The Chronicles of City Lights and Modern Love

I woke up the morning after the ball feeling as if my head was about to explode under the pressure of what Carmine had told me the previous night. It felt like a hangover; a hangover worse than any I had ever experienced. Something sharp was jabbing at the front of my brain, my stomach was churning, my eyes were stinging and dry.

There was a knock on the door.

“Fuck off!” The one thing I was capable of saying in any situation.

“It’s Carmine.” He said, before knocking again. I ignored it.

The door burst open. Carmine stood before me with a tray of greasy food in his hands. Up until then, food had been the last thing on my mind but now it didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“You look like shit,” he said bluntly, a familiar cheeky grin tugging at the sides of his mouth.

"Thanks," I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm.Then it dawned on me. The last thing I remembered from last night was Carmine telling me about my grandfather’s spies, the rest was a blur. I actually did have a hangover.

“What the hell happened last night?” I asked him, hoping against all hope I hadn’t made a complete arse of myself.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry – you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself. You did, however, give a Freddie a black eye and a busted lip.” He paused to see my reaction before adding, “he deserved it though.”

Content with my efforts from the previous night, I dug into the breakfast Carmine had brought in while he watched with interest at the amount of food I was able to shovel down my throat. I ignored his staring, and two eggs, three rashers of bacon, two pieces of toast, a sausage, and one and a half cups of coffee later, I felt slightly human again.

It was time to see my Grandfather.