Right Number, Wrong Girl

I should have known that letting my brother strongarm me into heading to the pub before five o’clock was a terrible idea.

In his defence, this party-slash-ball-slash I didn’t even know what it was now was driving our mother absolutely bonkers, and despite living on this huge estate, there really was no escaping the woman.

It was like scrolling Facebook and seeing the same ad seventy times in one day.

Intolerable.

Today would be even worse. The beer I’d consumed was definitely making itself known in my pounding head, and since the party planner was coming today, it had been a very bad choice to drink so much beer.

That, and I was not eighteen anymore.

I could not hack that level of drinking.

I stepped out of the shower and grabbed the bottle of water from my beside cabinet, then sat on the edge of the bed. I had to shake this headache before my mother started going on about the party.

God only knew that would give me a headache anyway.

I finished the water and got dressed, then headed downstairs. The household staff were busy cleaning and polishing everything in sight, so I knew that meant the party planner would be here soon.

Mum only sent them on overdrive if there was someone coming over.

“Good morning, Lord Hugo,” the butler, Rupert, said when I walked into the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please. Do you know if there’s any Ibuprofen in the medicine drawer?”

“There is. Your brother took some not long ago.” He shot a small smile my way. “Feeling rough, are we?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I grumbled, slumping over the kitchen island. “It’s bad enough Mum is insisting we get up this early.”

“She is rather determined to make some headway on this shindig.”

“Is Grandma awake yet? Oh, thank you.” I gratefully took both the tea and the box of ibuprofen from Rupert.

“She is. She has been following the staff around all morning telling them which specks of dust they’re missing.” He paused. “I can’t decide who she’s trying to annoy more. The staff or your mother.”

“Always Mum.” I shook my head slowly. “If Grandma is annoying someone, it’s with the ultimate intention to drive my mother up the wall.”

“Stop telling everyone my secrets.”

I turned to see Grandma hobble into the kitchen with her walking stick knocking against the tiles. “Good morning.”

“It most certainly is bloody not,” she sniped. “Have you seen all this palaver in my house? How can one look at this and think it’s a good morning?”

Oh, good.

She was in an excellent mood.

Today was going to go well.

“Would you like a cup of tea, Your Grace?” Rupert asked, bowing his head.

Grandma’s head snapped around, and if this were a sci-fi movie, she’d have been shooting lasers out of her eyes.

“I’ll get Grandma some tea,” I said, standing up even though the act of it made my head thump.

She turned that angry glare onto me. “Are you hungover?”

“No,” I lied.