chapter eight

Lily's POV:

*Next day*

I slowly wake up, the soft light of morning filtering through the curtains, but I don't immediately open my eyes. Instead, I lie there for a moment, feeling the warmth of the blankets enveloping me. I stretch my hand out in a lazy attempt to get more comfortable, but suddenly, I feel the presence of someone else beside me. My heart races as my mind processes the unexpected situation. "Wait, what???" I think to myself, startled.

With a jolt, I open my eyes wide, and to my surprise, I find myself staring into two pairs of eyes—one pair belonging to my husband, who looks at me with an intensity that I can't quite read. My heart begins to pound in my chest. "Oh my God, my husband is staring at me! What should I do? Should I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, or is that going to make things worse?" A wave of panic washes over me as I consider the possibilities. What if he gets angry at me for waking up late?

He doesn't say anything at first, but his expression suggests that he might be upset for some reason. I can feel my cheeks heating up, and I realize I must look red as a tomato by now. In an effort to calm myself, I hold my breath, trying to steady my racing heart. Just when I think the silence might stretch on forever, he finally breaks it. "Hey, breathe," he says, his voice low and slightly irritated. "Do you want to die?"

His words come as a shock, and I quickly shake my head in a frantic negative gesture, my eyes wide. The air feels thick in my lungs, and as soon as I can, I let out a heavy breath, trying to regain my composure. But even after I breathe out, I can hear him muttering curses under his breath, and a sinking feeling settles in my stomach. "Did I do something wrong again?" I wonder, anxiety creeping in as I try to decipher the tension in the room.

After that awkward moment, he looked at me with a playful grin on his face and said, "Stop squeezing my chest, wifey, or else I might get the wrong idea, and believe me, you'll regret it." His tone was teasing, yet there was a hint of sincerity that made my heart race. I gasped in surprise as I suddenly realized I had been squeezing his chest—how embarrassing! My cheeks flushed a deep crimson as the realization hit me. "Oh my God, this is so embarrassing!" I thought to myself, mortified by my actions. Without thinking, I quickly backed away from him, only to misjudge my footing and end up tumbling off the side of the bed.

I heard his chuckle echo in the room, and it only made my face burn hotter. "Why so scared, wifey? We're going to do it tonight anyway," he said, his voice light and teasing as he casually walked towards the bathroom. My mind raced with confusion. 'What on earth is he talking about?' I wondered, feeling a mix of anxiety and relief that he had momentarily left the room. I couldn't help but think about how I would face him after everything that had just happened. 'What does he think of me now? Does he see me as some crazy woman or a total weirdo?'

Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind, pulling me back to the previous night. I recalled how I had fallen asleep in Ricardo's mother's lap, feeling safe and comforted. But then I was jolted by the realization that I had no recollection of how I ended up back in our room. 'Did he carry me here? No, there's no way he would have done that himself; maybe he asked someone to help. But still, how embarrassing!' I thought, feeling a mix of gratitude and embarrassment wash over me.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, the door creaked open, and my husband entered the room. I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze; I felt too shy after everything. "Why are you still sitting there? Go wash yourself and come downstairs, hurry up," he instructed, his tone leaving little room for argument as he moved toward the closet. I took his words as a cue to spring into action and hurriedly made my way to the bathroom.

Once inside, I splashed some cold water on my face, hoping it would help calm my racing heart. After about twenty minutes, I finally emerged from the bathroom, feeling a bit more composed. To my relief, the room was empty, and I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I made my way to the closet and rifled through my clothes, finally settling on a sleek black top paired with tight jeans. The outfit felt just right, striking a balance between casual and stylish.

After getting dressed, I took a deep breath and steeled myself for whatever awaited me downstairs. With a mix of anticipation and nervousness, I made my way down the stairs, ready to face the rest of the evening, whatever it might bring.

When I went downstairs I saw everyone was sitting on a dining table and was waiting for me i said sorry to everyone for being late and sat beside my husband

As we began to enjoy the meal, I was caught off guard when I felt a sudden, unexpected touch on my legs. My breath hitched in my throat as I glanced down, only to see that it was Ricardo. "Are you okay?" said Ricado's mom, her voice low and concerned. I was startled and flustered, stammering out an awkward response, "Y...yes, I am s...sorry." My cheeks flushed a deep crimson, and I could feel the heat radiating from my face.

As we continued to eat, I felt his hand shift, resting on my thigh, and a wave of conflicting emotions washed over me. Part of me wanted him to stop; after all, what if someone noticed? I cast a furtive glance around the table, but everyone seemed absorbed in their conversations, completely oblivious to the tension building between us. I looked back at Ricardo, and he wore an innocent expression, as if he had no idea of the effect he was having on me. But when our eyes met, I noticed a mischievous smirk creeping across his face, and my heart raced.

His hand began to travel further up my thigh, and I found myself feeling increasingly uncomfortable. A mix of embarrassment and unexpected pleasure coursed through me, and I fought the urge to cry out in protest. 'Please stop,' I pleaded silently in my mind, hoping he would sense my unease. But instead, he continued, and my body betrayed me by responding to his touch in ways I never expected. Just when I thought I might break down from the pressure of the moment, he seemed to finally take note of my struggling and, with a teasing grin, he withdrew his hand and stood up from the table.

"I need to excuse myself," he said casually, and as he walked away, I felt a rush of relief wash over me. The tension that had been building inside me released like a pressure valve, but as I sat there, I couldn't shake the strange feeling of disappointment that lingered. Why did I feel let down that he had stopped? I found myself grappling with my emotions, torn between the embarrassment of the situation and the undeniable thrill it had brought me. As I resumed my meal, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen when he returned tonight.

After finishing my breakfast, I found myself lingering in the kitchen instead of retreating to my room. I felt a strong urge to speak with Ricardo's mom, who was busy talking with the maids. I watched her for a moment, contemplating how to approach her. When she finally caught my eye, a warm smile spread across her face, and she asked gently, "Do you want to say something, dear?"

I took a deep breath, feeling a wave of shyness wash over me. "Um, I j...just w...wanted to s...say sor...rry for t...troubling y..you last n...night," I stammered, my cheeks warming with embarrassment. "And Th..thank y..you m..mom," I added, my voice barely above a whisper.

She chuckled softly, waving her hand dismissively. "Oh dear, it was nothing at all! You don't need to thank me," she replied kindly. "But you should really thank your husband because he was the one who carried you to your room."

Her words took me by surprise, and I felt a mix of gratitude and wonder. It all came rushing back to me: the vague memories of feeling unsteady and then being gently lifted. Now, it made perfect sense. I glanced down, feeling a new sense of appreciation for Ricardo. I realized that he had not only been there for me in my moment of need, but he had also gone out of his way to ensure I was comfortable and safe. The incident had left a lasting impression on me, and hearing his mother speak about it made me feel even more grateful. I couldn't help but smile, feeling a warmth in my heart as I thought about how lucky I was to have someone like him in my life.