Page 49 of London, Can You Wait?

Fifteen

Mark’s shuffle under the sheets bounced Alex awake.

She squinted at his pale back and shifted her head slowly, homing in on the soft blue glow at the bottom of the flatscreen TV—the time, nine fifteen. Brightness spilled out from the bathroom around the corner. Dublin was too busy imitating a dishwasher outside, so her eyes were spared the discomfort of stabby shards of sunlight creeping through the edges of the curtains. Her hip ached. A peek under the duvet and her half-off dress revealed a purple and yellow bruise the size of an apple. She scratched her pounding head. “Mark, you awake?”

“Yeah…” His Irish accent barely broke a whisper.

“Kill me now. I’m so regretting last night. My head feels like a bashed-in piñata.”

“Me too. I should’ve been here looking after you…” He rolled over and clutched the edge of his pillow.

Alex gulped. Who had kidnapped her smiley boyfriend and replaced him with this mess who reeked worse than a brewery? This guy’s hair stuck to his forehead, and his complexion was ghostly, spare smudges of silver glitter on his cheek and chin, no doubt from a party hat long discarded. His brown eyes, bloodshot and puffy, skimmed over her, their usual lively glow extinguished. “Are you cross with me, Mouse?” He sounded like a chastised little boy.

“Hmm, guilty much?” she teased. “No, I made you stay. It’s my fault I’m in this mess, not yours.” She scooched farther up on her pillow, but the room swung around to meet her. “Urgh…don’t feel bad. I feel bad enough for both of us.” A rub of her eye, and black liner and glitter darkened her hand. “If I look as bad as I feel—”

“You always look gorgeous.” Mark’s voice cracked, like he was about to dissolve into tears. “Happy second anniversary, Mouse.”

“Happy anniversary, babe.” Alex swallowed several times, trying to wash away excessive saliva. “What’s wrong?”

“My head…is banging. I could murder a glass of water, but I feel like I could be sick. Fucking shots. I can’t remember whose idea that was.” Mark sniffed and closed his eyes. “If I could do it all over again, I would’ve come back with you. God, I’m such an idiot.”

“But you’re my idiot, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mouse, more than anything…you know that, right?”

She squeezed his hand. “My throat’s wrecked. I haven’t thrown up like that since Olivia stole my play. It was disgusting. When I got up around five to four, you still weren’t back.”

“How many times were you sick?”

“Twice, maybe…”

“I should’ve been here, holding your hair back.” He squeezed her hand.

Alex’s stomach squeaked and bubbled. “I’m tired of feeling like this.”

“Me too. Our anniversary isn’t going too well, is it? God, what a difference a year makes. Ah, Venice…” His voice halted. “Never again.”

“Never again. I’m done with stupid fruity cocktails… wait, what? Never what…Venice?”

“Promise me we’ll never be apart at midnight on New Year’s ever again, no matter what.”

“That’s my line, workaholic.” Alex snorted. “And after last night, I think I’m done with going commando…”

“I’m being serious, Lex. No more New Years apart.”

A muffled ping came from underneath the bedding. “You don’t have to nag. I’ve learnt my lesson.”

Mark groaned. “Me too.”

Alex’s hand fished under her pillow, pulling out her phone. “Oh.” Her eyes lit up. Two unread texts: one misspelled ramble from Freddie that ended with Stay sparkly and a delivery notification from the hotel’s front desk.

“What is it?”

“A surprise, the good kind.” She stared with half-mast eyelids. “So…is there something you want to tell me? Clear your conscience?”

“No…” He picked at a loose thread on his pillowcase. “I don’t think so.”

“You thought I’d freak out, right?” She dropped her phone under the covers. “Don’t worry, my head’s too sore to even go there.”