The first thing I felt was pain. Not the emotional kind—though that was on standby—but real, pounding, head-splitting pain. My temples throbbed like I was being punished by invisible drums. My body ached like I'd run a marathon in stilettos.
I groaned and rolled onto my side, the silk of my nightdress clinging to my skin. Wait. Nightdress?
I sat up slowly, my eyes adjusting to the morning light streaming through the curtains.
I was in bed.
Dressed on my nightie.
How?
My memory clawed its way back in fragments. The ballroom. The soft jazz. Carl's lips kissing my hand. Wine. More wine. Laughter. So much laughter. And then...
Oh, dear Lord.
I had undressed myself. In front of Carl.
I buried my face in the pillow and let out the loudest groan of the century. "God, no. Why did I do that?" I muttered. "Why am I like this?" I began to lament into the pillow like I could smother the memory out of existence.
A knock interrupted my spiral.
