The Morning After

Claribel’s POV

The first thing I felt was headache and pain.

Every muscle in my body ached like I'd run a marathon in my sleep, my thighs, my back, even my arms. I groaned and rolled over.

The bed was too soft, it’s not my bed. This wasn't my apartment, not even close.

My eyes flew open immediately. White ceiling, gold curtains with sunlight leaking through the gap.

Hotel maybe?

I sat up fast and the room swung. When it settled, I looked down. No gown, just my black underwear and a white sheet bunched around my waist.

"What the ..."

I looked around the room. My dress was on the floor by the window, my heels were scattered, one by the door, the other under a chair. A man's tux jacket hung off the lamp.

My heart started to beat fast. I turned my head slowly.

Dark hair on the pillow. A broad bare back rising and falling.

I knew that jaw. I would have known it in the dark, in a crowd, at the bottom of the sea.

Emrys Llewellyn…

I clamped a hand over my mouth. My mind sent back, trying to find what happened last night but all it gave me was scraps.

The awards, my third whiskey, him walking toward me across the ballroom, the room tilting and then the bathroom.

Then blanks. A black hole, as wide as the night.

My name is Dr. Claribel Evans. I'm twenty-eight, a doctor at Rosegate General, and for six months I had gone out of my way to avoid this man.

Six months ago, a board hearing at Cardiff General took my career apart over a patient I saved against orders. Emrys was also a doctor on that case. He had the lab results in his hand, and he knew I was right. He stared at the floor and let them fire me. Not one word came out of his mouth.

So yes. I hated him. And he hated me right back, for reasons I never understood.

I'd had two to three whiskeys before and I had never lost a whole night.

A scream tore out of my throat before I could stop it.

Emrys jerked upright, hair in a mess. "What the fuck..."

His eyes landed on me, then the sheet, then the room. I watched the color drain from his face.

"Claribel?"

"Don't you dare look confused." My voice shook as I snatched the sheet up to my chin. "How did we end up here?"

"We?" He let out a humourless laugh and dragged his trousers off the floor. "I know how I got here. This is my room. The one I booked before the award night. So what the fuck are you doing in it?"

“I… I don’t know.” The words cracked. “I felt dizzy, I went to the bathroom, and then nothing.”

My eyes dropped to the crumpled sheet, to the clothes on the floor, then him. “Did we...?”

The rest wouldn’t come out. My throat closed around it.

His hands stopped halfway down his shirt. For one second the ice slid off his face, and he looked as lost as I felt.

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I’ve got nothing either.”

Then his jaw hardened, as if he’d caught himself being human. “Convenient.”

He yanked the shirt on, fingers fumbling the buttons.

"Excuse me?"

"My engagement to Victoria was announced yesterday morning." He didn't look at me. "Hours later, the disgraced doctor wakes up in my bed. Tell me that's a coincidence."

I stared at him. "Wait a minute, You think I planned this?"

"Don't you?" His eyes finally met mine, flat and cold. "You've wanted payback since Cardiff. What better way than dragging me down with you?"

"You pig." I got out of the bed, the sheet wrapped around me, my finger jabbing at his chest.

He caught my wrist and let it go like it was dirty. "Women like you always want the same thing," he said. "Money, influence, a shortcut into a life somebody else built."

"Somebody else built?" My whole body shook. "Everything you have was handed to you because of your last name. You never earned a single thing."

"And you are will to take them with your pathetic scheme." He stepped closer. "Don't you?"

"I wouldn't touch you if you were the last man in Wales."

"Then explain why you're in my bed."

"I can't explain what I don't remember!" My voice broke. "I swear on my father's grave, I didn't do this!"

"Your father's grave?" He laughed, low and bitter.

"The same man who chose death over facing his own failures? That's who you're swearing on?"

The room went silent.

"You're just like him, Claribel. When things get hard, you take the easy way out."

My hand cracked across his face before I knew it had moved. His head snapped sideways, and a red hand mark appeared on his cheek.

"Don't you ever talk about my father," I hissed. "You know nothing about him."

"Maybe not." He pressed his hand against his cheek and looked at me for a long moment. "But I know I'm done with this."

He grabbed his watch off the nightstand. "Fine. Here's what happens. Nobody finds out. Whatever this was, it stays in this room."

"Nobody was ever going to find out from me."

"Good." He shrugged on the tux jacket. "We go back to our own lives. You stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours."

"That's the first smart thing you've said since Cardiff."

He stopped at the door, his back to me. For a second I thought he would say something real.

"Next time you want to set a trap," he said instead, "at least remember doing it."

The door slammed shut behind him. I stood there until my knees finally gave out and I sat down hard on the edge of the bed.

I didn't cry, I didn’t have the energy for that.

I got dressed quickly. The dress zipped up crooked and wore my shoes. I pulled my hair over my shoulder and walked out of that room.

The lobby was packed with people. Cameras, microphones, a woman holding a ring light. Last night had been the biggest night of the year for Cardiff's medical world, and the press was still hanging around for any gossip they could pick up.

I kept my head down, hair covered my face, and walked fast. One reporter glanced at my crumpled gown down to my shoes, then looked away, bored. I didn't breathe until I was in a cab.

At home, I stood under the shower, scrubbing like I could wash off the whole morning.

I tried to remember how I got into that room. I remember the bathroom, the mirror, then nothing again.

My phone had died in my clutch. I plugged it in and had barely pressed the power button when it started to ring. Sophia's name filled the screen.

"Where the hell are you?" She yelled before I could speak. "I've been calling all morning!"

I rubbed my forehead. "Home. I'm fine, I just..."

I can’t tell her I woke up in a hotel bed with Emrys Llewellyn beside me. The words sat right on my tongue.

“I... overslept."

"Clar." Her voice dropped. "Have you checked the blogs?"

"Why would I?"

"Check them. Now."

My thumb shook as I opened the first one.

It was a photo of me and Emrys, tangled together in a white hotel bed, the sheet barely covering us, my head against his chest. His arm was wrapped around my waist tightly. Both of us had our eyes closed. We looked asleep.

Under it, hashtags were exploding.

#LlewellynHeirScandal. #DrEvansGoldDigger. #HotelBedShame.

A video was under a tag. I scrolled and saw more pictures from different angles and my phone buzzed with more comments coming in.

“She planned it.”

“Sleeping her way to the top.”

"Clar?" Sophia's voice broke. "Say something. Is that really you in that bed?"

I stared at Emrys's arm around my waist. I looked at the view count.

Two million in one hour… and it was still climbing.