Ella had slept better than ever before. Who would have thought Tequila was the answer to her madness. Even so she had little intention of diving into the bottle, of any kind, ever again. Her head was pounding, her eyes felt swollen and every inch she moved made her sea sick. Felling like she had been hit by a train was only half the reason she didn’t want to get up. She had heard people saying how they remembered nothing the day after a night of heavy drinking but apparently she hadn’t drank nearly enough. She could still remember the part where she let the cat out of the bag and not to whom, to Conrad of all people. This was so bad. He probably had the men in white coats waiting down stairs. She only realised it then but there was an insistent snoring com
