I may have tested out my acting skills last night, but there is absolutely nothing pretend about the incessant pounding in my skull, the dull ache in my feet and legs from dancing in four-inch stilettos, or the sea of nausea swirling in my body and threatening to crash right out of my mouth.
No. I can confidently confirm this hangover is very real. I keep my eyes closed, breathing through wave after wave of the effects of far too much Champagne mixed with regret.
“Please, God,” I mutter. “Please don’t let me vomit all over Raf’s pristine bedding. I don’t think I could suffer his death stare. I’ll do anything you ask.” I think on that for a second. “Except go back to live with my uncle in Italy. Or become a nun. That life is not for me. I’m sure you can understand.”
God must be feeling generous today, because I do in fact manage to breathe through the onslaught of alcohol-induced sickliness. It passes long enough for me to gingerly sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I listen for movement, butthe house seems incredibly quiet. I slowly get myself to standing and walk towards the ensuite in my room.Oh God, I’m never drinking ever again,I think as I make the final dash to the bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the porcelain bowl just in time to say goodbye to the alcohol that I’m sure fueled every bad decision I made last night. The tears flow as I expel everything in my stomach. I can’t help it; I always cry when I vomit. It’s almost as if the purge releases all the shit I’ve buried deep within—every sorrow, regret, or shameful thing resurfaces with the stream of very expensive Champagne.
Once I’m sure it’s all out, I crawl to the vanity and grab the ledge with my fingers, slowly lifting myself to standing. Holy hell. My dark hair is a tangled nest, and my mascara and eye makeup has wound itself around my entire eye, giving off raccoon vibes. I root through the drawers and find a washer to clean my face as best I can without my normal products. Then I finger brush my hair.
Note to self: Remind Raf he also needs to remove my makeup before he puts me to bed. I snort at the audacity of my delusional thoughts. I already know God must have listened earlier because hell has frozen over, given Raf let me spend the night at his home and I’m still here.
I slowly walk back to the room and listen to hear if the man himself is awake. It sounds eerily quiet, like I’m home alone. I try to remember where my phone is, looking around the room for my bag, except my eyes land on it next to a glass of water and two white pills on the bedside table.
I sit on the edge of the bed and unlock my phone. Its screen is covered in notifications, but there is only one I care about. My heart races at the sight of his name: Big Bad Raf. And my lips can’t help but slowly unfurl into a satisfied smirk at the realization that he’s messaged me. Even if I have no idea what it contains, I’ll count it as a win. Before I click into the app toanswer his message and no doubt make his day, I curl back up in the big bed with luxuriously soft linen, my small body swimming in his T-shirt. I rub my feet slowly along the sheets to warm the spot I like, the heat spreading fast as my mind wanders back to him in the shower stroking himself to orgasm. Now in the morning light, it’s clear to me he knew I was there and didn’t stop.
Unable to curb the small feeling of satisfaction that slowly begins to unfurl, I open his message to see what adventures we’ll go on today, because every interaction with this infuriatingly intriguing man is like a choose-your-own-adventure book. I just hope the one I desperately want is an option.
Big Bad Raf:
In case you’re still drunk and can’t see straight, there’s Tylenol and water by your bed. Take it now.
Big Bad Raf:
The coffee maker is already set up for an espresso. Press the button and drink it. Rinse the cup and put it in the dishwasher by the sink when you’re done. Avery is waiting out the front, ready to take you back to Arabella’s. He has a bacon, egg, and cheese roll waiting for you.
Good morning, Daddy. *Devil emoji*
Is that code for “Good morning, Chiara. Hope you slept well.”
Big Bad Raf:
No. That’s plain English for the party’s over, and it’s time to go now, Chiara.
Hmmm. Think I might just stay here. I don’t remember getting an invite to your party. *Eyes emoji*
Besides. I didn’t fully get to appreciate your home last night, so might take myself on a tour.
Big Bad Raf:
We both know that’s a lie.
Big Bad Raf:
Tour yourself right out my front door.
Whoops! I must have forgot to mention I sleepwalk. In which case, I wasn’t lucid enough tofully appreciate all the attractions. *Devil emoji*
It’s gorgeous. Your home, that is. Just needs a few photos on the wall. Lucky for you, I happen to know a talented photographer.
Big Bad Raf:
I like my walls just the way they are.
High and totally impenetrable? All good, grumpy. I promise I just want to make them look pretty, not damage them.
Are you here?
Big Bad Raf:
