26
Hangovers were like Hell on Earth.
The next day, Lana lay on her bed, with the morning sun burning through the window, wishing the room would stop spinning.
She arrived home safely before Rory staggered in at 1 a.m. He flopped into bed beside her, stinking of stale smoke and alcohol.
Now he was freshening up in the shower and whistling cheerfully. He shouted something about playing pool in the afternoon; needless to say, the invitation didn’t extend to her.
The relentless pounding in her skull was the aftermath of too much champagne. She rummaged through the crap in her bedside drawer, hunting for painkillers only to find an empty blister packet.
“Ugh!” she muttered before rolling over to Rory’s side.
He always had paracetamol in his drawers. And this time he had a neatly folded jeweller’s receipt, hidden under balled-up socks.
It wasn’t fair to put a price on your engagement ring, and she knew not to look, but curiosity clouded her better judgement.
The itemised receipt showed a balance for two items. A three-stone gold ring and a diamond pendant. The necklace was marginally cheaper than her ring.
What the hell?
Her birthday wasn’t for another few months, perhaps he got a special deal and was holding it back until then. Although, Rory had never been one to pre plan, ever.
He was still preening in the bathroom, so she leant forward and kicked the door to a near close, then hastily pushed aside the socks, searching for a velvet box.
He had it hidden well. The necklace wasn’t there. She gave up the search seconds before the bedroom door swung open.
His lean torso dripped while he walked and simultaneously dabbed water droplets with a small towel. “Why are you still in bed, Lana?” he asked, knowing perfectly well she’d partied with Amanda last night.
She propped up on her elbows, her head swimming. “I have a headache. It feels like a migraine.”
He stalked to the edge of the bed, bent over and kissed her temple. “I’ll get you a couple tablets from kitchen. Hold tight.”
Rory bounded down the stairs, leaving the towel behind. A low vibrating buzz stirred her. It came from his bomber jacket hanging on the back of the door.
She rolled off the bed and took the phone from his pocket.
‘Will b late. Same place @ 1p.m. instead. J. xx’
Who the fuck is J? She opened the text and saw several others that preceded it.
‘Got something new. U will luv it! J. xx’
Then one from Rory.
‘I have something 4 u 2 R. xx’
Hearing him bounce up the stairs startled her sneaky snoop, she froze, with the phone in her hand, then scooted back onto the bed as he strolled back in the room, buck naked.
“What are you doing?” He frowned, his eyes glued to the offending hand clutching his mobile phone.
“Your phone buzzed.”
“Right, thanks.” He snatched it from her, threw the box of pain relief on the bed and turned off his phone.
Lana wanted answers, especially now the temperature around them had dropped to sub-zero. A warning bell rang in the back of her mind, telling her something was wrong. “Rory, who was that?”
“Zac’s mate.” His shoulders looked tense and his expression hardened.