Page 13 of As Devils Love

No time for that. What else? Think. How did you get here?My inner voice reprimands me for veering off course. I’m trying to solve a mystery here, not indulge in fantasies about a stranger I’ll never see again.

The barman. He warned me not to drink the Morning After too fast, but I didn’t listen. Even so, this isn’t a typical hangover. Hell, I haven’t been able to move from my bed or turn my eyes away from the ceiling while my brain spins in overdrive.

Wait a second! The guy I was dancing with, he… he said my name. He ordered me to head home.

Then my world went black.

My throat closes up and I shoot upright in my bed. I wince as the sudden movement makes the throbbing pain in my head trickle down my spine. My bottom half is uncovered, and my duvet lies on the floor, which elicits a new wave of anxiety. I rarely sleep this exposed. I love the feeling of being cozy beneath my blankets.

I reach for my phone and see six missed calls from my father. I swipe the notification away, searching for one that might ease the tension mounting in my stomach.

A deep sigh of relief barrels out from my chest when I see a text from Simone:

Hey, Fi-Fi.

Got you home safe. You weren’t looking too good. Put you to bed. Got you cuddly and cozy, the way you like, and headed out. Give me a call if you need anything.

xoxo

Her message is packed with emojis, from smileys to hugs, and a ton of multicolored hearts at the end. Something happened last night, that much is clear, but without Simone there to get me out, my night could’ve ended much more badly.

I send a reply to let her know I’ve survived:

Thanks for the assist. Don’t know what happened. One minute I was dancing, the next I was out cold.Probably some creep trying to get into my pants.

I delete the last sentence. If it didn’t cross her mind, I shouldn’t add to her concerns.

“Oh shit,” I mutter to myself, noticing the time in the top corner of my phone. I’m already an hour late to open my shop and, if I want to get there at all, I need to get moving.

I take slow steps from my bed to the en-suite, and stare at myself in the mirror for an uncomfortably long time while the shower heats up. Running my hands over my face and wiping the sleepy sand from my eyes helps restore enough of my blurred vision to notice the wreck that last night left me.

I have bloodshot eyes and scuffed make-up with long lines of mascara running down my face. My sunken cheeks and blocked nose have me pulling funny faces as if I’ve got a serious cold. I don’t even want to look at the knotty shambles that is my hair.

I grab a bottle of eye-drops from the cabinet and give each eye three good squirts. The sudden wetness against my pupils helps ease my headache and makes getting in the shower a less laborious task.

Alright, I can get back to sleuthing later. As deeply curious as I am, running it through in my head and letting thewhat-ifsof last night play on my emotions will only fuel my paranoia, and I can’t have that.

Father’s meeting stokes enough fear inside me as is. Our dinners aren’t really that rare. We see each other twice a month at a minimum. But his men are dying, and he doesn’t know why.It’s smarter to assume this isn’t a catch up and nice meal. He is going to want something from me.

I splash lukewarm water over my face to stop my mind from jumping straight to the worst possibilities and start scrubbing yesterday’s sin off my body.

Fifteen minutes later, with freshly washed hair and feeling as refreshed as I can with my head weighing double its normal state, I finish showering and head for my walk-in closet. Opting out of my usual work attire – a summer dress, belt and sandals – I pick out a dark-blue blouse, black jeggings and sneakers.

It’s a little more formal, and that is Father’s preference.

However, as I turn away from my closet, I notice something out of the ordinary which makes my heart stand still. My collection of trinkets, which includes miniature glass animals, tiny dancing cherubs and a plush teddy the size of my thumb, is out of position on my chest of drawers. And although I’m not overly pedantic about everything having its place in my room, or even in my house for that matter, seeing them scattered in the wrong formation feels like a bad omen.

Maybe Simone did this when she left for the night. But she’s walked through my room a thousand times, and if all she did was tuck me into bed, there was no reason for her to come this way. Even checking the sliding door’s lock wouldn’t bring her close enough to the chest to bump into it.

So, if it wasn’t her, then who was it?

Could Father or one of his men come to check on me when I didn’t return his calls? Another no. He wouldn’t risk it unless he was absolutely certain my life was in danger.

The mysterious stranger with those dazzling eyes? My entire body tenses as I remember how I woke up. No duvet covering me, no panties, no memory.

I gulp down hard and run a hand through my still damp hair. I’ll brush it on my ride to work, and let it air dry for however long it takes.

Come on, Fia. You’re being crazy. It wasn’t him.

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