Before December

Chapter 2

I woke sprawled across a queen-sized bed in a bedroom I didn't recognise. I tried to sit up, but the movement sent a vicious throb through my skull and I collapsed back against the pillows with a groan. I groaned as my head throbbed and tried to remember how I had gotten here A knock on the door made me groan louder. "Who is it?" I called out.

It's Celeste, dear. May I come in?" came a voice so polished it immediately made me conscious of my tangled hair and stale clothes.

"Umm... Sure," I replied. I tugged the duvet higher and attempted to flatten my hair with both hands. As if slightly less chaotic hair could somehow undo last night's first impression. The door slid open smoothly. Not a creak.

"Hello dear, I just wanted to check if you were feeling OK?"

"Just a headache, but I'll be fine." I forced a smile.

"Well, I can get you something for that. I'll be right back."

Once Celeste left, I forced myself upright and finally took in the room. Everything seemed to be some variation of white, cream or gold—the thick beige carpet, the ivory curtains, the ornate bedside tables and the enormous wardrobe dominating one wall. Sunlight seeped through the closed curtains, catching on the gilt frame of a full-length mirror in the corner. Even the bed looked expensive. Golden sheets pooled around my legs, ridiculously soft against my skin. I sank back into the pillows. Whoever lived here clearly didn't shop at the same places my family did. It was a beautiful room, and it was the comfiest bed I ever laid in, although there haven't been many beds I have tested. I sunk into it and I really didn't want to move from it. A knock on the door startled me a little. I knew it would be Celeste coming back, but I was so lost in the room that I wasn't prepared for it.

"Come in!"

"Here we go, dear. Some paracetamol for your head and some cold water. I also brought you a nice frothy coffee. I hope you like coffee?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Celeste placed everything on the side table and turned to leave.

"Celeste." I called out. "I'm sorry about how I arrived. I was so nerv..."

"It's fine, dear," she interrupted. "It's a difficult situation. They'll forget all about it, but it can't happen again." She peered at me over the rim of her glasses, one eyebrow raised and I just nodded back in understanding. I assumed Celeste was the woman I was supposed to be living with. She was tall—maybe five-foot-seven—with short, dark curls and small-framed glasses. A simple black dress fell to her knees. She seemed friendly enough, and I'd made a disastrous first impression. I flung myself back on the bed, taking the covers with me and covered my face.

**********************

A couple of hours later, I walked out of my room, beginning to feel hungry. I was still in the clothes I had arrived in, and my hair still wild. It looked as though I'd stuck my finger into a plug socket, but I didn't care. I'd already made my grand entrance. With a hangover pounding behind my eyes, I wasn't wasting energy making myself presentable just to find food and crawl back into bed. Finding the kitchen turned out to be harder than expected. The first doorway revealed an enormous sitting room filled with immaculate sofas. The second opened into a formal dining room, complete with a chandelier that probably cost more than my first car. By the third wrong turn, I was beginning to wonder whether the house came with a map.

The house seemed quiet and there was no one in the kitchen when I finally found it, so I crept into the room, heading for the refrigerator. Opening the double doors, I was shocked to see how much food they had. Every shelf was filled with fresh meats, salads, vegetables and cheeses. In search of something quick to make, I thought maybe a sandwich would do. Someone cleared their throat behind me. I froze, one hand still gripping the refrigerator door. Someone had caught me. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned around. I was taken aback as I looked at the man standing before me. He looked about my age, with dark, slightly damp curls and unnervingly blue eyes. He wore a plain white T-shirt and grey joggers, as though he'd only just finished getting ready for the day. Annoyingly, he was ridiculously good-looking.and for one humiliating second I forgot why I'd come into the kitchen. He stood in front of me with his hands in his pockets and smirked at my awkwardness. Or maybe he'd noticed me blatantly staring. Brilliant. Two days in this country and apparently dignity had abandoned me completely.

"It's Lydia, right?" he asked, the corner of his mouth lifting.

I gulped. I didn't know if I could speak right now and if I did, I had no idea how my voice was going to sound, so I turned back to the fridge and pretended to keep looking for something to eat. That way I could speak without having to face him.

"Yeah. Who are you?"

"You don't remember?"

Again, my eyes widened, and I racked my brain to figure out when I had met him. Oh no! Was he the guy I threw up on? Please no. Please no. I spun around, closed the fridge and blurted out, "I threw up on you, didn't I? Oh my God." I slapped a hand over my face. "I am so sorry. I can't believe I got that drunk before I'd even met everyone properly. I'm such an idiot."

"Whoa. Chill Lydia. You didn't throw up on me. Although, I was there when it happened. You threw up on James. That was hilarious, by the way," he informed me as he picked up an apple and took a bite.

I was a little relieved that it wasn't him, but if James was also as hot as him, then I would die. He took a step closer to me, looked me in the eye and said, "I was the one who took you to bed."

I stiffened as my stomach flipped. "You what?"

He took a bite of his apple again, smiled, showing all the apple covering his teeth, then left. He walked out without another word, leaving me staring after him with an unopened refrigerator behind me and about a hundred new questions in my head.