Page 21 of The Story of Us
Oh, no.The nausea wasn’t gone. Also, this wasn’t her room.
The golden retriever opened one eye and shot Eloise a look so full of reproach it pushed her further from the bed, her foot tangling in the grey quilt.
Navy curtains covered the floor-to-ceiling windows to her right, and a slice of sunlight slipped through a gap, setting fire to her brain. Two deep gulping breaths did nothing to help the nausea climbing her throat, so Eloise focused on the wooden floorboards, breathing through her nose until she could look up. In the corner, there was an enclosed fireplace, a pile of wood stacked in a woven basket her mother would love on the hearth. Eloise pressed her hands to her mouth and swallowed a burp. There was a glass of water and a packet of painkillers next to the stack of books on the bedside table.
Where am I?
Her dress from last night hung off the footboard like it’d been tossed there.
She looked down. The light blue T-shirt she wore swam on her, pooling around her waist, the wide neck slipping off her shoulder.
Fragments of last night drifted back to her.
Over-the-top decorations.
Champagne.
She touched her lips.
A quiet knock distracted her, the hazy memories slipping away.
“You awake?”
Eloise rubbed her tongue across her furry teeth. She’d kill for a whole bottle of mouthwash right now and maybe an IV bag of fluids like influencers spruiked on social media.
“Yep,” she croaked, scrambling up to the bed and pulling the covers back across her lap before crossing her arms over her chest. Where was her bra? Her boobs were way too big to be unsupported right now.
Nate edged into the room, pyjama pants hanging deliciously low on his hips and a long-sleeve shirt with ‘I’m the favourite son’ splashed across it. She’d bet Lulu had bought one for each of her boys.
If she’d slept with Nate and couldn’t remember it, Eloise was going to die.
Nate’s dimples winked at her as he passed her a mug of steaming coffee. Oh, sweet mercy. She really, really didn’t remember it.
She meant to say “thank you”, but “What am I doing here?” tumbled out instead.
Nate padded back to the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his own mug cupped between his enormous hands. How had she never noticed how big his hands were?
“You refused to go home or sleep in the guest room.”
Eloise blew on the top of her coffee, tried to stop her stomach from rolling. Sitting upright felt like running a marathon. Not that she’d ever done that.
“What do you remember?”
Her grip on her coffee tightened. “Not much.”
“Looked like quite the party.”
She lifted the cup and ow, her elbows hurt. Why did her elbows hurt? “Those women can drink.”
Nate’s lips curled and sweet merciful Lord, it was so unfair that he could look so goddamn good when she was doing her best impression of electrocuted roadkill.
“I could’ve told you that,” he said. “You were tipsy when Charlie and I came to pick everyone up, but then you all kept drinking on the drive home.”
A vague memory of passing bottles of champagne around the backseat of a car resurfaced. Eloise closed her eyes and counted to five, waiting until she trusted herself to speak. “Why were you there? It was supposed to be ladies only.”
Nate sipped his drink and looked at her from under his offensively long lashes. “There was a problem with one of the limos. Charlie and I came in to help ferry everyone back to Wattle Junction.”
The dog stood up, her front legs planted next to Eloise as she bowed down in a stretch, her nose nudging at a lump under the covers.
