dull. Combined with the alcohol, riding in the backseat triggered a bout of motion sickness. Queasy, and suddenly brutally tired, she rested her head against the side window.
They didn’t need her, Elizabeth thought. Both Julie and Alex sang and laughed. He drove entirely too fast, taking corners in a way that made her stomach pitch. She would not be sick. Even as the heat flashed through her, she willed herself to breathe, slow and even. She would not humiliate herself by being sick in the backseat of Alex’s SUV.
She lowered her window a few inches, let the air blow over her face. She wanted to lie down, wanted to sleep. She’d had too much to drink, and this was yet another chemical reaction.
And not nearly as pleasant as a kiss.
She concentrated on her breathing, on the air across her face, on the houses, cars, streets. Anything but on her churning stomach and head.
As he wound along Lake Shore Drive, she thought how close they were, relatively, to her home in Lincoln Park. If she could just go home, she could lie down in the quiet, sleep off the nausea and spinning head. But when Alex pulled up at a pretty old two-story traditional, she thought at least she could get out of the car, stand on solid ground.
“Got some great views,” Alex was saying as he and Julie got out. “I thought about buying a condo, but I like my privacy. Plenty of room to party here, and nobody bitches the music’s too loud.”
Julie staggered, laughed a little wildly when Alex caught her and squeezed his hand on her ass.
Elizabeth trailed behind, a miserably queasy fifth wheel.
“You live here by yourself,” she managed.
“Plenty of room for company.” He unlocked the front door, gestured. “Ladies first.”
And he gave Elizabeth’s ass a teasing pat as she walked in.
She wanted to tell him he had a beautiful home, but the fact was everything was too bright, too new, too modern. All hard edges, shiny surfaces and glossy leather. A bright red bar, a huge black leather sofa and an enormous wall-screen TV dominated the living room, when the wide glass doors and windows leading to a terrace should have been the key point.
“Oh my God, I love this.” Julie immediately flopped onto the sofa, stretched out. “It’s like decadent.”
“That’s the idea, baby.” He picked up a remote, clicked, and pounding music filled the room. “I’ll fix you a drink.”
“Can you make Cosmos?” Julie asked him. “I just love Cosmos.”
“I’ll hook you up.”
“Maybe I could have some water?” Elizabeth asked.
“Oh, Liz, don’t be such a buzzkill.”
“I’m a little dehydrated.” And God, God, she needed more air. “Is it all right if I look outside?” She walked toward the terrace doors.
“Sure.
“I want to dance!”
As Julie lurched up, began to bump and grind, Elizabeth pulled open the doors and escaped. She imagined the view was wonderful, but everything blurred as she hobbled to the rail, leaned on it.
What were they doing? What were they thinking? This was a mistake. A stupid, reckless mistake. They had to go. She had to convince Julie to leave.
But even over the music, she could hear Julie’s Cosmo-slurred laughter.
Maybe if she sat down out here for a few minutes, cleared her head, waited for her stomach to settle. She could claim her mother had called. What was one more lie in an entire night of them? She’d make up some excuse —a good, logical excuse to leave. Once her head cleared.
“There you are.”
She turned as Alex stepped out.
“One of each.” Gilded in the low light, he carried a glass of water and ice in one hand, and a martini glass of that pretty pink—that now made her stomach turn.
“Thank you. But just the water, I think.”
“Gotta feed that high, baby.” But he set the drink aside. “You don’t have to be out here all alone.” He shifted, pressed her back against the rail. “The three of us can party. I can take care of both of you.”
“I don’t think—”
“Who knows if Ilya’s coming? Work, work, work, that’s what he does. You caught his eye, though. Mine, too. Come back inside. We’ll have a good time.”
“I think … I’ll wait for Ilya. I need to use your bathroom.”
“Your loss, baby.” Though he only shrugged, she thought she caught something mean flicker in his eyes. “Go left. It’s off the kitchen.”
“Thank you.”
“If you change your mind,” he called off as she ran to the door.
“Julie.” She grabbed Julie by the arm as Julie tried to execute an unsteady dance-floor spin.
“I’m having such a good time. This is the best night ever.”
“Julie, you’ve had too much to drink.”
After a
“We have to go.”
“We have to stay and
“Alex said both of us should go to bed with him.”
“I don’t want any more to drink. I feel sick. I want to go home.”
“Not going home. Nobody gives a shit there. Come on, Lizzy! Dance with me.”
“I can’t.” Liz pressed a hand to her stomach as her skin went clammy. “I need to—” Unable to fight it, she made the dash to the left, caught a glimpse of Alex leaning on the terrace doors, grinning at her.
On a half-sob, she stumbled through the kitchen and nearly fell on the tiles as she bolted for the bathroom door.
She risked the half-second it took to lock the door behind her, then fell to her knees in front of the toilet. She vomited sick, slimy pink, and barely managed a breath before she vomited again. Tears streamed out of her eyes as she pulled herself up, using the sink as a lever. Half blind, she ran the water cold, scooped some into her mouth, splashed more on her face.
Shuddering, she lifted her head, saw herself in the mirror—white as wax, with the mascara and eyeliner smudged under her eyes like livid bruises. More of it tracked down her cheeks like black tears.
Shame washed through her even as the next bout of sickness had her dropping to her knees again.
Exhausted, the room spinning around her, she curled on the tiles and wept. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.
She wanted to go home.
She wanted to die.
She lay shivering, her cheek pressed to the cool tiles until she thought she could risk sitting up. The room stank of sickness and sweat, but she couldn’t go out until she’d cleaned herself up.
She did her best with soap and water, rubbing her face until her skin was raw, pausing every minute or so to lean over, fight off another wave of nausea.
Now she looked pale
She’d have to swallow the humiliation. She’d go out on the terrace, in the fresh air, and wait until Ilya came. She’d ask him to take her home, and hoped he’d understand.
He’d never want to see her again. He’d never kiss her again.
Cause and effect, she reminded herself. She’d lied, and lied and lied, and the result was this new mortification, and worse, this glimpse of what might be, only to have it all taken away.
Lowering the lid of the toilet, she sat, clutching her purse, bracing herself for the next step. Wearily, she took off her shoes. What did it matter? Her feet hurt, and Cinderella’s midnight had come.
