Chapter 24
My brain’s broken.
A sharp, throbbing ache, like someone is poking metal toothpicks in my skull, reminds me I still have one. I just didn’t use it very well.
My stomach’s rumbling like a Slinky descending a staircase and my mouth… there’s some funky shit happening inside my mouth.
Tequila is bad.
Very bad.
I take in a deep breath to assure myself that I survived a night of intoxicated stupidity and frown.
Is that bacon wafting in my airspace?
And coffee?
I roll to my side, slowly open my eyes, and focus on the blurry figure in the distance. I blink in disbelief as my vision becomes clearer.
Daniel’s sitting on the small couch, reading off his phone, dressed in a white terrycloth bathrobe, and holding a cup of coffee. He glances up at me and raises a brow.
“Morning, honey,” he says nonchalantly.
“What the…? What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice still groggy from the night before.
“Enjoying some room service.” He takes a sip of his coffee.
“I see that. Why are you here?”
“You don’t remember?”
I shake my head, and the throbbing in my temples intensifies, worsening my headache.
“I’m hurt. Especially after our magical night,” he says with a playful wink.
“We… we slept together?” I ask with a mix of shock and dread.
“Yup. Right there,” he points to the empty pillow next to me. “Incidentally, you do snore.”
Oh God, I’m a snoring, drunk slut.
“And you’re wearing the bathrobe…” my voice trails off.
“Because I’m naked under it. Want it back?” he teases, grabbing the lapel. “Wouldn’t be the first time you saw my…”
“No,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “Thank you.”
Oh God, what have I done? I probably didn’t pee after we… ugh. Hello, UTI.
I thought I’d have sex on my wedding night. With my husband. And beautiful memories attached.
Right now, all I have is a half-working, confused mind, and a throbbing headache. Embarrassed, I stare down at my lap. And it dawns on me…
“Wait a minute,” I say suspiciously. “I still have on all my clothes.”
“You have me to thank for that,” he says dryly.
“So, we didn’t…?”
“No, Tess.”
“Why are you naked?”
“You were dead to the world when I woke up. So, I ordered up breakfast, took a quick shower, and borrowed one of the robes hanging in the bathroom. My clothes reeked of tequila.”
“Was that my fault?”
“The tequila? Yeah,” he answers matter-of-factly.
“Sorry.”
“I ordered something for you too. Scrambled eggs, dry toast, and a banana. Your mother thought you should have a light breakfast.”
“You talked to my mother?”
“Texted. I didn’t mean to intrude, but your phone was blowing up. She was about to call the Embassy. I assured her you were fine.”
I’m still asleep.
This conversation is a bad dream.
“Oh God.” Mortified, I pull the blanket over my head.
“Nice lady. A little obsessed with murder and diarrhea.”
“Please don’t say anymore,” I plead from under the safety of my blanket.
“She invited me over for dinner.”
“She did not.”
“Wants me to sample her homemade kombucha. You know, for the probiotics.”
“Ugh. She did.”
He laughs. “How are you feeling?”
I pull the blanket off my face. “Like I came off the teacup ride at the amusement park after the hundredth time in a row.”
“Are you up for something to eat?”
“I think so.”
“Stay there. I’ll bring it over and sit next to you.”