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Angie disappears to check on Uncle Bill the second we wake up. Boo. I could have thought of a few ways to spend a lazy morning. Instead, I rise, dressing and making my way downstairs. I don’t want to have breakfast without Angie, so I make my way to the den, flipping on some random international news channel.
I’m not alone for long, but it’s not Angie. The boys troop in looking incredibly hungover. I smirk smugly at them as they collapse into various chairs around the room.
“Worth the trip, boys?”
Ryan and David lift their hands to flip me off while Beau calls out from underneath the manuscript that is lying on top of his face to block out the light.
“Fuck off, you prick.”
Max groans, seemingly unable to move a muscle. The door cracks open and Angie’s head sticks in, cracking an evil grin as she takes in everyone’s sorry states.
“Greasy breakfast, boys?” she cackles, clearly enjoying herself. “Maybe some hair of the dog?”
“Perfect,” David groans from over in the corner.
“I’m in,” Ryan mutters and Angie laughs again.
“Dining room, if you can manage it. Oh, here.”
Flicking her wrist, something black sails across the room and lands on Beau’s stomach as the door closes with a snap. Groping around for whatever Angie threw at him, Beau moans as he pulls the manuscript from his face and holds up a pair of inexpensive plastic sunglasses. Max snorts as Beau slides them on. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Beau in something so cheap, but he sighs contentedly.
“These are perfect. I’m keeping them.” With great difficulty, he eases himself off the sofa.
“Share.” Max grabs at his face as he passes by his chair, but Beau knocks his twin’s feeble hand out of the way.
“Get your own.”
It takes a ridiculously long time, but eventually they all get upright, shuffling into the dining room, where Angie has arranged for the greasiest breakfast imaginable, complete with pints of beer.
My seat pointedly has a mug of coffee beside it, and Angie is nowhere to be seen. The boys fall upon the meal with moans of appreciation.
“Your girlfriend is an angel, Timmy,” Ryan moans, taking a bite of bacon. “You should marry her.”
The others snort into their plates, and I grin, flipping Ryan off.
“I’ll think about it.”
Ryan smirks over at me and winks. “Bet Uncle Bill wouldn’t like it.”
I shake my head, taking a sip of my coffee. I’m not marrying Angie. I’m not done with her, but that doesn’t mean I want to get married.
“Where’s Mom?” Max glances around. “Usually when we get drunk, she’s here to lecture us on the evils of alcohol.”
“Aunt Sharon is nursing her own killer hangover, Max. I think you’re safe today.”
“Typical. She does it on the one day I’m not in a fit state to lectureher,” he grumbles, taking a swig of beer and wincing. “I had some excellent talking points saved for this day.”
“Save them for the morning after Timmy’s wedding,” David drawls, earning a screwed-up napkin to the face. “She’ll be hungover then.”
“So will Max,” Beau snorts, as his brother flips him off.
Angela
Everyone has retired to their rooms to nurse their hangovers, and Tim is making some sort of conference call, so I take a long, hot soak in the claw-footed tub.
Unlike every other one of Bill’s homes, the Manor doesn’t have ensuite bathrooms for every bedroom. Only Bill’s master bedroom has one. The other nine share four bathrooms. When he bought it, Bill contemplated renovating it to put in more bathrooms, but that would have involved sacrificing some bedrooms, and he enjoys having enough space for his whole family. Plus, he says keeping it this way keeps it traditionally British, or something.
Whatever the reason, I haven’t been able to take advantage for fear of hogging a bathroom. That’s not currently a problem. Thank you, alcohol. The bathroom with the incredible tub also is the only one with an old-fashioned key lock, rather than a push lock.
