ASTRID

“What the hell.”

Waking up felt like punishment. My head throbbed, and it felt like the aftermath of my drinking was slowly ripping my skull apart, bit by bit. I glanced down at the covers, and to my relief, I was still wearing clothes—though the shirt had grown much larger, and my bra was nowhere to be found. Oh my gosh.

Fragments of the night began piecing themselves together, and I wanted to scream. I’d been far too bold, far too honest, and far too drunk. And the worst part? Art and I hadn’t even had the talk we desperately needed, and yet, there I was, throwing my dignity out the window. I couldn’t believe alcohol had stripped me of all my inhibitions so easily.

Drunk Estelle was a disaster, and I had no idea how I was going to face Art after all I’d done.

Groaning, I shifted slightly, then froze. There he was, sitting at his office desk, completely focused on his laptop. The sight of him looking so composed made my embarrassment a thousand times worse.

I reached for my phone, wondering if Eli and Pen had already gotten home. It was 2 p.m., and Art hadn’t even bothered to wake me up. I frowned slightly—what a waste of daylight.

Penelope: Tell Art thanks again for getting his driver to drop us home!

Elisha: looks like someone’s too exhausted to even get up this morning.

I quickly typed a response: ‘nothing happened between us!’

I dropped the phone to the side of the bed and buried my face in my hands as heat flooded my face. What had I done this time?

Memories came flooding back again, making me want to crawl under the bed and never come out. After vomiting my entire digestive system out, Art had been a complete gentleman. He cleaned me up, dressed me in one of his shirts, and didn’t even send me to the guest room. Instead, he laid me back on his bed.

“You haven’t made me come yet,” I’d whispered boldly, tugging on his shirt.

His lips had curved into a teasing smile. “Once you’re sober enough, I’ll make you come.”

“I feel fine now,” I’d insisted, my voice soft and pleading. “The vomiting helped.”

He’d sighed deeply. “Sleep, love.”

“Cuddle,” I insisted, pulling him close and draping my leg over his body.

Now, sitting across the room, the same man who had endured all of that greeted me with a mischievous smirk.

Without a word, he handed me a glass of water. The look on his face made it clear he was about to say something that would probably irritate me. He waited until I finished drinking before speaking.

“Good afternoon, Miss Unfiltered Thoughts,” Art greeted, his voice dripping with amusement.

I stared at him for a second, recalling all of the embarrassing words I said last night. I groaned and hid my face behind my hands. “Don’t even say a word.”

“Why not?” he asked, his laugh light and teasing.

I peeked through my fingers and glared at him. “Art.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying my discomfort. “You already called me ‘Love’ last night. You’ve lost the right to call me by my name now.”

I threw a pillow at him, but it missed. I shot him a glare, but he just laughed. “Are you always this grumpy when you’re on your period?”

“Can’t handle it?” I shot back, crossing my arms.

I watched him lick his lips before tilting his head slightly. “Who said I can’t?”

“You’re complaining,” I pointed out. “This isn’t even PMS.”

“I could easily handle you in any way, my love,” he said, a proud smirk spreading across his face. I threw another pillow, but he dodged it effortlessly—freaking perfect at everything. But he wasn’t wrong. He really did handle me so well.

I love and hate him for that. He’s really rubbing it in, reminding me that he was made for me—my match made in heaven. It’s so annoying, but deep down, I know it’s true.

I rolled my eyes at him, and changed the topic. “Were you working earlier?”

“Nope. Just online shopping,” he replied casually.

“Since when did you become a fan of online shopping? What were you planning to buy?” 

“ELLE.”

“Art,” I warned, disbelief lacing my voice.

“Love,” he corrected with a teasing grin.

“You can’t do that!” I exclaimed. “You’ll become my boss.”

His grin widened as he stood in front of me, clearly enjoying my reaction. “Technically, I’d be your boss’ boss’ boss.”

I shot him a glare, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender. “Just joking. But I’ve actually been contemplating it for quite some time now.”

It didn’t seem like he was really joking. But I hope he is.

Another groan escaped me, louder this time, as I decided to shift the conversation entirely. “About last night—why didn’t you stop me from doing all of that?” I asked, covering my face once more.

