Marriage with my daughter's father: Darling please be gentle - Chapter 164

Chapter 164: Chapter 164: You know what I believe now?
Roger stared, momentarily stunned, as Lily laughed at him like he was the one being ridiculous.

“You think I’m drunk?” she said, all sass and stubborn pride. “Please. One glass doesn’t even scratch my sanity.”

He didn’t respond right away. Mostly because he was too busy watching her stumble to the left while confidently dragging him to the right.

He furrowed his brow. “Uh-huh.”

She marched forward like she had something to prove—until her heel caught the edge of the pavement. She wobbled, flailed, and barely caught herself. He reached out instinctively, steadying her.

Roger bit back a laugh. “Fully sane, huh?”

“Tipsy,” she muttered, lifting her chin like that somehow defended her case. “But totally functional.”

Right.

He let her take another step just for the fun of it before shaking his head and moving in. With one arm behind her knees and the other around her back, he scooped her up in one smooth motion.

“Roger!” she squeaked, gripping his shoulders like she hadn’t expected him to be that fast—or that strong.

“Can’t have you proving your sanity by doing a faceplant in the parking lot,” he said dryly.

She glared at him, cheeks flushed—whether from the wine or the fact she was cradled against his chest, he wasn’t sure.

“You’re enjoying this,” she accused, narrowing her eyes.

Roger smirked. “Definitely.”

And he was. Maybe a little too much.

***

[Roger’s apartment]

Roger didn’t rush.

Lily’s weight was light against him, but her presence felt heavy—like gravity had shifted just a little when she landed in his arms. She was quiet now, her earlier fire dimmed to a simmer as she rested her head against his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of her breath brushing his neck.

It did things to him he didn’t care to name.

He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped into the soft glow of the hallway. The lights were dim, casting long shadows on the wooden floor, and the silence between them stretched—but not uncomfortably. It was laced with something unspoken, something fragile.

Lily shifted slightly, and her voice came quieter this time. “You didn’t have to carry me.”

“Didn’t have to,” he said, “but I wanted to.”

She looked up at that, eyes meeting his. There was no sass now—just something honest. Vulnerable.

“I’m not a mess, you know,” she whispered. “Even if I stumble a little.”

He stopped walking. Just stood there with her in his arms for a second, his jaw tightening.

“I know,” he said, gently. “I never thought you were.”

For a second, she didn’t say anything. Just stared at him like she wasn’t used to being believed.

Roger finally stepped into the living room and lowered her onto the couch, slow and careful, like she might break. But as soon as she was down, she scoffed.

“You make that way too romantic. I tripped, Roger, not got swept away by a hurricane.”

He laughed, the tension easing just a little. “You sure about that?”

“What, you think you’re the hurricane now?”

“No,” he said with a small smile. “I think you are.”

That shut her up for a beat.

And in the quiet, her smile softened. Her eyes searched his, and for once, she didn’t deflect with a joke or a jab. She just… looked at him.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

He gave her a small nod, then turned toward the kitchen. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Smart move,” she called after him. “Hydrate the hurricane.”

Roger smiled to himself as he filled the glass. She was drunk. Not dangerously so, but enough that tomorrow, she might not remember all of this.

But he would.

Every second.

Lily, on the other hand, let her eyes wander around the house.

This wasn’t hers. The layout, the scent—clean with a hint of sandalwood—and the quiet hum of the refrigerator in the distance told her everything she needed to know.

He brought her to his place.

Her brows pinched. When did he even buy this? Last she’d checked, Roger lived with his family… and her.

Rita.

The name alone soured her mood. A tight coil twisted in her stomach, and the memory of the café surfaced, uninvited and sharp—Rita’s voice, calm and dangerous, echoing in her mind.

“Bold of you to try and snatch someone else’s husband, Lily. Are you sure you’re built for that?”

She flinched slightly, the sting of those words still fresh.

Her shoulders slumped under the weight of them, her earlier fire reduced to embers. Her lips pressed together, and her chest ached with a quiet, familiar guilt.

‘I’m not a homewrecker,’ she told herself. But the words felt paper-thin.

Because no matter how much she tried to reason with herself—how complicated the situation actually was, how unhappy Rita and Roger had seemed—there was still a line. And she had crossed it with her eyes wide open.

