Rafael's POV
I shouldn't have compared her crimson, puffed cheeks to a boiled crab. But I couldn't help it; the redness was like an invitation for something raw inside me to take a bite.
Am I getting drunk too?
My gaze fell to the glass I was swirling. Something was definitely wrong with this wine. My blood ran cold. Of course, the old man wouldn't just visit me casually and give us a mere wedding gift.
A wave of heat began to spread across my chest, making my breath quicken.
"Rafael!" Her yell made me look up instantly.
She dragged her wobbly legs, stumbling in tipsiness, and slumped down beside me, forcing me to face her.
"You! Stop commanding me with that mocking tone! Why are you always so hateful? You carried me, kissed me, hugged me, caging me like you own my body—you make my heart race and my insides roil up—but then you talk like you hate me. Why!"
Yes. I hate you. And I hate myself more for that frustration.