“Well, I reminded you multiple times that you were drunk, but you were very persuasive,” he said, chuckling. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my wrist gently, exposing my face. I pouted as he looked at me with that teasing smile. “And I don’t have the heart to deny you what you need. As much as I want to be a gentleman to you, you’ve got this way of making me lose all sense of control. You have this…power over me. Your words, your everything—you make me weak.”

“Art!” I exclaimed, my voice high-pitched with embarrassment.

“Love,” he corrected again, his grin widening as I blushed even harder.

My face burned as I yanked my hands away from him and pulled the blanket over my head. “I’m never drinking again.”

I felt him lean closer, gently tugging the blanket down just enough to meet my eyes. “That's a shame. I thought we were going to have drunk sex?” His tone was playful, but his smirk made me want to disappear. “It seems like drunk Estelle decided to be extra adventurous.”

I glared at him from beneath the covers, heat rising up my neck. “You were cute, though,” he admitted, his tone softening into something more tender. “But I have to ask—do you remember everything we talked about last night? Or just the inappropriate things you said to me?”

Groaning, I pulled the blanket over my head again. He wasn’t done with his teasing, of course.

“Because it’s important,” he asked again, his tone turning serious. “Do you remember, or should I help refresh your memory?”

I sat up, still blushing furiously, and looked at him. “I remember every detail from last night,” I said hesitantly. “I might have been drunk, but I was aware of everything.”

It was true. Every word of our conversation replayed in my head like a movie, including the moments that made me want to dig a hole and disappear forever. I couldn’t believe how bold I became after a few drinks—like my entire thought process had been switched off.

“I’m sorry again,” he said softly, taking both my hands in his and guiding them to his face to press gentle kisses on my knuckles. The warmth of his kiss against my knuckles made me melt a little.

Now wasn’t the time for stubborn, prideful Estelle, I reminded myself. I sighed, gathering my thoughts, then met his gaze. “Me too,” I whispered. “I’m sorry for shutting you down. I know I also hurt you.”

He gave me a small, understanding smile. “It’s okay. It was my fault, really. I was too careless with everything. I’m sorry, love,” he said softly, leaning closer.

I pouted a little before nibbling my lip. Seeing the relief on his face eased the tension in my chest, but it also left me feeling conflicted. Seeing him hurt had been unbearable, but now that he looked calmer, I felt a strange mix of emotions I couldn’t quite place. Somehow, I feel at ease.

Opening my arms wide, I gave him a silent invitation, one that made him smile. Without hesitation, he leaned in and wrapped me in an embrace that felt safe, warm, and utterly irreplaceable.

“Don’t leave,” I whispered, closing my eyes and pressing my cheek against his shoulder.

“I won’t anymore,” he murmured back. “Again, I’m sorry for everything. I’ll be better for you, love. I promise I’ll keep working on myself.”

I nodded and hugged him tighter, nuzzling my nose against his neck. “Promise me you won’t leave? Even when things get harder in the future?”

“I promise,” he said firmly. “Even if you try to push me away, I'll stay. I’m not going anywhere, love.” He kissed the top of my head, and his certainty made my chest ache in the best way.

“Even when we turn into the people we hate the most?” I asked, my voice trembling as I waited for his reassurance. The thought of him leaving horrified me. It felt like deja vu—like the time he almost left me in the past, before he even had the chance to present his business proposal to me.

“Even if you start to hate me, I’ll hold on to you and make you fall in love with me all over again,” he whispered, and instantly, my heart felt at ease.

A smile tugged at my lips. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to push him away, no matter how hard things might get. “Feeling better now?” he asked softly.

I hugged him tighter, burying my face against him as I nodded. “I trust your words—just don’t ever change, okay? Don’t make empty promises,” I murmured, my voice muffled.

“If it’s you, I never will,” he replied with a quiet chuckle, his warmth wrapping around me like a promise. “Looks like we’re officially stuck with each other forever,” he whispered, his arms tightening around me.

