Page 53 of The Devil's Pawn

“Dante?” I groan, and even that one word causes the nausea to rise up my throat.

“Yes, sweetheart, it’s me.”

I want to ask how he’s here, why, but I can’t manage talking anymore. I close my eyes and drift away, hoping for clarity when I wake up.

* * *

Light flickers through my eyelids, floating over me. I try to fight it, my stomach queasy. How much did I drink? Why would I do this to myself?

I turn onto my back, rubbing at my temple, the headache from earlier fading, but still lingering. I remember hearing Dante’s voice, as though in a dream. Was he really with me, or was I hallucinating? I recall everything before I got drunk, like finding his bar and stealing a bottle of vodka and cranberry juice.

What was I thinking?

But after the first two drinks, the third came easily. Then I can’t be sure how many more I had. I rarely drink, so my tolerance isn’t that great to begin with. And between the issues with my parents and Carlito, and now Dante treating me like shit on top of it, all I wanted was to release some of that stress.

The night whirls through my mind like a tsunami with images flashing before my eyes, the room spinning a little as I stare at the ceiling above. Bits and pieces from last night slam into my head, like hopping on the table and dancing. I can see a man watching me, but I don’t see his face. He’s like a black shadow lurking off to the side.

Was it Dante?

“Ahh! Why can’t I remember!”

I shut my eyes, pulling at the memories, trying to find what else I could’ve done.

Oh my God!My heart pounds.Did he and I do anything? Did we sleep together?

“Shit.” I finger my hair, tugging it in frustration.

Oh, no! What if it’s even worse? What if I did something with one of his men?!

No, I couldn’t have. I wouldn’t have. I’m not even attracted to any of them. The only man I want is Dante, and even after everything, I still do. So no matter how drunk I was, I’d never do that.

Right?

I’ll never drink again. Not remembering what I did or didn’t do is not a feeling I want to relive. I’m not that kind of woman.

I have to find out what happened. I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. And if I want to fill in the blanks, I should probably get out of this bed eventually.

Slowly turning my head toward the nightstand, I peek at the clock, finding it to be one thirty in the afternoon. I don’t think I’ve ever woken up this late in my life.

Forcing myself to get up, I swing my feet gently, sitting at the edge of the bed and taking stabilizing breaths, and then finally rising to my feet.

But before I can move to the door, my eyes land on a white piece of paper with something scribbled on it, and two white pills and a bottle of water beside it. I pick up the note and read over the words.

I hope you’re feeling a little better. Take the meds I left. It’s for the headache you definitely have.

P.S. I’m hoping you’ll strip for me again, but sober this time.

-Your objectively insanely gorgeous husband.

Oh my God! I stripped for him?

No way. He must be lying.

My cheeks warm as my eyes scan the paper over and over, as though the words will somehow change and become less humiliating.

What did I take off? Everything? Just my shirt? I mean, he’s seen a lot of me already, but still! How will I ever look him in the face again?

Sitting back on the bed, I let my face fall into my palms, hating that I managed to make such a fool of myself in front of I don’t even know who. He better not have let me embarrass myself in front of anyone else.

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