Never Letting Go

Chapter 9

I feel terrible.

My head is pounding yet again but there's no sign of any bright light about to indicate that it's morning. If it is morning, I'll dread opening my eyes. The sun will be too much to comprehend at this stage of a hangover.

I give myself a few more minutes of lying still with my eyes firmly closed before moving. I'm on a bed, that I know for sure, but whose bed and in whose room, I'm not sure.

I slowly open my eyes, half expecting to be in a strangers bed - that stranger being Terence. With just one look at the white bedside table that has a picture frame of my family on top, I know I'm in my own bed, in my own room.

Relief washes over me but it fades at the sound of the kettle clicking off in the kitchen.

Fuck.

Who is that? Did I bring Terence home last? Did Allison come home with me last night? Did I meet a different guy last night?

I don't know the answers to any of these questions. There's no other person I can think of that might be in my kitchen making something hot to drink.

Well, there is only one other person but he doesn't know where I stay and as far as I can remember, he is away on business.

I roll out of bed, my legs sore and not moving in the strides I want them to as I'm still in my dress from last night. I glance at my reflection in the mirror on the dressing table opposite my bed as I pass it, my hair untamed and sticking out everywhere and my make-up smudged.

It's the last things on my mind but it's nice to know I look like trash this morning.

I stagger my way towards the kitchen with caution.

Whoever is in my kitchen has a better chance of trying to attack me than I do of defending myself. They've got knives, I've got nothing but the vase of roses sitting on the side table which would do some damage if I needed to throw something.

I push the door open and grip both the handle and doorframe as I look at the male standing with his back to me. Even from behind, I know who it is. I've seen that view many times and it never gets old. It's just gotten better now he's older and more muscular.

"L-Luca?" I stutter.

He turns on the spot. "I hope you don't mind if I make myself a cup of tea. I can't start my morning without one."

"I . . ." My eyes close briefly before I shake my head. "It's fine." I look at the windows in the living room. All the blinds and curtains are drawn. The place is almost in sheer darkness if it wasn't for the lights under the wall cupboards being turned on. "Wha-"

"I closed all the blinds and curtains so you wouldn't strain your eyes when you woke up."

"Thank you, I guess."

I'm confused.

What is he doing here? When did he get back from whatever country it was he was in? How did he know I was hungover? And better yet, how did he find out where I stayed?

I have all these questions bouncing around in my head that if I didn't already have a sore head, I'd be on the way to having one with all of them, that's for sure.

"Luca, how-"

"You were in my hotel, Kaylee." He starts, leaning back against the worktop, cup of tea in hand. "Rafael contacted me to say you were there for Allison's boyfriend's birthday dinner."

"I didn't know it was going to be in there. I wouldn't have gone if I did."

I'm trying to defend my going there as if I made a promise to him that I wouldn't. I did no such thing so I don't understand why I'm trying to make it into a big deal.