The pounding in her head made her wince. It hurt.
Her brain hurt.
She opened her eyes forcefully only to close them just as quickly. It was bright, too fucking bright for her to keep her eyes open.
What the fuck?
Grace sat up and opened her eyes, then arrow them into slits as she looked around the green. This was not her apartment.
Where was she?
Taking the blanket off of her, her eyes went through the very decorated room. It was minimally decorated, and it gave the idea that no one lived in the room. There were no personal touches for anyone.
Grace placed her hands on her waist and touched cotton. She looked down. She was wearing a cotton shirt, a huge cotton shirt.
The hell?
Somebody changed her? Mia?
She frowned, trying to remember details, but only came up with the vague ones.
Mia had been there. She had gone to the club with Mia and had quite a lot to drink. The pain in her head was a testimony to that.
What happened after that?
Who got her home? Where was Mia?
Grace moved towards the door of the room and opened it, coming into the hallway. One end was there whereas the other one letter to a bigger and open area. She followed it and came into the living space.
Whose house was this?
it was obviously not hers. Mia's house was more in a bag and pink tones, resembling a soft corner of an aesthetic that she often talked about. This house was minimal, in gray, brown and dark tones. This house belongs to a man by the looks of it.
Who?
She took another step, coming closer to the sitting area.
"You are awake."
She gasped and whirled around to the direction of the boys, finding herself looking at the kitchen and at him.
Christian. "You."
"Me," Christian smiled a little, "Good morning, Grace."
"Good morning." She wished back. "Is this your house?"
"Penthouse, yes." He corrected her. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
"Can you make a cappuccino?" The words left her mouth before she could even control them. He was definitely going to say Italian heritage. No, he would not, he would not—
"Madam Italian and heritage." Christain chuckled and turned around, getting started as support stuff out of the cabinets.
What was happening?
Grace kept her eyes on her one's best friend and slowly moved to the kitchen. Only two barstools were attached to the counter that stood as a line of border in between the living space and the kitchen. She did not sit in one, rather just stood with her hands on the counter, watching him carefully as he made her a cup of cappuccino.
Christain was making her cappuccino. He was making her something after three years of no communication from his side and from her own. Three years of not answering any of her calls and simply leaving..
With cappuccino ready, he placed the cup on the saucer in front of her. "Enjoy."
She glanced at it, scowled and looked back at him. "What the fuck?"