Chapter 172 Pillow

Chapter 172 Pillow
Cecilia

No messages from Alice.

That was... odd. Usually she was the type to send a barrage of texts the morning after any kind of adventure, complete with commentary and emojis and demands for a debrief.

Concern cut through the embarrassment and hangover, sharp enough to make me sit up despite the way the room tilted alarmingly.

I pulled up Alice's contact and typed quickly: Hey, are you okay? Did you get home safe last night?

The message showed as delivered but not read, which could mean anything from "she's still sleeping" to "her phone died" to something more concerning.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, debating whether to call her or give her space, when another thought occurred to me.

Arthur would know. If anyone knew what had happened after he'd picked me up, it would be him.

My fingers hovered over his contact, my heart hammering with anxiety that had nothing to do with Alice's wellbeing and everything to do with facing Arthur after last night's spectacular display of drunken idiocy.

Just do it, I told myself firmly. Rip off the band-aid. Ask about Alice and then deal with whatever else comes up.

I typed the message before I could overthink it: Do you know if Alice got home okay? She's not answering my texts.

The response came almost immediately, so fast I knew he must have been waiting for me to reach out.

I called Max last night after I picked you up. He went to get her. She's fine.

Relief flooded through me, washing away some of the anxiety. Alice was safe. That was the important thing.

But now I was stuck in this conversation with Arthur, my phone in my hand, his contact staring up at me, and absolutely no idea what to say next.

Thank you for checking on her, I typed, then deleted it. Too formal.

I'm sorry about last night, I tried, then deleted that too. Too apologetic without being specific about what I was apologizing for.

About the dancer thing— Delete. Absolutely not. We were not discussing that via text message.

I sat there for a full minute, my fingers hovering uselessly over the keyboard, my brain completely empty of anything approaching coherent communication.

What was I supposed to say? "Sorry I got drunk and confused you with a male stripper?" "Thanks for the multiple orgasms even though I thought you were someone else?" "Please pretend last night never happened?"

My phone buzzed in my hand, making me jump and nearly drop it.

Arthur's name flashed on the screen with a new message, and I opened it with trembling fingers, my heart in my throat.

By the way, I'm quite concerned about you. A grown woman still wetting the bed—that's rather worrying, don't you think?

The words took a moment to penetrate my hungover brain. Then understanding crashed over me like ice water, and I felt my face burst into flames hot enough to probably be visible from space.

The bed. The sheets. The evidence of what had happened last night—not just my release but his too, mixed together in a way that had definitely left stains.

He'd changed the sheets. Had cleaned everything up while I was passed out, had taken care of the mess I'd made, and now he was—

I've decided to conduct a thorough examination tonight. Just to make sure everything is... functioning properly.

Oh my God. He was teasing me. Actually, genuinely teasing me about this, using the kind of clinical language that somehow made it worse, more embarrassing, more—

My fingers flew over the keyboard before my brain could stop them: This is ALL YOUR FAULT!

I hit send, then immediately powered off my phone, tossing it onto the nightstand like it had personally offended me.

Then I grabbed the nearest pillow, pressed it over my face, and let out a muffled scream of pure mortification.

I can never face him again, I thought desperately. Never. I'm going to live in this bedroom for the rest of my life. Mrs. Chen can bring me meals. I'll become a hermit. It's the only solution.

The pillow did nothing to muffle the sound of the bedroom door opening, or the familiar footsteps crossing the hardwood floor.

I kept the pillow firmly in place, as if not being able to see Arthur meant he couldn't see me either.

"Ceci." His voice came from right beside the bed, warm with barely suppressed amusement. "Baby, you can't hide under there forever."

Watch me, I thought stubbornly, but my traitorous body had other ideas. The sound of his voice, the proximity of him, made something flutter in my chest despite the embarrassment.

I felt the bed dip as he sat down beside me, felt his hand come to rest on my hip through the covers. "Come on. Let me see that pretty face."

"No," I said, my voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm never coming out. This is my life now. I live under pillows."

Arthur let out a low chuckle that made my stomach flip. "Is this about the bed-wetting comment? Because I was only teasing, baby. You know that, right?"

"It's about everything!" The words burst out before I could stop them, my hands clutching the pillow tighter.

Silence stretched out for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and sincere in a way that made my chest ache.

"Ceci, baby, look at me. Please."

Something in his tone made me lower the pillow slightly, just enough to peek at him with one eye.

"There she is," he said softly, his hand moving from my hip to cup my cheek. "My beautiful, ridiculous fiancée who somehow managed to make being drunk adorable instead of just messy."

"Arthur!" I threw the pillow at him, which he caught easily, his grin widening.

"What? It's a great story. 'The time my fiancée got so drunk she forgot who I was and tried to become my sugar mama.'"

Despite myself, despite the lingering embarrassment, I felt laughter bubbling up in my chest. "That's not what happened!"

"Isn't it though?" Arthur set the pillow aside and leaned closer, his eyes dancing with mischief.

The laughter escaped before I could stop it, and once it started I couldn't seem to stop, the absurdity of the whole situation finally breaking through the mortification.

Arthur watched me with obvious satisfaction, his hand moving to stroke through my hair. When my laughter finally subsided into giggles, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

"Feel better?" he asked.

"A little," I admitted, then added honestly, "Though I'm still mortified about the bed thing."

"Don't be." His voice went serious, his eyes finding mine. "Ceci, what happened last night was—" He paused, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You were drunk, yes. But you were also responsive and enthusiastic and absolutely gorgeous. And the fact that your body reacted that intensely? That's nothing to be embarrassed about. That's just proof of how good we are together."

The sincerity in his voice made my throat tight with emotion. "Really?"

"Really." He kissed me again, this time on the lips, soft and sweet. "Now come on. Mrs. Chen made soup for your hangover, and I have the whole afternoon free to take care of you."

"The whole afternoon?" I asked, suddenly suspicious. "What about work?"

"Delegated." Arthur stood up and held out his hand. "Today is about making sure my fiancée recovers from her wild night out. Everything else can wait."

He lifted me up and walked outside.