chapter 40

                                    

                                          
Golden ribbons of daylight tumble through the french windows that open to a large balcony and I hold my head with a groan. I throw the warm comforters off me, struggling with the drapes of the canopy as I stumble out of the four poster bed. My head throbbing as I search for my phone, looking around the airy room that seems somewhat familiar before recognition dawns on me. 
Adriano's luxurious mega mansion in Bel-Air. We'd spent a couple of weeks here back when we were still together.
But why am I—the headache worsens as memories from the previous night flood my brain and I almost run over and fling myself off the balustrade lacing the balcony. I beg a god I don't believe in for him to not be around. Please, god, please. I can't take another blow to my pride. The embarrassment is actually going to kill me.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, looking down at the large grey tee over my swim suit from last night. I never got into the pool but my Versace dress was too uncomfortable to be slept in. Well, at least nothing undoable happened.
I find some painkillers at the side of the bed along with a glass of water and snub the disappointment I feel when I see no post-it's in sight.
I pull the tee over my head and stumble into the large bathroom, taking a quick shower because I distinctly smell of liquor and smoke. I'm feeling a lot better by the time I step out of the bathroom, pointedly ignoring the bag of designer clothing sitting on the coffee table right beside the rose bouquet and slip back into my metallic dress from last night before shrugging on my Givenchy coat and tying up my D&G shoes.
I run my fingers through my hair, sparing a glance at the mirror before letting my fingers curl around the doorknob, my breathing dipping as I twist and open the door before leaving.
"Miss Sinclair." A voice calls out as I'm half way down the spiral staircase making my head snap towards it. My gaze meets the brown eyes of a woman that's vaguely familiar and my heartbeat slows down.
 
"Rosa," I smile, continuing my way down the stairs, "How have you been?"
Her brows raise in surprise before her professional features soften into a smile, "I have been well. I hope you have been too?"
"Of course," I say as I reach the foot of the stair, feeling slightly more awkward as my gaze slides towards the door over her shoulder, "Well, don't mind me. I was just leaving."
"Oh," She says, her lips tipped in a frown, "I made breakfast for you."
My brows raise in surprise and I hesitate.
"Mr. Accardi has already had breakfast and won't be back for a few hours," She says carefully, "So I can probably whip up something else for you if you want."
My shoulders relax and I nod, "It's fine. Everything you cook is perfect."
The long table in the dining room is covered in dishes—poached eggs, bruschetta, sourdough avocado toast and griddled blueberry pancakes, fruits, yogurt, coffee and croissants. I couldn't have asked her to make anything else because she practically made everything.
It makes me wonder if he asked her to.
I've been on a few dates after our split but Adriano lingers in my mind, following me on every one of them. I keep comparing them to him and no man is perfect when compared to him—or at least that's what I feel. Truth be told I never managed to score a second date with anyone because the only men that were the slightest bit interesting, only seemed so because they somehow reminded me of him and even they would ghost me.
I catch an Uber back to my apartment, ringing my girls as I mindlessly hand over enough bills to cover my fare before stepping out. They pick up with scowls identical to mine, complaining about how the other was supposed to stop them from doing something stupid.