'What did he mean by that?' She wondered, blinking up at him in disbelief.
Their marriage was nothing but an arrangement, a contract written in ink. There had been no vows, no priest, no church, no exchanged rings. Yet here he was, speaking as though they had sworn eternal devotion beneath an altar.
And worse, he sounded… drunk.
Her gaze drifted to his face. His eyes were slightly glazed, his lips curled into a crooked, sheepish grin. A faint rosy hue colored his cheeks, betraying the alcohol that coursed through his veins.
Alisha's eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?" she asked flatly, her voice caught between irritation and disbelief. She tilted her head toward the wall, and sure enough, there was an entire line of bottles, some still half-filled, most were empty. Her patience snapped.
