Adrien froze, his eyes widening in disbelief as the warmth of her stomach's rebellion spread across his expensive attire. He couldn't even form words as he looked down at the mess she'd made, his mind racing.
He stood there, absolutely still, the vomit soaking through the fine fabric of his burgundy shirt—a shirt tailored by ancient vampire artisans no doubt—and staining his otherwise immaculate composure.
Alicia, meanwhile, blinked up at him hazily, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Oh… oops," she muttered, voice barely audible.
Adrien's jaw ticked. "Oops?" he repeated, his tone dangerously calm. "You just baptized me in the most ungodly cocktail of bad decisions and fermented disaster."
She giggled, swaying in his arms like a ragdoll. "I told you not to carry me…"
