With a smile, I wonder if he’d think that right now.
I look not so much intoxicating as intoxicated; the kind that comes with a quart of vodka in a brown paper bag and a shopping cart laden with rubbish.
My hair is a complete disaster—it looks like I’ve spent the night having sex in a wind tunnel—my eyes look like a panda after a night on the tiles, and my neck is still red from his whiskers.
But most of this can be fixed with the right apparatus.
I rinse my face, pat it dry, then realise my purse must be downstairs, so I don’t have a hair tie currently. Unless...
It’s with a sudden sense of trepidation and a whispered prayer ofplease don’t let itbethat I open the drawers under both vanities. Though I could absolutely do with an elastic to tie back my hair, no, I don’t want to find one next to a tub ofLa Mermoisturiser, aChanellipstick, or a box of tampons. Because, from what I recall seeing last night, this house doesn’t look like a bachelor pad. Then again, it didn’t strike me as a family home. It’s more like the set of a high-end home magazine shoot, a peek into the lifestyles of the rich and famous.
But getting back to the drawers, neither has what I’m looking for; the units on one side are almost completely empty, though unscrupulously clean. On the other side, one drawer is filled with fluffy white hand towels and one inlaid with one of those wooden sock sorter looking things, each compartment holding a bottle of aftershave.
He certainly does like to smell nice.
So no hair tie, which is not only fine by me but also a huge relief. I suddenly recall seeing the article in the newspaper and the woman he was with, then wonder if I’ll ever return to the girl I was before Cameron cheated me of my trust. Yet I can’t seem to help myself from pulling off the lids of one or two of the bottles of his cologne to see if I can guess which he wears most.
Dark and spicy with a hint of leather.This one. It’s my favourite.
With a sigh, I close the drawer and turn my attention to my clothes, finding I have everything here but my knickers. I dress, then take a seat on the plush chaise in the centre of the room. A modern egg-style bath sits under a large frosted window, a shower big enough to hold a party in is situated in the middle of the room like a glass box of voyeurism with a three-sixty view.
I feel .. . well, I feel like I’ve spent the night having sex with a seriously well-endowed man. And I probably smell like sex, too, but I’m not going to shower until I get home. If I can, I’d like to sneak out without waking him. It’s the coward’s way out, sure, but also sort of perversely appealing. Like coming full circle to the way he left me. No matter how mitigating he might think the circumstances, waking up alone like that wasn’t a pleasant experience.Even without the added insult of waking to the view of a cat’s bum in my face.
A little payback might go some way to help him appreciate my point of view.
I attempt to comb my hair with my fingers, then give up before I pull half of the hair from my head. I make use of his deodorant and his toothpaste but not his brush because it somehow seems too intimate, which is pretty ridiculous, considering all the other things belonging to him I’d had in my mouth last night.
Also, the fancy electric thing might be noisy, so I’ll stick with my finger.
I’m two steps from the door when a sudden sensation washes over me, though the feeling is more like a wave that begins in the pit of my stomach and roils right through me, dragging me to my knees in front of the toilet.
I might’ve been worried about the noise of a toothbrush, but there’s no helping the sounds that come from me now.Can anyone vomit quietly?Personally, I can’t seem to do so without the addition of mutteredbleurghsandyucksalong with a generous helping of loud, sobbing tears.
I stagger to my knees, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. I willneverdrink prosecco again. What is it they say? Wine before liquor, never been sicker?
‘Sheesh.’ In the mirror, my refection causes me one of those whole-body shudders of the very unpleasant kind. I wash my hands, wet a clean hand towel, and rub my face, patting my poor red piggy eyes. I no longer care if I’ve wokensleeping studlybecause one look at me and he’ll go running for the hills.
Next, I go to town with his toothbrush, brushing so thoroughly, I probably remove a layer of enamel. I dispose of the towel in the hamper and pull off the head of his toothbrush, dropping it into the space age-looking litter bin and find myself grimacing at the latex languishing there. In fact, it makes me heave a little.
‘I am never drinking again, period.’ I make my promise to the mirror as I breathe in shallow breaths. Once I’m sure I’m not about to hurl again, I return to the door and peek out.
Just one glance to see if I can make good on my escape unhindered.
He hasn’t moved. Thank God. I creep out, creep across the room, and pull the door silently closed behind me.
I pass one, two, three doors along the narrow hallway before coming to stairs that lead upwards as well as down. I choose down, obviously, though I am super curious to see the rest of the house, but not right now.
Not ever, probably.
My bare feet pad against the warm wood, my shoes dangling from my fingertips. I need to find my purse so I can call an Uber, and thank goodness for the app being able to pick up the address because, other than Belgravia, I’m not sure where the flip I am.
I follow the staircase all the way to the bottom and look around, unsure this is where I want to be.It doesn’t feel right or in any way familiar.I’m in a small hallway, it’s a little dark, and several doors lead off in different directions. We came in through a garage and up a few stairs, didn’t we? Maybe this is the basement, probably the original cellar. On the way here, the houses we passed were all Georgian. Heritage listed, probably. One of these doors possibly leads to the service entrance and a way out, or I could go up one flight of stairs and find the front door. As my purse is up there too, that’s the way I’ll go. But the doors are so close, and James is two floors above, so I allow curiosity to get the better of me.
I pull on the handle of the nearest a door to reveal an indoor swimming pool of maybe twenty metres or more in length.Not what I was expecting.A mosaic-tiled spa sits at the far end, a glass wall running down one side revealing a small gym on the other side.
Urgh. I don’t know any gyms. And I wouldn’t speak to them if I did.
The next door opens to the garage; the Vanquish, a boxy looking Jeep, and a motorbike that looks like something Batman would covet stowed inside. And what’s behind door number three makes me squeal. Actually, it makes us both squeal.
