Casper shouldn't have been so hung up on it. A mistake is a mistake, and his was beyond fixing. He had come to terms with that.

Casper pulled back the covers, tucked Eliza in, and was ready to leave. But she jumped onto his back like a nimble kitten, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Tell me, who are you really?" she demanded. "I'm...," he gritted his teeth, "a waiter."

Her response was a soft "oh," tinged with disappointment. But she didn't get off his back. Instead, she clung to him tightly, as if trying to soak up some warmth and comfort.

He turned his face slightly. "Go back to bed and get some rest. You need it."

"I, I..." she began, but then a wave of nausea hit her. Her stomach churned violently, and she couldn't hold it back. She opened her mouth, and a burst of vomit came out, splattering all over his shirt. Casper froze. Fighting his own nausea, he carried her to the bathroom, where she clung to the toilet and vomited. He took off his shirt and tossed it aside.

He knelt next to her and gently patted her back. "How much did you drink?"

"Two, two bottles," she said, holding up three fingers.

He couldn't help but laugh, despite his annoyance. "That's quite something."

to get some hangover remedies and bring them over. He stayed until Eliza fell into

he scribbled a note on the medicine box. "Take with warm water. Don't drink so much

Early the next morning, he and

eyelids swollen and her throat on fire. She had blacked out and had no idea

her head, she saw

a glance, and then threw it away in

medicine? Could he

relieved to find her clothes still on. She calmed down a bit,

to the

bathroom door, she spotted his shirt on the floor, stained with vomit. Another piece of evidence proving that Casper

closed her eyes. What a stroke

weekend yacht trip to clear her mind. Feeling weighed

piloted a

the breeze blowing through her soft hair, making

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