“You need to call Arry and tell him, Baby-girl. You can’t just run out of school and not go back.” Christian is sitting stroking my hair as I lay on the couch with my head on his lap, looking down at me soothingly as I compose myself.

We drank so much wine, everything is swimming around me, and I’m just a mess. I’ve cried, raged, regretted, and so much more. I’m drunk, and Christian has refused to move even though his flight back to London means he needs to leave soon. He ...