Chapter84You’re My Wife
Everyone wore an expression that said it all without saying a word. Opportunities to come together like this were rare, especially with Victor often being abroad for business trips.
Steven suggested a light drink, and the guys agreed. However, since they needed to drive home later, the ladies opted for juice, undertaking the role of designated drivers.
Matthew retrieved two bottles of white wine for the group and poured some for everyone before filling his glass.
Madison sat by him, watching and wondering if he had fully recovered from his recent injury and if he was indeed allowed to indulge in alcohol now.
She wanted to raise her concern, but with everyone around, she hesitated and swallowed her words instead.
The men, engrossed in lively conversation, had their fair share of drinks, polishing off the white wine before moving on to a bottle of red wine.
They transitioned from the dining area to the living room, with Willow joining Madison. The three girls were adamant about clearing the dishes and even guided Madison out of the kitchen, each eager to take their turn at washing up.
Considering the late hour, Madison yielded to their wishes. She headed to the living room to call the two little ones upstairs, planning to tuck them into bed before the men downstairs wrapped up their drinking. She suspected it wouldn't end anytime soon.
Quentin and Hannah obediently went up, got ready for bed, and fell asleep shortly.
Madison came back downstairs to find everyone lounging in the living room. Daniel had a shoot the next day and, noting the time, suggested they call it a night.
Except for Patrick, everyone else seemed to have had a few too many.
Luckily, they were all good-natured drunkards—quiet and peaceful, no fuss or bother.
Summer helped Liam to his car, and they were the first to leave.
Daniel insisted on driving his own brother home, the second to depart.
That left Patrick and Victor. Madison worried Willow wouldn't manage alone and suggested they just stay over.
Willow declined the offer, knowing it would be inconvenient, especially since Matthew had his own ride arranged. As for Patrick, he blushed a bit from the alcohol but was fine to walk on his own. So, Willow politely refused the offer for him too.
Madison helped Victor into the car, and Patrick climbed in after.
Willow, seated behind the wheel, waved to Madison and said, "Sis, we're heading out. Go back inside and check on Matthew looks like he overdid it."
"Sis, we'll come over again for dinner sometime soon," Patrick mentioned, already thinking about the next meal.
"Take care, Willow. Drive safely," Madison called after them.
"Will do, Sis. See you, take care," Willow replied before driving off.
Once everyone had left, Madison returned inside and found Matthew lying on the couch, his cheeks flushed and eyes closed.
She approached and gently shook his shoulder.
The man on the couch slowly opened his eyes, looking dazedly at the petite woman before him. His expression was so reminiscent of Quentin's—it was like they were cast from the same mold.
"How are you feeling? Can you make it upstairs?" she asked, considering that if he couldn't, the couch would be his bed for the night—there was no way she could carry him upstairs.
Matthew had really overdone it tonight, and now his head was spinning. He opened his eyes slowly, seeing the petite woman standing before him, her soft voice soothing his ears. He tried to stand, but he staggered and almost fell, prompting Madison to rush over and steady him.
She wanted to suggest he just crash on the couch, but stubbornly, he insisted on getting up and heading toward the staircase.
With no other choice and worried he might fall, Madison supported him as they slowly made their way upstairs.
A journey of just a few minutes took them twenty, but finally, they got Matthew back to his room. She plopped him onto the bed and, breaking out in a sweat, decided she needed to splash her face at the sink.
As she turned to leave, her wrist was yanked back.
"Don't leave, honey," came the slurred voice from the bed.
Madison pulled her hand away, fuming. "Honey? Who's your honey? You don't even know who you're talking to. Drunk enough to call anyone 'honey,' I bet you've got a whole stack of 'honey.'"
She turned and went into the bathroom, ducking her head under the faucet and welcoming the cool relief of the running water. With no towel in sight, she grabbed a couple of paper towels to dry her face.
Catching her reflection in the mirror, she noticed Matthew standing at the bathroom door, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.
Madison thought, ‘When did he get up, and didn't I lock the door?’
Turning around, she saw Matthew staring at her with a bewildered look.
Then, in a childlike tone, he said, "Honey, I thought you'd left."
She was silent, then silent again, wondering when he had the habit of calling people "honey" when drunk!
With a stern look, she said coldly, "I'm not your honey."
But Matthew took a step forward, closing in on her, and Madison caught off guard, backed up to the edge of the sink.
"You are my honey. My honey is named Madison, just like you."
"We're divorced, so I'm not your honey."
"Then let's go get remarried right now."
He said it as if he meant to drag her right off to the church.
"Hold on, hold on! It's the middle of the night. No one's working now," Madison said, at a loss for words. Why on earth was she debating this with a barely coherent drunk in the bathroom? Sleep was obviously the priority.
"So when is someone working?" Matthew asked, his innocent eyes pleading with Madison, who couldn't help but wonder if he was genuinely drunk or just messing with her.
To quickly resolve the situation and get him off to bed, she cajoled, "Tomorrow, people will be working when we get up. Okay? We can go tomorrow."
As she coaxed him with the kind of soothing words one might use on a child, she led him by the hand out of the bathroom and toward the large bed.
"Oh, okay then."
"There you go. How about we get into bed and sleep, all right?"
This time, Matthew obediently let Madison guide him. He sat on the bed first, then lay down.
But the hand that was holding onto Madison's wrist didn't let go.
"Aren't we going to sleep together?"
Madison felt like she was placating a child as she patiently spoke, "We're divorced now, and we definitely can't sleep together after that."
"Oh, so we can sleep together tomorrow then."
"Lie down for now, and we'll talk about tomorrow when it comes."
"You just promised, you can't lie to me."
"All right, all right, I promised."
Satisfied with her answer, Matthew finally released her hand.
Madison sighed with relief, gently tucked him in, and went to the bathroom to wring out a towel to wipe his face.
Soon after, Matthew fell asleep on the bed.
Madison tiptoed out of the master bedroom and retreated to her room.
After all the commotion, it was finally time to lie down and rest.
Madison didn't dwell on Matthew's drunken antics from the night before.
Who takes the words of a drunk person seriously anyway?
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