"You're awake," he said, his voice softer than usual. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I was hit by a truck, then backed over, then hit again." I struggled to sit up, wincing as the movement sent fresh pain through my skull. "What time is it?"
"Almost noon." He approached the bed, setting the tray on the nightstand. "I brought my hangover cure. Guaranteed to at least downgrade you from near-death to merely wishing you were dead."
I eyed the tray suspiciously. It held a glass of something murky and green, a plate of dry toast, a small bowl of what looked like sliced fruit, and a cup of coffee. The green concoction made my stomach roll preemptively.
"What's in that?" I asked, pointing at the glass.
"You don't want to know." A hint of a smile played at his lips. "But it works."
I looked away from him, focusing on the toast instead. Safer territory. Less likely to remind me of how I'd told him, in explicit detail, what I thought about his hands.
"About last night," I began, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "I'm sorry I put you through that. I shouldn't have gotten so drunk. And I definitely shouldn't have..."
"Shouldn't have what?" he prompted when I trailed off.
I cleared my throat, still not meeting his eyes. "Said all that... stuff. About you. About thinking about you when I..." I couldn't even finish the sentence.
As Rafe sat on the edge of the bed, the dipped under his weight. I expected smugness, maybe even mockery, but his face held something serious and intent.
"I'm the one who should apologize." The words came out in a rush, like he'd been holding them back. "For shutting down when you were trying to help."
The unexpected apology left me momentarily speechless. In all our time together, Rafe had never once apologized to me. Not forblackmailing me into marriage. Not for announcing our wedding without warning. Not for any of it.
"Oh." Was all I could manage.
"You were right to ask about Gabriel," he continued. "And I was wrong to shut you out like that."
I still couldn't look at him directly, so I focused on his hands—those big, elegant hands I'd apparently confessed to fantasizing about. He was holding the glass of green sludge out to me.
"Drink this first," he said. "It'll help with the headache."
I took the glass, our fingers brushing briefly, and the contact sent an unwelcome jolt through my system. "What's in it?" I asked again.
"Spinach, kale, ginger, a raw egg, and a few other things you're better off not knowing." He nodded at the glass. "Drink."
I sniffed it cautiously and immediately regretted it. The smell was somewhere between lawn clippings and swamp water. "You're trying to poison me, aren't you? This is your way of getting out of our arrangement."
That earned me a genuine laugh, a rare enough sound that my eyes darted to his face automatically. The dimples that cut into his cheeks when he laughed made my stomach flutter.
"If I wanted to kill you, I'd choose something more dignified than death by smoothie," he said. "Trust me, it tastes worse than it smells, but it works."
"That's not reassuring." But I lifted the glass to my lips anyway. The first sip was as vile as promised—bitter, slimy, with a kick of ginger that felt like a slap to the taste buds. I nearly gagged. "Ugh, that's disgusting."
"All of it," he insisted. "Like medicine."
I grimaced but obeyed, chugging the awful concoction as quickly as I could manage. When I finished, I handed him the empty glass and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, fighting the urge to retch. "Happy now?"
"Ecstatic." He set the glass on the tray, then picked up the plate of toast and fruit. "Now eat something solid. It'll help settle your stomach."
When I made no move to take the plate, he placed the tray firmly in my lap. "Eat," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I picked up a piece of toast and took a small bite, mostly to stop him from staring at me with that intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness. The dry bread scraped my throat going down, but my stomach didn't immediately revolt, which I counted as a win.
"So," I said after a moment, needing to fill the silence with something other than the sound of my chewing. "You were going to tell me about Gabriel?"
Rafe's jaw tightened and a muscle visibly jumped beneath his skin. For a moment, I thought he'd retreat again, shut down like he had the night before. But then he exhaled slowly as his shoulders dropped a fraction.
