Page 29 of Arranged Scars
CAROLINE
My mouth tastes like cotton. My pillowcase is damp, probably from drool. My head hurts so much the light feels like it has a personal vendetta against me and it’s stabbing me directly in the eyes. I groan, roll over, and look around blearily.
There’s a glass of water on the nightstand. I don’t know where it came from but I gratefully chug it down. I almost knock over two Advil, but manage to swallow those too. I curl into the fetal position and try not to think, because thinking hurts, but sleep’s not coming again anytime soon.
Something feels odd on my hand. I peer at it through sticky eyelids and frown at the ring. Since when did I start wearing a wedding band?
The day before slowly floods back and I groan.
I got married. That really happened. I said the vows in front of my family and the most powerful people in the city. I’m really hitched to Finn Whelan for the rest of my life.
Except his offer…
I shiver, refusing to think about it. I don’t want to remember the pool. I don’t want to think about the bottle of prosecco, because if I think about the alcohol, I’m going to want to puke, and…
I rush into the bathroom and just barely make it in time. I’m sweating, back arched, yakking into the toilet when I sense someone standing nearby.
Finn’s looking down at me with an amused smile. He’s in jeans, boots, and a tight gray shirt that shows off his muscular forearms. I’d enjoy staring at those arms if I weren’t so deeply mortified.
“How are you feeling today?”
I groan and flush the toilet. “Please, no talk.”
“Why not?”
“Noise bad.”
“You’re so hungover you’re talking like a caveman.”
“Me no think.”
He casually tosses me a hand towel. “Clean yourself up, brush your teeth, and take some more Advil.” He pops two pills from a container in the bottom drawer. “You’re coming with me.”
I don’t have time to argue. There’s no more puke, thankfully, but I’m feeling like a dried-out sponge. I take the Advil for a second time and hope it stays down. I suck water straight from the sink spigot. I head back to bed, because obviously my psychotic husband didn’t actually think I was going to leave the house?—
Except I find clothes laid out for me. And the sheets, blankets, and pillows are gone.
What the hell?
I could scream. I could also cry. This is so beyond crossing the line. But I don’t have the energy for any of that, and I’m still in my underwear. I pull on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt before I shuffle to the steps like a zombie, intent on parking myself on the couch for the rest of the day.
Finn eyes me carefully as I lurch into the main room. “Feeling better?”
“No.” I move to storm the couch, but he steps in my way. “Please move.”
“You need food and coffee.”
I squint at him. “That’s true.”
“Nothing else is going to make you feel better. There’s a diner not far from here I really like. We’ll sit in a corner booth. You’ll start to feel human by the time we’re finished.”
I frown and look longingly at the couch. The glorious, beautiful couch. Nothing looks more perfect in all the world.
He’s got a point though. I haven’t been this hungover ever in my entire life, but lying around the apartment isn’t going to make me feel better.
“Fine. Food and coffee. But I’m not going far.” I don’t add that I’m pretty sure I’ll puke if it’s a long trip.
Finn ushers me outside. It’s a cool, beautiful morning. There’s already a car waiting for us at the curb like he knew I was going to give in. Or like he was going to drag me out whether I liked it or not. The car takes us to a diner called Nino’s and I barely make it to one of those super bouncy seats. The coffee is hot,strong, and the waitress refills it without me having to ask. Finn orders eggs, bacon, hashbrowns, French toast, and waffles. We don’t speak, which is good, because I don’t have the brain power to form coherent thoughts at the moment.
