Page 52 of Forbid It

CASSIE

When I wake up, it takes me a second to remember where I am, until I hear soft laughter from outside the door. I rub my eyes, careful not to disturb my lash lift that probably cost almost as much as the bed I’m sleeping on. In the light, the room is very much designed for a teenage boy. Light blue paint and soccer trophies displayed on a walnut shelf above the giant TV mounted to the opposite wall.

At least the bed is comfy. I snuggle further into the soft cotton, so unlike the silk sheets I sleep on every night so my stylist doesn’t murder me for the state of my hair.

I hear a patter of footsteps in the hallway and hear a hissed, “Ffion, calm down please,” followed by a high pitched giggle.

Nerves flutter in my belly. Robbie’s family are here.

What must they think of me? The hidden starlet hijacking a family party with no warning and no preparation.

Just as I’m about to fish my dead phone out of my handbag and call a car to pick me up, there’s a light tapping at the door, and Sian pokes her head in.

“Hiya,” she whispers. Her thick accent doubles the syllables. “Are you up yet?”

I nod, sitting up and accidentally letting the duvet slip to my waist. Hopefully Sian doesn’t notice that I’m wearing her son’s t-shirt. I didn’t exactly have time to swing back to my hotel to grab my suitcase, so I’m working with a very limited wardrobe. I debated just sleeping naked but my curiosity won out, and I ended up peeking through the top drawer and pulling out the first t-shirt I could find. It was obviously clean and didn’t smell anything like Robbie, but it still made my nipples pebble as I slipped it over my body and climbed into his bed.

I clear my throat and send Sian a smile. “Just about.”

“I thought I’d just pop my head in and see if you’re hiding away in here.” Sian smiles kindly. “The little ones just arrived, and they don’t really know how to be quiet.”

“Do they…” I trail off uneasily. Do they know I’m here? Do they know I’m me?

“Well.” Sian stands further in the doorway, resting her hand on the frame. “They know Robbie brought a friend home, so Ffion is already pestering him half to death with questions but they don’t know you’re…” She waves her hand. “You.”

I smile. “I’ll be down in a second.”

“Alright, flower.”

As soon as the door closes behind her, panic descends. I throw the covers off and fling myself out of bed and towards the minuscule mirror on the chest of drawers trying to see what I’m working with. I can barely see my whole head at once, hovering the small blue mirror around my face like I’m trying to find cell signal.

Eventually, I give up and rummage through my bag for a hair clip, scraping my hair back into what I hope is a chic messy bun but will most likely look like a bird with a penchant for ginger hair has built a nest.

I take a deep breath. Why did I do this? All I have with me is a handbag, a dead phone, a bunch of guitar picks, and a travel toothbrush I carry around for emergencies. I don’t have any of my skincare or my shampoo, and I spent the night with my hair not in a protective style, and I just spoke to Robbie’s mother for the second time in his borrowed t-shirt.

I cover my eyes with my hands and take a few deep breaths. What the fuck am I doing?

I just need to get dressed and walk out the door, say a few polite hellos to the gathered crowd downstairs, and make a quick escape. I peek out of the blinds, trying to gauge how close I am to a main road and blink.

Green. Everything is green. The large trees opposite the window tower up into the blue sky, stretching for miles, and apart from the neighbors' houses dotted around the street, it feels private. Robbie’s car is still perched in the driveway, but now it’s joined by a blue SUV, presumably his brother’s. I let the blind fall and take a deep breath against my rising panic.

I pull my jeans and baby tee back on. At the party, it was a cool, chic look. Faced with meeting a family with small children, I feel like an idiot. But, at least it’s not a skimpy dress and heels for my walk of shame.

It’s not a walk of shame, I remind myself, mentally steeling my spine. Nothing happened last night. Nothing.

I pull my phone out of my bag, tempted to turn it back on. If I do, I’m sure there’ll be many, many notifications, emails, and missed calls. If I don’t, there will still be just as many, but I won’t have to know about them. Schrödinger’s phone.

I slide it back into the inner pocket of my handbag, zipping it up as if it’s locked in an impenetrable safe.

I’ll go downstairs, drink a cup of coffee, make polite conversation and then come back up and call a car. Or maybe Robbie can call a cab for me, and then I won’t have to turn the phone back on at all.

I could probably check it just once. Just turn it on and off real quick.

As I reach across the bed for my bag, the door bangs open behind me, and I spin in place with a yelp.

A little boy, probably five years old, stands in the doorway, his hand still on the door handle and sandy blonde hair covering his eyes.

“Hello,” I say, straightening. “You surprised me.”