Page 123 of The Professor's Wife

I pulled back and brought the wine to my lips. “I love you.”

He watched me, his eyes heavy on my face. I licked the wine off my lips, and his gaze focused on my mouth. He sounded breathless when he uttered, “You are so perfect, Daisy.”

My heart didn’t hurt so much when I smiled and buried my head into his chest.

It was the pounding in my head that woke me up. I blinked my eyes open, disoriented and tired. The room was dark, and the fan was still on. I could hear the rain pattering on the window. Aside from that, it was totally silent.

I sat up slowly, groaning because the pain grew tenfold. God, how much did I drink? I tried to remember, but it was a blur. Flashes of last night raced through me. Oliver’s tender kisses, the movie, the wine…

My stomach churned with nausea, and I raced to the bathroom. I barely made it to the toilet when I spewed, but it was mostly acidic. My body broke out in a cold sweat as I collapsed on the floor and tried to calm down. I was shaking and suddenly cold. My head pounded so hard, I wanted to cry. I ran my hand over my face and tried to catch my breath.

It was then I felt pain in other places. One half of my butt hurt badly, and my neck was in agony. My throat felt like sandpaper, but that could have been from the vomit, except…I swallowed, and it felt swollen, like I was sick.

I heard the door to the bedroom open. I opened my mouth, only able to push out a weak, “Oliver.”

I heard his footsteps approaching, and then the bathroom door swung open slowly. When I saw his face, my heart beat faster. He didn’t look happy. His face was tense, his eyes red, like he’d been crying or maybe up all night.

A Band-Aid sat crookedly over a raw gash on his cheek, but it was too small to cover it.

Instantly, I realized something was wrong.

“Oliver?” His name came out in question now as I nervously looked at him.

His hair was damp, like he’d freshly showered. He was wearing a fresh change of clothes, and I could smell his cologne, but everything else was off. He wouldn’t meet my eye.

“Daisy, I don’t know what to say, alright? I’m still trying to process everything.”

Process what?

“What’s going on?” I asked, panicked. “What do you need to process?”

He let out a surprised huff, his eyes widening. “Daisy, don’t, alright?”

“Don’t what?” Tears sprang to my eyes as I hysterically asked, “What’s going on?”

He glanced over his shoulder, concerned. “Daisy, I don’t want Rowe to see you like this. Please calm down.”

I tried to, but I was failing, and now I was panting. “Why am I in so much pain? Why are you looking at me like I did something? Oliver, please, I don’t know what’s going on.Please!”

He stared at me for some time, like he was trying to gauge whether I was telling him the truth. Why would he look at me like that?

Then he stepped in and shut the door. He stared at it for a few moments, collecting his thoughts. Finally, he said, “Are you trying to tell me you don’t remember anything from last night?”

“Only that I had my wine and we put on a movie.”

He shook his head, huffing again. “Daisy, you went crazy last night. You just…flipped out.”

“What?”

“You blamed me for not getting into your nursing program—”

“What are you talking about?”

“You said they rejected you because they knew we were married, and they didn’t like that. You weren’t making any sense, and then…then you threw the wine glass across the room and started to go crazy. Something about how June was right and now that you’re rich because of me, they didn’t accept you because they didn’t see you as a struggling mother, and then…”

His voice locked up, and he sounded emotional.

“You said I was privileged, that I didn’t know what it was like to be poor, and you just kept screaming it at me, Daisy, throwing stuff all over the place and then hitting yourself while you were at it. When you stormed into the kitchen, you went to sit down on the stool and missed, and you hit the ground, whacking your damn head back so hard, I almost had a heart attack thinking you’d killed yourself.”