About an hour and two more glasses later, Ophelia was feeling amazing. Blackwell, however, almost seemed stressed as he ushered her over to the jacquard silk couch in the center of the room, a hand at her waist as she wobbled a bit on her feet. She sank into the couch cushions, a giggle bubbling in her throat as she grinned up at him. “I think maybe I’m drunk.” He crouched down in front of her, until they were eye level. “Yes, I think maybe you are. Do you feel any better at least?” “About what?” she questioned, the only thing on her mind the warmth spreading through her blood and the vibrant
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