Dear ex-Wife please be mine again

Chapter 65

Alexander POV.

Christiana was a mess. A beautiful, intoxicating mess. The way she swayed on her feet, eyes half–lidded with exhaustion and alcohol, it was clear she was nearing her limit. I watched from across the room, half–amused, half–concerned. She raised her glass again, but before it could reach her lips, her knees buckled.

Without thinking, I was there, catching her before she hit the floor. Her body was light in my arms, and I could smell the faint traces of perfume mixed with the alcohol on her breath. She mumbled something incoherent as I lifted her, but the tone was unmistakably drunk.

“I’m fine,” she slurred, trying to wave me off, but I held on tighter, ignoring her weak protests.

“Sure you are.” I muttered, carrying her towards the entrance. Her driver was already waiting outside, leaning against the car, oblivious to what had just transpired inside the bar.

For a second, I thought about simply handing her over to him, letting him take her back to her hotel. It was the easy choice. The rational one. But then again, this was Christiana, and trusting anyone else with her in this state wasn’t an option. Not

anymore

“Open the door.” I barked at the driver as I approached. The man, who already knew me too well, nodded without question, opening the back door for me.

I laid her carefully in the back seat, her head resting against the window. She murmured something as I moved to pull away. her fingers brushing against my sleeve.

“You smell so good,” she muttered, barely audible, her words slurred and sleepy.

That hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I paused, the tiniest smile tugging at my lips. For a moment, just a brief, fleeting second, it felt like old times–before the divorce, before everything went sideways. It was soft, sweet, and soothing. A glimpse of her real feelings breaking through the alcohol haze.

My heart tightened. Was that how she truly felt? Underneath all the resentment and anger, did she still see the man I once was? I shook the thought away. This was the alcohol talking, not Christiana.

I slid into the backseat beside her, letting her head fall against my shoulder. The warmth of her cheek on my skin stirred something in me I hadn’t felt in a long time. Her breathing became even, and I glanced down to see her fast asleep.

The driver pulled away from the curb, glancing at us through the rearview mirror but saying nothing. He knew better than to ask questions.

The drive to the hotel was quiet. The city lights blurred outside, but all I could focus on was the weight of Christiana against me. I knew it wasn’t going to change anything between us–hell, she’d probably cuss me out in the morning–but for now, in this quiet moment, it felt like we were back in sync.

We pulled up to the hotel, and I stepped out of the car, scooping Christiana into my arms. She shifted slightly, murmuring under her breath again, but she didn’t wake.

As I made my way inside, her bodyguards immediately stepped forward, their faces tense when they saw her in my arms. They blocked my path, staring at her unconscious form. “Sir, what happened to Mrs. Davis?”

“She’s drunk. I said calmly, shifting her weight in my arms. “I’m just getting her settled in.”

The guards exchanged glances, clearly hesitant, but they stepped aside. They knew me. They knew our history, and they knew better than to challenge me on this.

Once inside, the hotel suite was a bit dark, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound. The kids were clearly

選配:70%

already tucked in for the night. The nanny had probably put thein to bed hours ago, Good.

I carried Christiana through the suite and straight to her room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Her breathing was soft and even, her lips parted slightly in sleep.

Setting her down gently on the bed, I stayed for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her face. For all the fire and venom she directed my way during the day, in moments like this, she looked so peaceful, so vulnerable.

I couldn’t help but smile, even though I knew this wouldn’t last Tomorrow, she’d be back to the sharp–tongued Christiana I knew. But for tonight, I was content with this. Just her, asleep, he head resting where it once belonged.

I turned away, pulling the covers up over her before heading out of the room. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

I was just about to leave the room when I heard movement behind me. I stopped in my tracks, turning to see Christiana stirring. She pushed herself up, her face pale, eyes half–open, looking confused and dazed.

“Christiana?” I asked, stepping closer. “You okay?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she staggered out of the bed, wobbling on her feet. Something wasn’t right. I moved towards her, extending a hand. “Hey, hey. What’s going on! Christiana?”

But before I could get another word out, it happened.

She bent forward, her body convulsing as she vomited. First, it hit the floor, splashing in every direction. The smell of undigested food and stale alcohol hit me like a freight train. Then, with horrifying precision, it splattered all over my shirt. The warm, chunky mess dripped down my chest as I froze, trying to process what just happened.

