Whether Illucia was actually drunk no longer mattered.
Her little face was flushed with drink, her eyes wistful and hazy, like a girl who could find no one to confide in.
If someone could act this well in everyday life, that was an achievement in itself.
Rowan had been ready to leave, but when Illucia called out to him, he sat back down beside the bed.
"What did you want to say?" Rowan asked.
Illucia raised her right hand, her slender fingers held together, and waved it gently, asking him to help her up.
Rowan was not having it. At a time like this, you're still trying to tease me?
"This is getting tiresome."
We were supposed to be discussing business. I drank tea, you drank wine. That was strange enough already, and now you're acting drunk, stirring up my hormones at every turn. This has completely defeated the original purpose.
Seeing that Rowan was about to leave, Illucia got up on her own and sat back down on the long rug.
Rowan's complete lack of romantic sensibility annoyed Illucia too.
She had thought that using her looks might bring them closer. At the very least, she did not want cold commercial interests to be the sole purpose of their conversation.
Besides, the wistfulness and sadness she had shown just now had been genuine. Illucia rarely revealed her truest feelings to outsiders.
The vulnerable charm in that sorrow, the kind that made others want to cherish her, was not an act. It was real.
Yet this little bastard had missed all of it.
You could never wake someone pretending to be asleep, especially someone clever through and through.
"I wanted to be your friend." After all her little ploys, Illucia finally brought the conversation back to the point.
Rowan looked