What happens when you're magically stuck to the person that you hate the most? ****
Livvy grew up helping in her parents' coffee shop. Harry grew up attending polo tournaments and drinking champagne.
But when the pair tumble into the water of Leith...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I wake up with a headache.
Not a normal headache. A pounding one. An 'I-drank-too-much-fireball-whisky-and-vomited-in-a-flower-pot' sort of headache. With a groan, I shuffle towards the kitchen, seeking water and pain meds.
Poppy and Emma are already sitting at the table. Emma is holding a mug of tea, her blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, and her cat slippers are up on a chair. Poppy has dark smudges under her eyes. She stops talking when I enter, and I can tell by the way that she tugs at the sleeves of her flower kimono that she's nervous.
"Livvy," she says. "I'm so—"
"Wait." I hold up a hand. "Headache."
Poppy blinks. "Pardon?"
That's a very Poppy thing to say. Not what. Not say again. Pardon. It's like she's living in a Victorian romance novel.
"Drugs first," I say. "Then talk."
I'm vaguely aware that I sound like a caveman, but to be honest, I no longer care. My head is pounding, and my lungs feel like deflated balloons that have been forced back into their plastic packaging. I rummage in the cupboard, pulling out pills at random. The girls watch, dumbstruck, as I pop a handful into my mouth and then stick my face under the sink, swallowing water from the tap.
"Okay." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. "Go."
Emma whistles. "I've never seen you take pain medication. Not even when Rachel Keller gave you a black eye at your boxing class last year."
"My head hurts."
"You see?" Poppy rounds on Emma. "I told you we should bring her to A&E." She's already halfway out of her seat. "I'll get the keys. Emma, you—"
"Woah." I hold up a hand. "Nobody's going to A&E, okay? I have a headache, not an arm that's been sawed off with a breadknife."
Emma wrinkles her nose. "Gross."
"I try."
"Livvy." Poppy's lip quivers. "I'm so sorry. Last night—"
I shake my head. "It's okay. I'm glad you called me." She looks unconvinced, and I school my features into a smile, trying not to wince as my ribs twinge when I reach for the cereal. "And I feel good. Normal."
"Well," Emma says, eyeing my protein crispies with disgust, "you're definitely not normal. But I'm happy that you're not dead, Liv."
I'm almost touched.
That's probably the nicest thing that Emma has ever said to me.
"How's Theo?" I ask.
"Hungover." Poppy rolls her eyes. "I went by his place this morning. He doesn't remember anything from last night." She sniffs, flicking the kettle on. "I got him stationary so he can write you a thank-you card."
