Love Me, Mikayla

XXII

MIKAYLA

. . .

He embellished the room while I was in the shower.

Burning candles unfurl their glow inside the room, letting the darkness remain in corners. Rose petals are spread over the mattress and a tray is placed in the middle, bearing wine and glasses.

Through the window that is opened, the cool breeze of Madrid late at night enters and all of a sudden, I feel something light and soft falling on me.

I blink, looking at the source of it and I realize he is showering the petals of roses over me, stepping in front of me as he comes with a smile on his face.

"How's it?" He asks, tossing away the green part of the rose.

Pointing to the bed, I ask, "What does it even mean?" I try to bite back a smirk, having him a little nervous because of my question.

"Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "I haven't planned something like that. We're just going to have some wine and then sleep."

The clarification leaves me speechless.

Though the decoration was captivating, I was going to lunge at him for having such thoughts about us that we were going to do something but he saved himself in time.

"So you decorated the room like that only for a wine night?"

He chuckles, nodding his head. "First, because I wanted to make this simple date special, and second—"

"Because you love annoying the hell out of me and you wanted to see my reaction, right?"

He exhales, smiling softly. "Yes."

"Then you don't blame me after what happens, okay?" Because I'm sure such stunts can make me kill him or wound him so badly that he'd repent of joking around with me and will be convinced times before repeating it to me.

"I won't," he chuckles again. "Come now. I know you like to drink." He goes to the bed intending to get the tray.

I stare at him confusedly. "How do you know that?" I ask, stepping ahead to get the wine bottle. He looks at me confused when I stand beside the bed. "We're not drinking in bed. I prefer this floor better." Because I may end up doing something very indecent to you.

He blinks at me, puzzled by my demand, but listens to me nonetheless.

He follows me to the floor and puts aside the tray. We sit together and he gets the bottle of wine to unclasp it.

"I know because you were drunk when you asked for a dance at our wedding function," he answers the previously asked question, putting aside the opener to fill the glasses with wine.

I watch his veiny arm holding the glass very delicately through the base of it.

"You caught me?"

"I could smell it in your breath," he whispers the last word, smiling to himself as if he found something he was searching for, "You weren't very far away from me."

Yeah, after all, you were holding me so close to yourself as if I was running away from you.

"How were you able to drink, surrounded by relatives?" He gives me a curious look, handing me the glass that is half filled.

I hold it gently, pushing away my hair strands. Our fingers brush and I feel the warmth of his hand. "I mixed vodka in wine. Nobody could catch me."

"Clever mind."