You’re thirty-seven years old. Why on earth did you think shots would be a good idea?
As the room came into proper focus, Carmine tentatively shifted. He absolutely would not be sick. If Monica or any of her friends heard him, he would always be known as her brother who couldn’t handle his drink.
Thankfully he’d brought a glass of water to bed. Summoning powers from deep in his soul, he reached for the glass and drank half in one go.
“Okay. That’s good,” he said to himself.
Tentatively he sat up properly. The room came in and out of focus.
What he really needed was caffeine and carbs. The water must’ve given him some kind of boost as he felt able to extract himself from under the duvet.
Trying not to rush, he sat on the edge of the bed. Everything swirled and for a second he thought he might pass out. All he wanted was to be on his sofa with a million calories and mindless television.
This must be achieved. Whatever the cost.
Now he had a clear mission secured in his mind, he soldiered on by putting last night’s clothes on.
“Bloody hell, it’s been a while since I did this,” he muttered to himself.
In his youth, doing the walk of shame after a night out had been par for the course. The price one paid for waking up next to a handsome stranger.
Once clothed, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. His straight dark hair was mussed everywhere, and he had shocking bags under his eyes. He groaned.
“You’re getting too old for this shit.”
Last year, he and Arinze had hosted their traditional New Year’s Eve party at their house in Encino. There had been the odd famous face there. No one his mother would have been that eager to brag about, sadly. Mainly US television stars.
Still, it didn’t do to dwell. Besides, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting up the stairs like a siren’s call meant he must obey.
He tottered down the stairs and into the kitchen. Monica was there in a bathrobe. Her hair piled on top of her head and held in place by what appeared to be a pair of knickers. She also had the family raven locks. Carmine always fantasised that his would be so beautiful if he let it grow. Not that he ever had.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” she replied. “You look rough.”
Carmine sank down at the kitchen table. “You’re not exactly runway ready yourself.”
“I presume you want some coffee?”
“Oh God yes please.”
Monica busied herself pouring the lifesaving nectar into two cups. He watched her. She’d visited him quite a few times in Los Angeles. However, he liked the idea of living close to her again. Even if he would have to watch her where alcohol was concerned. There was no way he was suffering this on a regular basis.
“I hope Raoul wasn’t overwhelmed last night,” Carmine said. “Nonna wasn’t for letting Papa go.”
“He reckons he’s the big man,” Monica replied. “It won’t hurt him to feel the burn. He’s lived in Dad’s shadow for long enough.”
Monica had achieved a first in her psychotherapy degree. Stefano and Maria had played the proud parents but in reality, they were waiting for her to settle down with a decent man. They were old-fashioned, he supposed.
“You throw a decent party, sis,” Carmine said. “I like your friends.”
She placed the cups down and sat opposite him.
“You got on well with Samantha.”
“She’s great,” Carmine said.
“Do you remember offering her a job?”
