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The moment I slide back into consciousness, I become aware of how fucking roasting I am. I know Miami is hot, but I left the air-con running yesterday afternoon, so by rights, this room should be a pleasant 65 degrees. Except it feels like there's a furnace behind me.
Then I realize I'm not alone. The sun is shining through the drapes and it's definitely the morning after the night before.
It takes a while for me to piece together the events of last night. I remember dancing and drinking. OK, drinking a lot. I also recall Romano hitting on me. Fuck, did I sleep with Romano? No way. Surely I wouldn't have been that dumb!
I desperately fast-forward through the jumbled snapshots in my head and then sigh with relief when a memory of talking to Christiano outside flutters into my mind. After that, there's a big blank space, so either I passed out from drink or he roofied me.
There's a heavy arm resting across my hip. I glance down, trying not to move because a), my head hurts like a motherfucker (memo to self: never, EVER, drink tequila again), and b), I'm still not 100 percent sure who's lying behind me. Although, not gonna lie, I am hoping it's Christiano.
Said arm is covered in ink, definitely a full sleeve. Does Christiano have tattoos? I've only seen him in shirts and expensive suits, so it's impossible to say. Whoever did this guy's ink is a real artist. The linework and subtle shading are amazing. I might have to get the tattooist's name and see how much he charges. I have a design in mind for my lower back, but I need the right artist to bring my vision to life.
A few minutes pass while I debate moving and waking my bed companion up. It could go one of two ways. The first is that I've slept with Christiano and forgotten it all, which would be a fucking tragedy, and the second is that I've fallen into bed with some random dude and a whole heap of embarrassment is in my future. It wouldn't be the first time, admittedly, but still. It's not like I can call an Uber and get the hell out of here.
Thalia told me yesterday that the family always meet up for a late brunch on a Sunday, to which I'm invited. Not thatshe'll be there, of course. I heard the helicopter leave not long after I last saw her yesterday evening, so by now she's probably on her honeymoon getting dicked every which way.Lucky bitch.
The body behind me stirs and I freeze. I really need to pee as a matter of urgency. I'm also very aware of the fact this man, whoever he is, doesn't have many clothes on. So far as I can tell I'm still wearing panties, which means I probably didn't have sex.
I'm kinda relieved about that. Unconscious sex isn't my thing. Pretty sure that's an actual condition in the DSM. God, how shit would it be if Christiano, my hot mafia crush, was afflicted with a serious psychological disorder that compelled him to only want sex with a sleeping or unconscious woman?
OK, I need a coffee and a pee before my thoughts spiral any further down this insane rabbit hole. After a hard mental slap around the face, I make a decision. I have to use the bathroom so whoever this is behind me, with a very hard dick that's currently pressing against my ass, will just have to deal.
Before I can overthink any further, I scoot off the bed and dash into the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind me. My brain registers that the room is way tidier than when I left it, but I figure the cleaning fairies visited at some point during the wedding. Thalia's new mother-in-law seems like a woman who employs cleaning fairies. I'm only jealous I don't have my owncleaning fairies. Maybe then I would be able to find shit in my apartment.
Focus, Cara!
My hair is a fucking disaster and I have black streaks down my cheek. So much for hurricane-proof mascara; the advertising blatantly lied. My head hurts and I can taste actual cat litter in my mouth, so I brush my teeth, drink a glass of water, and pop some Tylenol. From experience, I know this hideous stage will pass within an hour or so. Hangovers and I are very well acquainted.
Food is needed too. Hopefully, the brunch Thalia mentioned will be soon. I have a feeling it will be epic. I may as well stuff my face before leaving. There's fuck all waiting for me in the refrigerator when I get back, and until Martin pays me for my last few shifts at Java Junction, I'm broke.
There's a thin robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, so I pull it on. I don't want to walk back out of here mostly naked. Just in case someone unpleasant is waiting for me. Is there a protocol for kicking out unsavory family members related to your best friend's new husband? I feel like there should be a manual or 'how-to' guide.
Thalia's new father-in-law is a scary bastard. If I upset him, he might add me to the concrete foundations of the new hotel complex under construction downtown. I shudder at thethought. Then I remember Thalia is my best friend and if anything happens to me, she'll legit murder him.
That makes me feel better.
OK, woman up, Cara. Time to face the music!
Chapter 5
Christiano
Iopen my eyes to see Cara sitting on the bed wearing a silky robe, chewing her lip, and staring at me. She looks surprisingly good considering how much alcohol she drank last night. Frankly, it's impressive.
"Did we have sex?" she asks bluntly, her eyes narrowed.
I'm a member of the most feared mafia family on the East Coast, and yet this petite woman has me pinned down like a fucking CIA interrogator. What kind of asshole does she think I am?
"What? No! You were drunk. I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of drunk women." Quite honestly, I'm fuckingoffended. "I brought you back here and then stayed because the door can't be locked from the outside and I didn't want to leave you alone while you were vulnerable."
Her gaze slides down my chest, lingering on my abs. The sheet covers me but it's pretty obvious I'm hard. I'd blame morning wood but we both know it's not the reason.
"I guess I should thank you," she says sweetly. "For being a nice guy."
"Let's be clear," I tell her. "I'm about as far from 'nice' as you can get, but you're our guest and Thalia's best friend, so here I am. Oh and yes, you do owe me thanks for tidying up all your shit."
She takes a beat to think about that but doesn't seem too put off by me basically saying I'm an asshole and she's untidy.
"Out of interest, who are you protecting me from?" I see she's ignoring the whole your-room-was-a-mess issue.
