to cry. What is this? She really shouldn't be so pissed. “I just...I don't feel great.”

“Well trust me,” he says, coming in toward her, eyebrows raised. “You are the hottest pregnant woman I've ever seen.”

“It doesn't even button all the way,” she says.

“God, I admire you for attempting this,” he says as she turns around. “I don't think anyone should be allowed to fit into something so tiny.” She feels him close two more clasps.

“Besides,” he says, and she feels his mouth on her bare shoulder, “you know I don't need all the frills. I'm perfectly happy with butt naked.”

“How romantic.”

“I know. Seriously. Come on.”

“Really?”

“You know I could care less. I think you look pretty always.”

Pam snorts and refrains from another peek in the mirror. “But I paid a crapload for this stupid set.”

“Save it for baby number two?” He shrugs. All he knows is that he's so bad at making her feel better when she gets in these moods, that they got married a mere six hours ago and he's tired of all the waiting. She has never looked more herself than she does at this moment, standing next to the sink and a shed wedding dress, bursting out of attire so unlike her it's almost comical.

“Screw it,” Pam says and strips off the panties faster than he has time to take a breath. “Let's do this.”

She fits herself around his hips, her belly an awkward lump between them as he carries her out of the bathroom. He messes with the corset snaps for the next ten minutes but once she's free, Pam forgets all about her discomfort. She obviously just married the best man ever.

“Hey, Mrs. Halpert,” he grins at her from the pillow. “Finally that damn thing's off.”

Afterwards they stay in bed. Pam wakes up to her phone buzzing on the bedside table. The room is colored with weird shades of light; she can't tell if it's morning or not. She feels a pleasant soreness all the way down to her toes and watches Jim splayed on his side in the sheets, pretending to be asleep. His eyelids flutter.

“Hey,” Pam says, poking his nose. “Husband.”

He keeps his eyes shut and pulls her closer, his hands snug around her bare back.

“Is it so lame that I just want to sleep?”

He doesn't answer. He plays blindly with the strands of her hair instead.

“Did you drink the whole champagne bottle while I had my wardrobe fiasco?”

He chuckles. “I'm just basking in the post-nuptial bliss. Please stop interrupting.”

“Well if we don't talk, I'm going to fall asleep and then you'll lose me for the next ten hours.” Pam kisses his palm and sits up in bed, grabbing her phone from the nightstand; it's only ten thirty. She rolls back over the sheets so she's almost directly on top of him.

“The night is young,” she sing-songs. “For real, Jim.”

“Oh my god, you are impossible.” He opens his eyes now and gives her a wide grin, picking up her left hand so he can look at the ring on her finger.

“We're married.”

She grins too. She can't help it. “It feels so...”

“Great?”

“Mm-hmm.” He pulls her down for another kiss.

“Okay,” she says between kisses. “I love you. But I swear, I need to get up.”

“Whatever happened to the honeymoon stage? Aren't we supposed to just make love all night?”

“That's tomorrow. The wedding night is when the bride and groom are exhausted and need to do something that requires activity or else the bride will pass out. Plus, we've already done it twice. Plus, you have like a one-hour rebound stage.”

“That is totally not true.”

“Uh-huh,” Pam smirks and pulls on her socks at the edge of the bed.

“Wait,” he says. “I need a mental picture.” He pulls out the finger camera they've been using all weekend.

She pauses for the invisible lens. “Best idea ever, Aunt Betty! Now come on, pretty please.”

She crawls up the bed on all fours. “I don't know! Go out and look at the moon. Get drinks. Dance.”

“Where is all this energy coming from?”

“It's actually pure exhaustion mixed with not wanting this day to end.” She goes naked into the bathroom.

“I really don't think we're dressed for going out, babe.”

“You went out last night! I didn't!”

He gets out of bed and goes to the phone, dials before she can protest and orders up molten chocolate cake and a bottle of sparkling something juice.

“We're naked. We're tired. Let's just stay here and have people bring us insanely overpriced food and I promise I will not fall asleep...at least for the next hour. After that I can't make promises.”

He watches her rummage in her suitcase and then take a complimentary bathrobe out of the closet.

“Fine. Just the first of our many disagreements in married life.”

He laughs. “Good.”

They set up camp in bed again, eating more cake with their fingers. Pam swears she still has some in her nose from earlier.

“You're right,” Pam says, pulling the bathroom tighter around her waist and leaning against him. “This is the best. And I'm exhausted.”

“Told ya. You wouldn't have lasted five minutes.”

Pam flops back onto the bed. “I seriously can't believe we're married.”

He can't either. Double married, actually. So them. He watches her surrounded by all the pillows and thinks about the way she looked with cake smeared on her face, the lights strung up the poles of their tent, the moon on the water as they drove to the hotel with their hands tangled on the console, pausing to kiss at every stoplight. He wonders how it got to be over so fast and can't believe all the waiting is done and how he'll never have to wait again. He kisses her because he can, before she rolls over.

“You were so cute in your ruined tie,” she says.

“Your ripped veil was a mess. I can't believe you walked down the aisle like that.”

“Shut up.”

She hadn't walked, she danced to that dumb song. Pam checks her ring again, to make sure it's there. She isn't used to its feeling on her finger and she loves the way it makes her pause every few minutes. She looks up at her new husband still naked in bed, marveling at the fact that she'll have him to herself every night until they get tired of each other and even after that. She loves this man like nothing else in the world.

“Wanna do it again?”

“Only if you put those sexy little panties back on.”

“Offer revoked. I'm going to sleep,” she says.

“Fine, I'll wear them.”

Pam groans. He's dangling the pair by his fingers.

“Get down here. They aren't going to fit you.”

“I'm doing this for you,” he deadpans.

Her husband is a nut. She rewrites her vows: in sickness, in health and in lingerie.