“Fuck!” I cursed under my breath, recoiling from the nauseating stench that filled the room. Christiana hadn’t just vomited- she’d exploded. I could feel it seeping into my clothes, sticking to my skin. The sour, putrid smell made me gag, but I forced it down, breathing through my mouth to avoid throwing up myself.

Christiana had collapsed onto the floor, lying in a clean spot just a few feet away from the mess she’d created. She was already half–asleep again, her breathing slow and steady as if she hadn’t just unleashed hell on my shirt and the floor.

I stood there for a moment, speechless. Of course, this would happen. Of course, Christiana would be this disastrous after one too many drinks. She had never been able to handle alcohol well–not even when we were married. Now I remembered why she always declined a second glass of wine. C0ntent © 2024 (N/ô)velDrama.Org.

“Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself, peeling off my soiled jacket and shirt, careful not to smear more of her vomit on me.

1 looked down at her, slumped on the floor, dead to the world. She couldn’t even make it back to bed. I sighed heavily. I couldn’t just leave her like this, in a puddle of her own vomit, no matter how much she’d pissed me off in the past.

Rolling up my sleeves, I got to work. First, I grabbed a towel from the bathroom and wiped the vomit off the floor. The smell made me gag again, but I gritted my teeth and pressed on, scrubbing until the floor was at least semi–clean. After that, I grabbed another towel, this time to wipe myself down.

It wasn’t enough. The stench clung to me, no matter how hard I scrubbed. My shirt was a lost cause, fossed into a corner, and my skin still felt sticky and disgusting.

I glanced at Christiana. She was still out cold on the floor. I shook my head. She’d be fine for a few minutes. I couldn’t stand another second with that smell clinging to me.

Without another thought, I headed to her bathroom, turning on the shower. The hot water blasted against my skin, and I stood there, letting it wash away the remnants of the night. The beat soothed my muscles, but nothing could soothe the sheer insanity of what had just happened.

Christiana

vomited on me,

I chuckled darkly to myself, shaking my head. She’d probably laugh about it tomorrow–or be horrified. Either way, it was a night I wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

Once I was clean and toweled off, I stepped out of the bathroom and glanced at her again. Still asleep on the floor, breathing softly. At least the worst was over.

I couldn’t just leave her lying there, half–asleep on the floor in her ruined clothes. The vomit had soaked through her outfit from earlier, staining the elegant dress she had worn to the exhibition. It clung to her in a way that was both pitiful and, frankly, disgusting.

I knelt down beside her, lifting her gently so I could pull her up to the bed. The smell still lingered, making the task almost unbearable. But I couldn’t just leave her like this.

“Christiana,” 1 murmured, trying to shake her gently awake. “Come on. You need to get changed.”

She groaned, barely responsive. her eyes fluttering shut again as she mumbled something incoherent. I sighed, knowing she was in no state to do this on her own

God. this was not how I imagined my night going

Carefully. I unzipped the back of her dress, peeling it away from her body, piece by piece. The fabric was sticky with vomit, and I grimaced as it slid off her shoulders. She didn’t stir, completely out of it. Once the dress was off, I tossed it into the corner where my own ruined clothes lay,

She was left in just her underwear now, the barest traces of pink cross her cheeks as she mumbled in her sleep. I stared at her for a moment–my ex–wife, once the woman I knew better than anyone, now reduced to this mess. A mess I had to clean up

I draped the blanket over her, tucking her back into bed. Her face softened the moment she hit the pillow, her breathing steadying.

For a moment, I stood there watching her, still trying to process the madness of it all. My night had gone from celebrating her success from afar to carrying her unconscious, drunk body to bed after she threw up on me.

As I moved around the room, I realized I didn’t have anything else to wear. My clothes were ruined–stained with vomit and drenched in that sickening smell. I looked down at my shorts. That’s all I had left.

“Well, this is fantastic, I muttered sarcastically to myself.

I wasn’t going to make it out of here tonight with any dignity, it seemed. I stood there for a moment, rubbing the back of my neck, before sitting down in the chair across from the bed. My muscles were sore, and my mind was running in circles,

This was tough. So much tougher than I had expected. I hadn’t planned on being here, not like this. But here I was, stuck in a room with my drunk ex–wife, stripped down to my shorts, and no way of knowing what tomorrow morning would bring

I sighed, leaning back, eyes tracing the outline of her sleeping forn beneath the covers. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the absurdity or collapse from exhaustion. Either way, I wasn’t leaving her side tonight.

Not like this.