Sick Husband's Contract Wife - Chapter 62

I took another step into the room after hearing those remarks to which I’d grown numb.

“I brought you a gift.”

When he saw me approaching, he gave me a harsh stare.

“Let’s have something to drink.”

Let’s see who goes down first.

His eyes narrowed in response to my challenging tone.

I walked briskly and placed two bottles of wine on the table, whether he liked it or not.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Amoide rose from his seat.

“I won’t bite you, just sit down.”

I sat in the center of the sofa next to him and patted the seat next to me.

“Let’s become drinking buddies.”

“..”

“I haven’t had a drink since I got here.”

In my prior life, I was also not the sort to drink alone. When there is someone to share alcohol with, it is at its best.

“These bottles are quite heavy.”

“So?”

“It’s too hard for me to carry them all the way to your room.”

“Ask someone else to move them for you.”

A harsh response was returned. But I wasn’t discouraged or disappointed.

This was entirely predictable.

If words fail to persuade, the senses are the most effective.

Pop.

The sound of the cork being pulled was lovely.

The pleasant perfume of the wine instantly began to spread. I felt like I could get intoxicated just by smelling it.

‘Wow.’

This is quite well-crafted. Walter appeared to be more naturally gifted at making wine than at medicine.

The ingredients utilized were, indeed, of the highest quality.

Because it was brewed from expensive and rare herb kinds, it was certain to have a fantastic aroma and taste.

Furthermore, Walter devised a golden ratio for this combination.

There was no danger of failure because it was manufactured according to the ratio mixed by him, who had an incredibly picky taste in alcohol.

“Doesn’t it smell nice?”

I shook the bottle of wine.

His gaze shifted to the left and right, following the swaying pumpkin-colored liquid inside the clear glass container.

“Do you want a glass?”

“No.”

Another basic response was provided. I stuffed the cork back in quickly.

“… Then just sit back and watch me drink.”

I took a quick step forward and took a seat across from him.

I looked around for a seat, considering the long armchair where he was spread out.

Amoide’s gaze followed my jerky movements. I took a firm seat.

Thud.

I stared straight ahead as soon as I sat on the comfy chair.

“What the hell…”

When he noticed me sitting in front of him, he scrunched his brow, as if perplexed.

“What are you doing?”

He rose from the chair back, half-reclining.

“I can’t drink while standing. This place appeared to be ideal. There is lots of space.”

I set the wine bottle I had brought with me down.

I also placed the glass I had on my finger next to it.

“Is that not acceptable? I’m not asking you to drink with me; I’m just asking you to give me a place.”

“Do you feel the need to drink here?”

“Why not, after all, it’s my husband’s room?”

His countenance altered subtly again at the word ‘husband.’

He appears to despise it.

Do I enjoy doing this? I was frustrated because I couldn’t articulate my feelings.

I would have told him everything and pleaded for a divorce if it hadn’t been for Camilla’s confidentiality clause.

…Unfortunately, I was unable to.

I wish he understood I’m not throwing myself at him just for the sake of it.

Pop.

I reopened the cork and sniffed it by pressing my nose against it.

“Hmm.”

The wine’s deep scent spread slowly. It was a fragrance that would get to Amoide and stay with him.

“You still don’t want to drink?”

I shook the wine bottle once more. He stayed still.

“You’re going to drink it.”

“What’s the fun in drinking alone?”

“You can have a drink with your maid.”

“Rona? No way.”

“Why?”

“Because the alcohol is extremely potent. She’ll become drunk soon, leaving me with no one to drink with.”

Swish.

The sound of the booze being poured into the glass was lovely.

“Since you said you wouldn’t drink.”

My glass clinked against the empty one.

Then I took a short sip and brought it to my lips.

As predicted.

It truly is the golden ratio.

The wine was aromatic, and the taste that lingered on the tip of my tongue was delicious. It also slid down my throat smoothly.

‘Isn’t this incredible?’

I immediately finished the glass. I took three drinks and then poured the remainder into my lips.

The booze could not have tasted better as it passed down my neck.

