The yacht party continued long after the main event ended. While the younger crowd kept the festivities going, the villa finally drifted into a peaceful, heavy silence.

Marcellus swayed back into the bedroom, fighting to keep his glazed eyes open as he mumbled a slurred, incoherent apology.

"Evangeline... so sorry. My hands were tied. I couldn't give you a grander wedding. You must be so disappointed in me."

His tie hung loose around his neck, and his face was flushed a deep, unhealthy red. He reeked of expensive bourbon. This was the first time Evangeline had ever seen him truly intoxicated.

"You did just fine, Marcellus. I’m happy."

"No! You’re not! I can do better next time! I promise!"

Evangeline chuckled, cupping his heavy head in her hands as it threatened to slump over.

"There’s going to be a next time for the wedding?"

"Of course! I’ll make the next one perfect, I swear!"

"Fine. As long as you don't trade in the bride, I’ll agree to as many as you want. Now, time for bed. Deal?"

Marcellus bobbed his head, floating in a booze-fueled haze. "Can't. We haven't had our wedding night yet."

Evangeline immediately dropped his face, her expression turning stern. "Cut the crap! You want a wedding night eight hundred times over? Go to sleep, or I’m kicking you out."

"Evangeline..."

She glared at him, pointing a sharp finger at his chest. "One more word, and you're out!"

"Fine. Sleeping."

Marcellus collapsed into the bed with such fluid, practiced ease that Evangeline couldn't help but laugh.

"Marcellus?" she whispered, testing him. "Take your clothes off to sleep."

He moved with suspicious agility, stripping down in seconds. Evangeline saw right through it. She planted a foot firmly against his chest and shoved him right off the bed.

"Faking it? Get to the shower, now."

"Right!"

Caught in the act, he sheepishly gathered his discarded clothes from the floor and retreated to the bathroom.

*Marcellus’s inner thought: Trying to get a little affection is like pulling teeth. Having kids is nothing but a headache!*

When he emerged, she was already asleep, back turned to him. He stood by the bedside, scowling at her retreating form. He held the grudge for thirty minutes before he finally cracked a smile at his own ridiculousness.

"She's dead to the world, and here I am throwing a tantrum. What an absolute idiot," he muttered to himself before finally climbing into bed.

The next morning.

Damian Spencer stared at Marcellus’s dark, brooding face and let out a dry laugh. "You look exhausted, skin sallow, frame looking gaunt. Marcellus, are you suffering from a kidney deficiency?"

"What?"

Evangeline leaned in, squinting at his face in genuine alarm. "He does look pale, and he has lost a bit of weight. Marcellus, are you really—"

"Hahahaha!"

"Dr. Spencer, what are you laughing at?"

The sight of her earnest, confused expression only made Damian roar with laughter.

Marcellus ground his teeth, his voice a low, lethal growl. "Damian. Do you want to die?"

"I’m just joking! I didn't think you’d actually take it seriously, Evangeline. I'm not trying to smear his reputation, but wow, it sounds like he really isn't performing well! Hahaha—"

*Splat.*

A glob of egg yolk and hot sauce hit Damian square in the face.

Remi Crawford choked back a laugh as she grabbed a napkin to wipe his face. "Serves you right! You had that coming!"

Evangeline was still completely lost, tugging at Remi’s sleeve. "Was he really joking? But he really has lost weight."

Remi pinched the bridge of her nose, letting out a long-suffering sigh. "My sweet, clueless Evangeline. That's just the ‘sympathy morning sickness’ from the pregnancy. Shouldn't you know better than anyone if your husband is ‘weak’ or not?"

The air in the room turned brittle. Evangeline gave an awkward, sheepish grin at the man currently radiating ice. "Oh. My mistake. I didn't think that far ahead; I just heard it from the doctor. Honey, don't be mad."

"Hmph!"

Marcellus stood up, his chair screeching against the floorboards as he stormed out.

"You guys keep eating. I’m going to go... handle this."

Evangeline quickly dropped her fork and followed him back to the bedroom.

Remi shot a glare at the instigator. "Look what you did with that big mouth of yours!"

"How was I supposed to know he was so sensitive? Is he catching the pregnancy hormones too? Whatever, don't worry. With the way he dotes on her, it’s not like he’s actually going to cause a scene." Damian casually draped an arm over Remi’s shoulder. "Remi, I'm taking you somewhere after this."

"Where?"

"You'll see."

It was all very cryptic, but she was intrigued. The pair barely finished their meal before rushing out the door.

Upstairs, Evangeline was still trying to soothe the man who had been nursing a grudge since last night.

"Marcellus, my brain is just foggy from the pregnancy, don't be like that."

"Damian is going to tease me about this for the rest of my life!"

"He won't. Dr. Spencer isn't that kind of person."

"You seem to know him awfully well. How come you don't know *me* that well?"

Evangeline’s patience finally snapped. "Seriously? Are you ever going to let this go?"

At her irritated tone, his expression turned even more wounded. "Are you yelling at me again?"

Evangeline climbed onto the bed, towering over him, and poked a finger at his chest. "Who are you? Give me my Marcellus back!"

"Oh, so we're playing the spoiled card now, are we?"

"Ugh, you’re the one who keeps picking at this!"

Marcellus let out a defeated breath and pulled the frantic, pacing woman into his arms. "Fine, fine. Sit down."

Evangeline collapsed happily into his chest, pouting. "You’ve become so proud and difficult to please lately."

Marcellus hummed, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. If he had to trace back when he started acting like this, it was the moment he realized he was truly loved.

"It’s because you give me the confidence to be spoiled, Evangeline."

"That’s true. And I don’t mind spoiling you."

Marcellus tapped the tip of her nose. "You little liar. A second ago, you were ready to tear your hair out."

They were close enough that their breaths mingled, the atmosphere thick and heavy with intent. It would be a waste of a perfect moment not to kiss, Evangeline thought—and she acted on it.

She cupped his face, planted a soft, lingering kiss on his lips, and looked at him with a gaze heavy with invitation. Receiving the signal, Marcellus rolled over, pinning her beneath him as he deepened the kiss with a ravenous, desperate hunger.