But how could I explain Martin's kiss? He was my husband's brother, for heaven's sake. Even if he was drunk, he shouldn't be kissing my belly.
My mind was in turmoil, and my breathing became rapid.
Just as I was about to lose my composure, Martin stood up, let out a drunken burp, and staggered out of the room.
Since that day, whether it was psychological or not, I always felt an eerie look in Martin's eyes when he looked at me.
He used to call me by my name, but now he suddenly started to call me Vicky, just as Ray and Linda did.
Linda was also surprised at how intimate he had become with me.
Martin, however, clapped me on the shoulder and said, "Vicky has married into the Davis family. She's like my sister. I don't want to call her so formally!"
But all I felt was a crawling discomfort wherever he touched me, as if a million ants were biting.
Linda accepted his explanation, and Martin's behavior became even more audacious.
When he handed me a water glass or fastened my seatbelt, he would always make subtle skin contact with me, sometimes even gently rubbing.
Moreover, he no longer dressed neatly when working out. Instead, he loved to display his impressive physique shirtless in front of me.