I met Amoide’s gaze as I leaned the glass back and swallowed it all at once.

He was looking at me with his chin in his hand.

I didn’t try to avert his eyes.

I didn’t just ignore it; I stared back without blinking.

I swept the last drop of wine in my glass into my lips, making sure not to miss it.

The wine drop that was hanging to the edge of the glass landed across my lips when I shook the glass against my lips.

I licked it away rapidly with my tongue.

Was his gaze strangely following me, or was it simply my imagination?

…No, it wasn’t a figment of my imagination.

His blue eyes were locked on me. What happened all of a sudden?

‘Embarrassing.’

Despite having only had one drink, my throat felt abnormally parched.

My chest felt hot, as if the temperature in the room had suddenly increased. 

What is causing this?

I twisted my fingers over the empty wine glass.

I could feel his stare on me even though I was looking down.

‘How come he’s gazing at me like that?’

Is it true that he despises the sight of me? Would he be happier if I drank rapidly and left because I was sipping too slowly?

“Does it look delicious?”

I raised my head in response to his soft words.

“Are you curious?”

He remained silent.

“Then you should drink.”

I poured wine into the glass that was empty. Amoide pushed the glass away slightly when I extended it to him.

“I’m good.”

“Raymond said that this wine is fine. It has all of the helpful herbs…”

“Why do you insist on behaving this way here? Do you like drinking in front of people who don’t want to?”

He cut me off and sighed deeply.

“I also have some snacks.”

“Snacks? Where?”

He inspected the table, which was empty save for the wine bottle.

“Your face.”

He appeared to be at a loss for words when I responded boldly.

“Your face appears to be pretty appealing. There’s nowhere else like it.”

“Nowhere else?”

“It whets my appetite.”

Is it possible that I’m a little tipsy? The words came readily to me.

“I’m getting bored drinking alone.”

I made a clinking sound by tapping the wine glass with my fingernail.

“Isn’t it okay for you to have a drink because you’re my husband?”

I filled the glass and swung it gently in front of him. The wine sloshed dangerously since it was nearly empty.

Amoide stood there watching the perilous sight and then snatched the glass from my grasp.

As he took the wine glass, his huge hand encircled mine surprisingly softly.

“You’re drunk.”

Amoide slapped the glass down on the table, creating a loud noise in the process.

“If you don’t drink this wine, I’ll take it as a sign that you have no intention of reconciling.”

Looking at the glass, I muttered.

“…”

“I’ll keep thinking of my husband as narrow-minded and petty. Narrow-minded enough to avoid even one drink.”

“…I’ll accept the reconciliation, so you can stop and go.”

He wiped his brow and got out of his chair. My gaze followed his every step.

“Ah, you’re really pushing me away.”

Don’t you feel pitiful for showing up with a bottle of wine and being so chatty?

My temper suddenly flared up.

“Pushing you away…?”

“Yes, you’re pushing me away.”

I returned his echo. The corners of my mouth quiver as I forced a grin on them.

Does he not want to drink? Then I’m unable to intervene.

“…Maybe you have a low alcohol tolerance?”

My remarks caused him to bend his head slightly.

“…”

“Oh, I’m really sorry. That was new to me.”

I shook the bottle in my hands.

He shifted his weight away from the back of his chair.

“It makes no difference whether you’re the leader of the empire’s greatest knights or not. Tolerance to alcohol is genetic. Rona drank two bottles on the spot.”

“…”

“It’s all right, Amoide. All those prejudices are simply that: prejudices. The assumption that being excellent with a sword equates to being good with a drink is simply a prejudice.”

I made a clapping motion with my hands.

“You can’t control your alcohol tolerance even if you wield a sword like it’s a part of your body. There’s no reason to be ashamed.”

“When did I…”

“It must not be simple for a commander to declare ‘I can’t do something.’ I know. I see what you’re saying.”

I vigorously nodded my head.

“Say so if you can’t drink. Don’t make excuses about not wanting to drink with me.”

“Ex…cuses?”

I could see his jaw clench. I stifled a chuckle that was about to burst out.