I cross to him and reach for the bottle. "How much have you had?"
He tightens his grip on it, his eyes on me.
"I asked you a question." I rip the bottle from his hand again and put it on the counter.
His face hardens as he stares at the door, purposely avoiding me, but I step into his vision.
"Ben, look at me. You're not okay," I say and sigh. "You're drunk enough I should be worried."
"I've had enough," he rasps as his eyes finally find mine, and stay there.
"Enough to sit through a ceremony where every time I looked at you, you looked away. Enough to stomach him next toyou. Enough to hear him say Seattle. Family. Your... babies," he spits and drags a hand through his hair. "For fuck's sake."
"It's not true," I say immediately, my voice pleading as I press both my palms to his chest. "You know it's not true."
"Do I?" His voice cuts. "Because from where I was sitting, his hand was on your thigh, and you didn't move it until I stood up. You looked comfortable."
I take a step closer, so close, I should back off because I can smell the grappa heat on his breath.
"Ben, I am here because I'm fighting for us—"
"Fighting for us?" His brows pinch together and he looks at me like he can't believe I said that. "Then you're losing. Hard."
"I'm trying to do everything right, which is impossible, I know, but I didn't want to hurt Richard more after everything that happened and—"
"Didn't want to hurt Richard—?!" he snaps, scanning for something to break.
"Stop it. Please." I frown. "I didn't bring him as my date. He told me he wanted to see how you treat me and said we'd go our separate ways after this. I thought he'd let us go without any slaughter if I did that for him."
"That dick," Ben grinds out and shakes his head. His eyes pin mine as his jaw tenses. "I need to teach you how to say no. Long overdue."
I snort and cross my arms. "Fine. But you also need to learn to respond to your messages." I look at him like we're even.
He doesn't think so, because he studies me, his expression still pissed beyond measure.
He's hurt. I know he's hurt and this is his way of dealing with it, but it's not going to get us anywhere.
I soften my voice a little, but still sound desperate. "Ben, you have to know what Richard said about us trying, it's not true. We haven't—"
"That I know," he cuts me off instantly. "I've been cumming inside you for months now. More than he'd ever dream."
He holds the counter like he wants to tear it off the wall. "It's the audacity that fucker even thinks that. Thinks he could touch you—that he's trying to provoke me on my sister's wedding, knowing I can't rip his throat out in front of everyone."
He says it loudly enough that my jaw snaps open.
My head whips toward the door, then back at him and I frown. "Jesus, Ben—your mouth. I hope no one heard that."
"I don't care if anyone hears it. They should know."
I arch my brow. "Really? You want your family to know?"
He doesn't say anything. The alcohol obviously doesn't help the whole situation.
"You need to sober up. Now." I turn away, reach for a glass, and run the faucet.
A gasp escapes me when his fingertip slides into the open V of my back, dragging a deliberate line on my bare skin, along my spine, like he's erasing Richard's fingerprints with his own.
"Ben, we shouldn't..."
