Ugh. I carefully open my eyes into slits and look around. I’m in the living room, and my bed is actually a couch. Four whiskey bottles sit on the table, empty. I don’t remember drinking quite that much, but…maybe I did. I was in a bad place last night after returning from Faye’s hotel. I don’t even know why. I’m usually in a better mood after making a decision, and I decided to marry her for a year. It’s completely logical, and will solve a couple of my most immediate problems.
Must’ve been celebratory drinking…except I obviously took it too far.
“I’ll replace the damned whiskey,” I rasp. “Go away.”
“Can’t. We’re meeting Elizabeth in less than an hour. I’m giving you a chance to get dressed and pull your shit together.”
Damn it. This is why I don’t like being around my siblings. They don’t know when to stop. “Does it look like I’m in any condition to eat?” The very idea of food makes my stomach roil.
“She won’t care. She insisted you come too.” Blake hands me a glass of water and a couple of aspirin. I finally sit up with a grunt, take them and down them.
“What happened last night?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Thought you were gonna get laid.”
The last thing I want to think about is how cold my body was—how unresponsive to what Faye offered. “What I’m gonna do is shower.”
I stand with an enormous effort and slowly stumble toward the second level, where Blake’s stashed my stuff. The suite is large, with a small study attached to it. I kick my shoes off in the giant walk-in closet, which is only about ten percent full. I should probably get Rachel to send my usual wardrobe here. Just ship it. The whole thing.
Leaving a trail of wrinkled clothes, I walk into the glass stall and start the shower. Blake got one thing right with the penthouse—instant hot water all the time.
As it sluices over me, the thick fog around my head starts to clear, and the pounding eases somewhat. The aspirin must be kicking in.
I wash myself gingerly. I really don’t want to face anybody today, but I have no choice. Blake won’t leave me alone, and if I don’t go, Elizabeth may well decide to barge in and cater a bunch of food here because that’s just how she rolls. As lovely as she is, she’s too used to getting her way. And why not? Men fall to their knees for her, and women can’t hate her even if they want to because she’s just that nice. Not even her psycho mother bothers her anymore.
I put on a gray V-neck sweater and slacks and stare at myself in the mirror. A hint of green mars my complexion, and the bloodshot eyes and dry mouth do nothing to make me feel better about the upcoming brunch. I brush my teeth, trying to get the nasty taste of stale alcohol out.
“You done?” Blake calls out from downstairs. “You take longer than a woman.”
“Fuck you,” I mutter, then slip my feet into a pair of sandals and drag myself to the living room.
My brother doesn’t look up from his phone. “Seriously. Five minutes longer than my ex.”
“Was she hung over and about to be shanghaied to a brunch she didn’t want to go to?”
He ignores me. “Come on. We’re late.”
I keep my eyes closed as he drives us to the restaurant. The motion of the Aston Martin sloshes the alcohol in my belly, and I open a window to draw in some fresh air.
“If you puke, you’re buying this car,” Blake says.
“Don’t worry. It was only four bottles.”
“It was five.”
Elizabeth has chosen a retro-themed diner. The inside is rather cramped and decorated in some kind of garish, rubbery red plastic. The vinyl-covered chairs match the ugly color scheme. The music coming from the sound system is disgustingly cheery—the Gershwins’ “I Got Rhythm.” What have I done to deserve this?
Blake sees our sister before I do. She’s in a corner booth in the back. We walk over, and she gets up to give both of us a hug. A huge pair of sunglasses hides most of her face, and she’s wearing a Cubs cap, a fitted white long-sleeve shirt, frayed cropped denim pants and white tennis shoes, like she’s about to go to a game. “So good to have you join me.” But she says it with a smile.
I take a seat. I need to sit down…and cradle my head with my hands before it falls off. “Where’s everyone else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Ryder. Elliot.”
“They aren’t invited.”