I pulled back just enough to look at him, raising an eyebrow as I pointed to my left hand. “You’ll need to replace this promise ring with an engagement ring—and a wedding ring—to make that official.”

“Later this evening, I’ll get you a ring,” he said casually, though he looked serious.

I froze, my lips parting in shock as I stared at him. My face flushed, and my mind raced. I was just joking. Was he proposing now? Now? This soon? I mean, yes, I wanted to marry him someday, but was he seriously thinking of doing it this early in our relationship? My mind spun, equal parts excitement and panic swirling together.

Then he laughed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Relax, love,” he said, his voice filled with amusement. “I wouldn’t propose until I know you’re ready.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, relief washing over me. Still, I couldn’t help but think, What happened to my ‘I do, Father!’ moment?

“But now that you’re sober,” he began, his teasing tone unmistakable, “how about a honeymoon rehearsal?”

I froze, horrified at the thought. The timing couldn’t have been worse—I was on my period! Moving back, I tried to keep some distance, but he only moved closer. “Don’t come any nearer!” I warned, placing my hands firmly on his chest to stop him.

Unbothered, he grinned. “Don’t worry, love. We’ll use condoms,” he said, his voice light and teasing.

“No!” I snapped, shaking my head. “Even if you do, I don’t want to make a mess!” My face burned hotter with each word.

He barely blinked, clearly unfazed by my protests. Before I could make a proper escape, he caught me by the waist and pulled me back to the center of the bed. He pinned me down effortlessly, his weight pressing me into the mattress. I tried to escape, but he held my wrists above my head, leaving me completely at his mercy.

“Love, you’re making my blood flow heavier,” I muttered, realizing how my body reacted to his antics.

“And isn’t that a good thing?” he said with a wicked grin, lowering his lips to my collarbone. “It might make your period finish faster.”

“It doesn’t work like that!” I hissed, my voice trembling as he pressed a kiss to the sensitive skin. My mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts clashing against the sensations he was giving me. My fingers itched to grab his hair as he continued leaving kisses along my neck, each one deliberate and lingering.

He chuckled against my skin. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured, his breath warm. “I’ve missed marking you.”

“I… I don’t have work until January,” I said weakly, almost as if to excuse my surrender. “I applied for sick leave, and we don’t have work during the holidays. So… go ahead. You can… do anything. Mark me all you want.”

That earned a satisfied look from him. He pulled back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze. “Check your chest later,” he said, his smirk returning. “It’s already full of… Art.”

I stared at him, my brain taking a beat too long to process his words. “Wait,” I blurted out, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Are you really not going overseas with your family this Christmas?”

“Nope,” he replied easily. “I’m spending Christmas with the love of my life. Will you let me?”

“Of course,” I said softly, though my nerves crept in. “But… you need to be ready. I think my mom’s coming home. With her new family. I mean, our family.”

“When?” he asked, his expression calm and understanding. “I’d like to meet them.”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted, lowering my gaze. “She hasn’t been very responsive to my messages. Maybe she’s just busy or… doesn’t know what to say.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than I expected. Talking about my family always felt awkward, especially with Art. His family was everything mine wasn’t, but he never made me feel ashamed about it. He never made me feel like I was lacking.

“Uh…” I started, unsure how to continue, but he didn’t let me finish.

Instead, he leaned in and kissed me, soft and lingering. “Don’t worry about it,” he murmured, his voice gentle and reassuring. “I’ll make sure this Christmas is your best one yet. I’ll be the family you’ve always deserved.”

Something about his words made my chest tighten. Tears pricked the corners of my eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming comfort of having him. This Christmas would be different. This year, I had him.

Breaking the silence, he leaned back with a casual smile. “So, love, now that everything’s out in the open and we’ve made it to the news, does that mean we don’t need to keep us a secret anymore?”

I blinked at him, momentarily confused as I tried to gauge his intentions. “I guess we can post each other every now and then,” I said cautiously. “Why?”

“Could you reactivate your Instagram account for me?” he asked, his grin widening in that mischievous way that always made me suspicious.

“What for?” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to read between the lines.

“Just trust me,” he said, shrugging as if it were nothing. “Go check my account—you’ll see.”