She was never drinking again. Not even the gorgeous red wine that the Carltons kept in the pantry, the one that tasted more like heaven than anything she’d ever come across. The pounding in her head was like a thousand tiny men using pickaxes against her skull, digging, digging, digging until tears formed in her eyes.
As for the nausea, well that was almost unbearable. The cheese and wine she’d eaten last night seemed to have joined forces, mixing together in her stomach to form an evil cocktail. Cesca lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes to the morning light, wishing she’d turned down the final bottle when Cristiano had opened it.
She licked her dry lips, trying to remember what happened after she left the beach. Cracking open her left eye, she took in enough of her surroundings to realise she had at least made it back to her own bedroom, and was thankfully alone.
Yep, definitely never drinking again.
The problem was, she barely drank any alcohol when she was living back in London. She couldn’t afford it, and whenever she had any money the thought of a packet of tea bags and a chocolate bar always seemed more enticing than the rows of bottles stacked up on the shelves. Even when Gabi and Alessandro were here, she barely drank more than a third of a bottle of wine. Slow and steady had been her way for the first few weeks.
Not any more, apparently.
Rolling onto her side, she put her hand on her belly in an attempt to soothe it. Her abdomen felt hard and distended, her muscle
s aching from the constant cramping. Cesca took a deep breath, her thoughts returning to the previous night. She remembered falling over on the sand, then walking back up to the house. Did she go straight to bed after that, or did she hang around downstairs? Oh Jesus, Sam didn’t see her in that state, did he?
The memory of her encounter with Sam rose up from the depths of her brain, image by embarrassing image. Had she really thrown herself at him, multiple times? Ugh. The arrogant bastard.
If she could bear to move her hands from her stomach, she’d be burying her face in them right now. Especially when she remembered him almost carrying her upstairs and putting her to bed. Gingerly lifting up the bedcovers, she looked at her body underneath, breathing a sigh of relief when she noted she was still fully clothed. At least she had that final scrap of dignity to hold onto, shredded as it was.
There was a loud buzz in the hallway, as somebody called the villa from the entrance gate. Cesca froze, remembering it was cleaning day, and the crew would be waiting for her to let them in to blitz the house. It took a force of will to push herself out of the bed and stand up without wanting to double over in pain. She reached out and leaned on the whitewashed walls, closing her eyes and taking in small gulps of air.
She could do this. All it needed was to walk downstairs and press the button to open the gate. The crew knew what they were doing, she could just let them have the run of the place. She shuffled out of her bedroom, careful not to make any sudden movements that might end in a pool of vomit.
The stairs were the hardest part. She managed to slowly walk down them, only having to pause once to steady herself, and swallow down the pain. By the time she made it to the security box in the hallway, it felt as though she was almost in control of herself.
‘Yes?’ she asked through the intercom, her voice cracked.
The gabbled Italian reply, coupled with the video screen of the cleaning van, told her all she needed to know. Cesca buzzed the cleaners in, then sat down heavily on the hall chair, dropping her head into her hands.
‘I thought you might want this.’
Sam was standing in front of her, holding a glass of water. In his other hand was a packet of Advil. He gave her the glass, then popped out two pills. Cesca was too surprised to do anything other than take them from him, swallowing them one at a time.
‘Thank you?’ It came out as a question. If she’d been feeling more like herself she’d probably interrogate him, or accuse him of trying to poison her. Instead she felt a warmth in her chest, one that seemed to pacify her swirling stomach.
‘We’ve all been there,’ Sam said, taking the empty glass of water from her. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed? You look like hell.’
‘Thanks.’ Once she was feeling better, she really needed to work on her repartee.
‘It wasn’t really a compliment.’
‘I didn’t take it as one. I know I look terrible. I should. It’s my own fault anyway.’
Sam wrinkled his nose. ‘Nah, we can blame the wine.’
‘Yeah, because it jumped right out of the bottle and into my mouth.’ In spite of her headache, she felt the corners of her mouth turn up.
‘That damn Chianti, it’s got a mind of its own. Should be banned, it’s a dangerous substance.’
‘Shouldn’t you be lording it over me?’ she asked. ‘After all, you don’t like me, and you have every right to tell me off for getting drunk and then being hung-over on the job.’
‘You’re not an equal adversary right now. I’ll wait until you’re feeling better to make you feel bad.’
‘That’s very gentlemanly of you.’
‘I aim to please.’ He flashed her an unexpected smile. ‘Now get back to bed, you look awful and you stink.’
‘I can’t, the cleaners are here. I need to supervise them.’