He didn't remember kissing her.
Hell, he didn't remember much after the third glass of alcohol. But he remembered her. The outline of her in the kitchen doorway.
This morning?
She didn't look at him.
Not once.
Regina moved around the dining room like he was just another piece of furniture. Expensive. Unnecessary. The clink of ceramic against marble was louder than her voice. The quiet between them wasn't peaceful—it was weird.
Daniel sat opposite her, his elbows on the table, nursing a mug of black coffee like it might absolve him. His head throbbed. Not just from the liquor. From something else.
"Morning," he offered, his voice hoarse and testing the air.
Regina didn't look up. "Morning."
Her hair was pinned back into that sleek bun she always wore when she needed control. Her lipstick was blood red.
"I… don't remember much from last night," he said with a forced laugh. "I didn't… say anything stupid, did I?"
She sipped from a delicate porcelain teacup and said nothing.
