Page 21 of Our Chaotic Love Affair

I forced myself to sit up. That took way more effort than it should have. I was certain the bed had tilted sideways. I could feel my hair sticking up in various directions. I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes because apparently drunk Cleo had decided stripping wasn’t possible.

Fair.

I stumbled to the ensuite bathroom, flipped on the light, and immediately gasped at my reflection. Oh God.

I wasn’t going to claim to be one of those skincare girlies that had a five-step routine every night. But I usually took two minutes to wipe off the top layer of makeup. Not last night.

My eyeliner and mascara were halfway down my cheeks. Raccoon eyes didn’t even cover it. My purple eyeshadow had somehow ended up on my forehead. My red lipstick looked chunky and smeared like a bad goth band lead singer.

And the swelling. My face looked like I’d gone twelve rounds with a beehive. I looked like a puffer fish.

“Should’ve stuck to Diet Coke,” I muttered to my horrifying reflection.

And water. Maybe I could get one of those hydration IVs. My poor body was not happy with me.

I spent the next fifteen minutes scrubbing my face clean and trying to make myself look like a human person instead of a creature of the night. If I wanted a part in a zombie movie, I’d be a sure thing. Cold water helped with the puffiness. Somewhat. I brushed my teeth three times because I was paranoid about my breath. I was absolutely certain there was fuzz growing on my tongue and teeth.

Finally, I changed into soft leggings and an oversized sweater that said “NOPE” across the chest in glittery letters. It felt appropriate for my current state. I loved kids, but I prayed little Tiana did not decide to have a crying jag before I got ibuprofen and coffee this morning.

I made my way downstairs, following the sound of voices and the smell of breakfast. The kitchen was already full of people, and the morning sunlight streaming through the windows was way too bright.

Cash was there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world. He looked annoyingly put-together in khakis and a white polo. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d already showered. He’d probably gone for a run too because of course he had. Why didn’t rich people get hangovers? Their blue blood must have some hangover antidote.

Our eyes met. I knew I looked like hell. I hadn’t bothered with my usual makeup. Few people saw Cleo in the raw. But here she was. And she needed coffee.

Wordlessly, he reached for a clean mug and poured me a cup. I could have kissed him for that alone.

“Cream and sugar are there,” he said, nodding toward the counter.

“Thanks,” I managed, my voice rough from sleep and dehydration.

I doctored my coffee with enough cream and sugar to make it barely recognizable as coffee, then took a long, grateful sip. The warmth spreading through my chest felt like absolution. Twelve more of these bad boys and I’d be right as rain.

“Morning, Cleo!” Melody chirped from where she was perched on a stool at the island. She looked radiant and well rested and absolutely glowing with pregnancy hormones. I kind of hated her for it.

“Morning,” I said, aiming for cheerful but knew I sounded like an old lady with a two-pack-a-day habit.

Austin was at the stove. “Frittata?” he offered. “I’m making enough for an army.”

“Yes, please. Food is good. Food will help.”

Protein.

Grease.

All the things to soak up the remaining alcohol.

Cash and I ended up standing near each other by the coffeemaker, and we fell into easy chitchat with Melody and Austin. It felt almost normal. Like Cash and I were friends now.

“I’m so excited about the spa,” Melody said, practically bouncing. “I haven’t had a massage in forever.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs announced Kent and Sylvie’s arrival. Kent looked like he hadn’t slept much. The hazards of having a two-month-old. Sylvie looked peaceful as she cradled baby Tiana against her shoulder. She moved to the windows, gazing out at the ocean with an expression of pure contentment.

I poured her a cup of coffee and took it to her. “Thought you might want this,” I said softly, not wanting to wake the baby.

Sylvie looked at me with genuine gratitude. “You’re a lifesaver. Thank you.”

“How’s motherhood treating you?”