‘What am I even doing?’

She sank further into the couch, wrapping her arms around her knees, suddenly cold in the warm room.

Roger may have picked her up tonight, but she wasn’t sure he’d still be holding her tomorrow.

“Here, drink this. It’ll help you sober up.”

Roger’s voice cut through the storm in Lily’s mind, grounding her. She blinked and looked up, her gaze locking onto his as he settled beside her on the bed.

He’d taken off his jacket, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his forearms, the veins in his hands subtly visible beneath his skin. There was something effortlessly masculine about him now—more grounded, more mature than the boy she remembered from college.

And yet… that look in his eyes hadn’t changed.

He still looked at her like she was his whole world.

The weight of it sat heavy on her chest.

“Why do you care for me, Roger?” she asked quietly, her eyes searching his. “Weren’t you the one who broke my heart?”

His hand, still extended with the glass of water, froze in the air.

Her words pierced the silence like glass shattering in a still room.

He looked at her then—really looked—and what she saw in his eyes made her throat tighten. Sadness. Regret. A quiet storm of things left unsaid.

But it was her sadness that struck him harder than any accusation ever could.

His eyes welled with tears, turning red as the pain in his chest tightened, suffocating.

“It was a mistake, Lily,” Roger said hoarsely, setting the glass aside. “I don’t even remember it.”

He’d said it before. He said it now. Because, truthfully, that was all he could say.

What haunted him more than anything was how, after all these years, he still couldn’t piece together how things had gone so wrong—how he’d ended up with Rita instead of her.

But one thing had always been certain: even after all this time, his feelings for Lily hadn’t changed.

Lily’s breath caught as she watched a tear slip from the corner of his eye. Roger crying wasn’t something she’d ever prepared for. The sight of it crushed something inside her, and before she could second-guess it, she leaned toward him.

Her fingers reached up, brushing gently across his cheek, wiping away his tears without breaking their gaze.

“Believe me, Lily,” Roger whispered, voice cracking, as their faces inched closer.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, her eyes traced his face—those piercing blue eyes, the curve of his lips—reminders of that kiss in the car, of the night he’d shattered her with both his longing and his desperation.

He had begged her not to go, kissed her like he was drowning and she was the only air he had left.

He told her he missed her—the real her. The friend who once knew every corner of his soul. But when the time came to truly confess, to own what he felt…

He hadn’t.

“You know what I believe now?” Lily whispered, her voice low, almost sultry as her thumb traced the edge of his jaw. Her eyes roamed his face, unapologetic and intense.

Roger swallowed hard. She looked flawless. Radiant. Different. Like the version of her he had only ever seen in his dreams—braver, bolder, and utterly unreachable.

But what she did next skipped his heartbeat.

“I believe in this moment with you,” Lily whispered.

Then she leaned in, brushing her lips softly against his—just a whisper of a kiss—before pulling back.

Roger’s lips parted, the ghost of her touch still lingering like a flame that hadn’t fully burned out. His gaze locked with hers, and in that charged silence, the air between them thickened with chemistry too strong to ignore.

Without a second thought, he reached for her, guiding her gently onto his lap.

Lily’s back arched slightly as she settled astride him, her legs folding on either side, grounding her in a way that made it all feel dangerously real.

Roger looked up at her face, breathing her in like a man starved of light. The way she looked at him—open, intense, vulnerable—sparked something in his chest. It was oddly unfamiliar, yet deeply familiar. Like he’d been waiting years to see her like this again.

He reached up, cupping the back of her neck, and pulled her to him.

Their lips met—soft at first, then urgent, desperate.

Lily gasped as the kiss deepened, turning fiery with each passing second. She leaned into him, hands curling into his shirt, her lips devouring his like she needed him to breathe. There was no hesitation in her now. No walls.

Only need. Only him.

Roger had no idea how badly he’d needed this—her. To feel her this close, to hear her breath hitch, to know that beneath her guarded glances and distant words, she still felt something.

Everything he couldn’t say—the pain of her indifference, the nights he ached to hold her, the confusion, the guilt—it all melted in the heat of her kiss.

And in that moment, with her in his arms and her walls finally crumbling, Roger realized something:

This wasn’t about making up for the past anymore.

This was about claiming the present—before it slipped through their fingers again.