soused… and I feel like absolute hell.
Laying back on the dock, I put my feet into the cool water and stare up at the sky. Nika really did a number on me. And having Stellan kick me out of his own wedding was a humiliation that I wasn't expecting.
Granted, if I kept dating Nika, I would've had to have told him at some point. But I left Copenhagen in a cloud of shame, without either of the people that I claimed to care about.
Nika is nowhere to be found and Stellan is supposedly off on his honeymoon.
And me? I'm renting a house not far from the beach house that the royal family owns. I'm alone and I've been drunk for approximately four days straight. Or is it five days?
I'm not actually sure.
I close my eyes and throw my arm over my face. This is about as bad as I get. I've never moped like this for so long over anyone or anything.
And the kicker is that moping isn't making me feel any better. It's just a little salve on the wound that's sure to bleed me dry soon enough.
I hear footsteps on the dock. Odd, since I don't remember inviting anybody else out to this misery fest. A shadow falls over my face.
I move my arm and find Lars Løve staring me down, lifting his glasses up from his eyes.
"You look like shit." I squint and glance down at what I am wearing. I have on the same T-shirt and shorts that I've had on for three days, black on black. I also notice that I am sunburned beyond reckoning.
I guess that's what I get for getting drunk and falling asleep in this very position for days on end.
I sit up or at least try to. I fall back and laugh a little. "Yeah, well. Apparently, this is what I look like when I've been dumped."
He frowns down at me. "Okay. It's time to get you up and get you sober. Come on." He grabs my hand and hauls me to my feet, helping me down the little dock and up the slanted hill to the magnificent beach house.
I look at Lars, frowning as we walk into the house. "What are you doing here? “Shouldn't you be ignoring me? There's some sort of royal decree against me, I know it."
He grunts. "Shower first. I'll make some coffee. And then we can talk." He wrinkles his nose. "You smell even worse than you look."
I pull a face at him, especially when he walks me into the downstairs bathroom and turns on the taps to the shower. "You're so high and mighty right now. I can't even talk to you."
He just shakes his head and leaves the bathroom, slamming the door as he goes. I take a second to smell myself, inhaling a deep, long pull. I splutter and cough, overwhelmed by my own scent. Lars is right about one thing. I definitely do need a shower.
I strip down and hop in the shower, the warm water doing wonders to sober me up. I'm still a little drunk as I groom myself and get dressed, pulling on a fresh pair of black jeans and a white T-shirt.
When I appear in the kitchen, Lars is just pouring two cups full of coffee. He looks me up and down, judging. "Here." He thrusts the coffee mug in my hand. He points to a seat at the bar. "Sit down and drink this coffee. Then we can really get down to why I am here."
I frown at him, but I move towards the bar, sitting and drinking the fragrant coffee. I realize then that I probably haven't actually eaten anything other than an uncooked cheese sandwich last night. My stomach growls and I try to think what is in the house that I can eat.
"How are you feeling?" Lars asks. "That is to say, are you feeling more sober?"
I squint at him. Now that I am a little less drunk, the world seems harshly lit and missing the buzzy warmth of the world had when I was intoxicated.
I nod at him. "I think I just realized that I'm hungry."
He stands up, padding over to the refrigerator and cracking it open. To my surprise, he has a takeout container filled with a roast chicken and a side of sweet potatoes. He offers it to me with a fork on the side, not saying anything. I give him a questioning look and dig into the food, which