I had to pull over twice on the ride home to throw up.
Serves me right for drinking half my body weight in champagne. It felt good in the moment — each sip washing away the memories of my confrontation with Archer, until my head felt as empty as one of the bubbles in my glass. Until I couldn’t even recall why I’d felt so pathetic and broken and lost in the first place. But now, in the cold light of day, all those feelings have not only returned, but are compounded by the ceaseless pounding at my temples and queasy swirling of my gut.
My ill feelings further amplify at the sound of approaching kitten heels in the hallway, heading my way. I make a break for the stairs, but it’s too late. My foot isn’t even on the first step when she steps into the atrium and brings my walk of shame to an abrupt halt.
“Miss Valentine.” Her voice hits me like a slap. “You’ve returned.”
Wiping my expression clear, I turn to face her. I know what she must see — borrowed t-shirt, bedhead, bare feet, black circles beneath my eyes. I’m a disaster. And she’s the picture of poise in her gray blouse, buttoned straight to the collar. Not a single wrinkle on her skirt. Not a single lock of hair escaping her low chignon.
“Good morning, Mrs. Granger.”
“Morning? It’s nearly afternoon.”
“Right.” My smile is weak. “Good afternoon, then. If you don’t mind, I’ll just be on my way upst—”
Her voice stops me again. “I was quite distressed when I arrived this morning and found you missing. Your bed not slept in, no sign of you. In another hour, I’d planned to phone the police and file a report.”
“I’m just in time, then.”
The silence is frosty.
“I apologize if I worried you,” I say. “I spent the night with some friends. We lost track of time. When I realized how late it was, I was too tired to drive home.”
Not to mention too toasted to remember my own name, let alone get behind a wheel,I add silently. In this case, a bit of omission is necessary. The judgment rolling off my housekeeper is potent. She says nothing — merely starts at me in frosty silence, her thin eyebrows arched in an inscrutable fashion.
I’m far too hungover for this.
Sighing, I run a hand through my messy waves. “I’ll call next time, okay? I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“It’s not my place to worry—”
“Agreed,” I mutter.
“—but I hardly think your parents would approve of this untoward behavior.”
“Then it’s a good thing they aren’t here.”
Her eye twitches — the only ripple of displeasure visible in an otherwise placid mask. Awareness slams into me as the moment drags on. I scoff in disbelief. “You already called them, didn’t you?”
“They have a right to know that their daughter is acting like such a… a…”
“Awhat?”
Her chin jerks slightly. Whatever name she was about to call me — probably something along the lines oftwo-bit floozyorwoman of loose morals— remains stubbornly lodged on her tongue. I lean over the bannister, breathless with sudden anger. “You had no right!”
“I had every right!” she retorts haughtily.
“Is this why you’re here, Mrs. Granger? To spy on me? To report any and all indiscretions to my parents? Because in case you’ve forgotten, I’m a legal adult.”
“And I am the keeper of this household!“
“Of this household, perhaps. But you are notmykeeper.”
We face off across the drafty foyer, our mutual displeasure seeming to magnify and echo back at us from all sides. When I speak again, my voice is stone-cold. “Let’s get something straight: If I choose to stay out all night, if I choose to join a biker gang, if I choose to tattoo my body from navel to nose… none of that is your concern. You are not judge, jury, or executioner, Mrs. Granger. If I offend your thick moral fiber, well, I’m sorry about that.” I pause, spine stiffening. “Actually, I take it back. I’m not sorry.”
I stomp my way up the stairs without a backward glance. I’m rather giddy from the rush of actually standing up for myself for once, instead of letting my parents — or their minions — steamroll me into bumbling apologies and cowed subservience. A bit of that levity evaporates when Mrs. Granger’s voice follows me across the upper landing.
“Your mother is expecting your call, Miss Valentine. If I were you, I wouldn’t keep her waiting.”