Sophia woke to the distinct impression that the sun was personally attacking her. The light pouring into her room felt aggressive, like it had taken offense at her existence. Her skull throbbed, her throat tasted like last night’s rebellion, and she was ninety percent sure her dignity had dissolved somewhere between the second champagne bottle and the dance floor.
On the couch, Dominic sat cross-legged with a mug of coffee and the authority of a man who had been awake long enough to judge her properly.
“Good morning, child of Satan,” he said.
Sophia let out a noise that could have been a groan or a faint curse. She rolled over and buried half her face in a pillow, hoping to muffle reality. Dominic took a sip of his coffee, unimpressed with her attempt at reincarnation.
“You look like a
