“Chill for five minutes,” her brother Silas snaps as he helps himself behind the bar and grabs a bottle of whiskey and six shot glasses. “I’ve got it.”
These people right here—Atticus, Silas, Joss, Clara, Remi—These are my people.
My inner circle.
The few people who know me.
Not the next in line for the throne. Just me.
“Is he allowed to do that?” Bellamy whispers as she steadies herself against my arm and climbs up on the stool.
Silas tosses Atticus a makeshift icepack, and my idiot of a brother presses it to his jaw dramatically before focusing on Bellamy. “Joss and Silas’s older brother owns this place. It’s been in their family for so long, no one even knows exactly how old it is. Definitely a few hundred years.”
“At least,” Silas adds and passes out pints of beer. “It’s kind of like a family heirloom passed down to the second son of the Duke of Armstrong. Sort of a consolation prize. You don’t get the dukedom, but you get the Seven Swords. Funny thing is, I’m fairly certain most of us would rather have this place than that title anyway.”
Joss pops the bottle of whiskey and pours a round of shots. “To new friends and old bars.”
We all lift our glasses in the air. “New friends and old bars.”
I slam my empty glass upside down on the bar and lean into Bellamy, inhaling her. Wishing things could be different. “Are you having fun, love?”
She licks her pouty lips. “Well, let’s see. I’m in a new country, with a group of people I don’t really know but who’ve all seen me naked. And I really should be home, studying for the biggest test of my life. What else could possibly go wrong?”
BELLAMY
Drunk me might be a lot of fun, but she’s feisty. I don’t trust her.
—Bellamy’s Secret Thoughts
Oh. My. God.
As a woman with a master’s degree in nursing and four year’s experience working in hospitals, I am absolutely positive my brain is not actually about to explode, but then again, maybe I’m wrong. That’s the only logical explanation for the pain pulsing behind my eyes, like an entire drum line is doing their best routine before the biggest football game of their lives.
Ouch.
This is why I don’t often drink. It never agrees with me.
Maybe I should have remembered that last night.
Why do I feel like I’m about to stroke out?
Definitely not my best diagnosis, but it’s going to have to do.
I kick off the blankets, trying to cool down, and my heart sinks when the weight around my waist doesn’t move. Even worse—it groans.
Oh no.
“Sleep, love. It’s early.”
No.No. No, nono, nooooooooo.
I force my eyes open and close them just as quickly when the room spins around me in a flash of color. “Rhys,” I whisper. It’s not a question. More like a plea. “What are you doing here?”
I really should open my eyes again, but if I do, this somehow becomes real. And I’m not ready for real. I’ve never had a one-night stand before. I really didn’t want to start now. Not with him. How am I ever going to look at him again?
Easy. I won’t. I’ll just keep my eyes closed forever.
This headache is going to kill me anyway.
