Too Late Mr. White! I'm Married To Your Rival Now novel Chapter 50

I woke up with a pounding headache, my mouth dry as sandpaper. Sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains, piercing my eyes like needles.

Groaning, I rolled over, seeking the comfort of darkness—only to freeze when my hand bumped against something solid and warm.

My eyes flew open despite the pain. There, less than a foot away, lay Aiden Carter. In the same bed. With me.

Holy. Shit.

I jerked upright, immediately regretting the sudden movement as my head throbbed in protest. The room spun sickeningly, forcing me to close my eyes and take several deep breaths.

When I dared to look again, he was still there—sleeping peacefully, his dark hair tousled against the pillow, bare chest rising and falling with each breath.

What happened last night? My mind raced, desperately trying to piece together fragmented memories. Dinner. Wine—lots of wine. Aiden carrying me... and then what?

I glanced down at myself. I was wearing a nightgown I didn't recognize. Who changed me? Did we...? No, surely I would remember that, wouldn't I?

As if sensing my panic, Aiden's eyes fluttered open. Those piercing blue eyes focused on me immediately, clear and alert, a stark contrast to my fuzzy, disoriented state.

"Good morning," he said, his voice impossibly deep and husky from sleep.

I clutched the blanket to my chest. "Did we...um...last night, did anything...?" I couldn't even finish the question, my face burning hot enough to fry an egg.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Define 'anything.'"

My stomach dropped. "You know what I mean! Did we...did I...?" I gestured helplessly between us.

Aiden propped himself up on one elbow, his smile widening. "You don't remember?"

"Would I be asking if I remembered?" I snapped, anxiety making me irritable.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "You were quite... affectionate last night."

Oh god. I wanted to disappear into the mattress. "Just tell me," I pleaded. "Did we have sex?"

His eyes gleamed with mischief. "What do you think?"

I threw a pillow at his face. "Aiden! This isn't funny!"

He caught the pillow easily, still smirking. "Why don't you tell me what you remember first?"

I closed my eyes, trying to concentrate through the throbbing headache. "I remember dinner... and drinking. A lot of drinking. I think you carried me?" The memory of his arms around me sent an unexpected shiver down my spine. "After that... it's just blank."

While he watched me with those amused eyes, I took inventory of my body. Besides the headache and queasy stomach—classic hangover symptoms—I felt... normal. No soreness or discomfort that might indicate we'd been intimate.

"I didn't jump your bones, did I?" I asked, mortified by the very possibility.

He laughed outright at that. "Is that what you're worried about? That you took advantage of me?"

"Just answer the question!"

"No, Aria," he finally relented. "Your virtue remains intact. Though not for lack of trying on your part."

My face burned hotter. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Why don't you freshen up first?" He nodded toward what I assumed was the bathroom. "Maybe it'll help clear your head."

I scrambled out of bed, eager to escape this mortifying conversation. In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face repeatedly, trying to shock my brain into remembering. Standing under the hot shower afterward, fragments began returning—Aiden's hands on my waist, his mouth on mine, the feel of his bare chest against my fingertips...

Then another memory hit me with the force of a freight train. Me, getting sick. All over him.

"No, no, no," I moaned, leaning my forehead against the cool tile. I'd thrown up on Aiden Carter. My supposedly sexy, sophisticated husband had seen me at my absolute worst.

When I emerged from the bathroom, wearing the fluffy hotel robe I'd found hanging on the door, Aiden was gone. A note on the bed informed me he'd be waiting for breakfast in the dining room whenever I was ready.

Ready? I'd never be ready to face him again. I could just stay in this room forever, right? Order room service, live as a hermit, never make eye contact with another human being...

I crawled back into bed and pulled the covers over my head, feigning sleep. Maybe if I pretended hard enough, yesterday would never have happened.

I don't know how long I lay there, but eventually, the door opened. Footsteps approached the bed.

"I know you're awake," Aiden's voice came, far too close to my ear.

I didn't move, keeping my breathing deliberately slow and even.

"Hmm," he mused. "If you're really asleep, I guess you won't mind if I collect that kiss you kept begging for last night."

My eyes shot open to find his face hovering inches from mine, eyes dancing with mischief.

"I knew it," he said triumphantly. "Come on, breakfast is getting cold."

Reluctantly, I dressed in clothes someone had thoughtfully laid out for me—probably Aiden—and followed him to the dining room, where a spread of food awaited. My stomach growled despite my embarrassment.

"Coffee?" he offered, pouring me a cup before I could answer.

"I'll come back for lunch," he said.

I pondered his meaning. Was he expecting me to cook lunch for him?

Looking at him hesitantly, I asked, "Should I prepare lunch for when you return?"

As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt my ears burn red.

Why did that sound so much like something a real wife would say to her husband? Sure, we were technically married, but with "fake" as the operative word, the dynamic was completely different!

Aiden studied me for a moment. "Aren't you practicing piano today?"

"I am," I confirmed.

Mentioning piano reminded me of my upcoming performance. After a moment's hesitation, I decided I should tell him. "Actually, I have a charity performance on the 20th."

"Where?" he asked.

"At Westfield Plaza," I answered without thinking twice.

"Hmm." He acknowledged with a small sound, setting down his coffee cup.

"Don't worry about lunch.Ask the cook what's on the menu. If you want something different, just let her know.This afternoon—"

He paused abruptly. "Never mind."

With that, he stood up and went upstairs. He returned moments later, dressed in a crisp shirt and tailored pants.

His skin was so fair that the red mark on the left side of his neck stood out starkly. I couldn't help staring at it.

I wanted to cover it up somehow.

"Um, that scratch," I said hesitantly. "Don't you think it's too... obvious?"

Aiden gave me a meaningful look but said nothing, his silence speaking volumes.

My face burned hot again. That mark looked way too intimate, and if he went to his office with it visible...

I couldn't even bear to think about the implications!

For my own sake, I steeled myself. "Would you like me to cover it with some concealer?"