Since your marriage, Cárcel has taken care not to get over-the-top drunk at obligatory galas and banquets. While he was a free spirit prior to the wedding, it never made him feel particularly fulfilled to leave with different women, many of whom he would fail to remember by morning. Now, he never wished to revisit those days. Cárcel felt far more satisfied being a husband who could gloat about his incredible wife to anyone unfortunate enough to drift near.

Which is exactly what he’d done, inadvertently consuming several flutes of champagne while waxing poetics about you, until he was barely able to stand. Cárcel laughs gleefully as you drag him through the garden on the way back to your room. The crisp midnight air feels wonderful, but your hand clasped tight in his is heavenly. “Are you embarrassed because I said so much?” he teases lightly, curving his arm around your waist to pepper the top of your head in kisses. “Don’t be upset, my love.”