CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

GINEVRA

The dull sound of my phone going off brought me back to consciousness, but that consciousness came with a head jamming pain.

My throat elicited a groan, my heavy eyes doing a shit job at taking in my surroundings, my hand sliding around the empty space on the bed in search of the device whose sound had become louder by the minute.

My voice, groggy, whispered, “Ginevra speaking.”

“Are you high?” Cyrus’s voice blared with anger.

With a roll of my eyes, I sat up on the bed, raking a hand through my hair. “I wish I was. Why’re you calling so early in the morning?”

There had been a pause. Frantic breaths met my ear, a grunt followed. “Why do I have to be responsible for you per favore. . .” A groan, low in his throat, thick, erupted. “You have to be in Rome for the banquet of the commission.”

Shit!

With speed, I sprang up from the bed and slid out. My throat had elicited a scream of, “fuck!” As I ran into the washroom.

I consumed too many pills yesterday’s night. That much