I can't remember the last time I woke up next to a man, especially one that I wasn't in a relationship with. I have a feeling that it was back in my early twenties, although I may be wrong. With my head so muddled by the cloud of alcohol from the wedding last night, I consider myself fortunate that I know who I am this morning. The man next to me, however, is a different matter. 

It could be one of two men, neither or whom I particularly want to wake up next to on any given day but especially today. 

Hugo Cézanne was the first name that popped into my head. My eldest sister's best friend since childhood was a world renowned male model who could bed anyone. In fact, I think he probably has bedded most of them. Besides the point, I know, but in an ideal world, I'd rather not be just another notch on Hugo's belt; that's if he still has a belt to notch. 

It's no secret that I've always found Hugo attractive. You'd have to be certifiable crazy not to find the six foot one, blond hair, blue eyed Frenchman attractive but the insecurity of being with Hugo would send me insane. With so many women fawning all over him, any relationship you'd have with him would explode within hours and I don't have the emotional capacity to deal with that at the moment. 

Putting Hugo aside, I contemplate the next man that could be lying next to me. Isaac Fletcher. What can I say about Isaac? He too is over six feet tall, although he's got an inch or two on Hugo, and his blond hair and blue eyes remind me of some sort of Norse God thanks to his rugged features. 

Since I met Isaac, I feel like a salmon that has been swimming upstream in the way that I've been fighting the temptation to give in to him. See, just like Hugo, having any sort of relationship with Isaac would send me insane. In part, it may be due to the fact that women seem to buzz around him like bees to honey, but also because I have this niggling feeling that if any man was ever going to hurt me, it would be Isaac. 

He's the type that would use every weapon in his arsenal in order to get me to fall head over heels for him, build up this hope in me that he could be the one that makes all my dreams come true only to pull the rug from under my feet. I thought my last boyfriend was a Dementor, but Isaac Fletcher is a soul sucker to rival any Dementor's Kiss. 

Urgh, now is not the time to be thinking in Harry Potter terms. 

Awkwardly, I try to escape the strong hold of the arm that was draped across my waist and held me against the body behind me, but whenever I shifted even the slightest, the man's grip on me tightened. It was like quicksand where the more you struggled, the more screwed you were. I think, given my current predicament, I've been screwed enough already that now really wasn't the time to find myself in an inescapable situation. 

"Look," I say, my irritation seeping into my words. Picking up the heavy arm, I attempted to throw it back towards the owner but that proved futile because the stubborn arse behind me kept placing it back where it was not wanted. "Will you please get away from me?"

From the deep laughter emanating from the guy, I had my suspicions as to the man's identity. "That's not what you were saying last night, Lottie," the annoying Australian accent of Isaac Fletcher laughed. Still, he did as I asked and slowly moved his arm, releasing me from his grip. "I take it you're not a morning person."

Ignoring his statement, I scrambled out of the bed as I tried to find something to cover my naked body. While I wasn't shy about my figure, the last thing I wanted was for Isaac to have any more ideas about us going for Round Two. Or perhaps it was more like Round Five, but who's really counting?

"Where's my dress?" I ask. My initial search for my bridesmaid dress yielded no results and my throbbing headache wasn't doing much for my patience in continuing the hunt for it. Instead, I grabbed the white shirt from the floor and threw it on. Wearing Isaac's shirt wasn't ideal, but it would do. "Where's my underwear?"

When Isaac didn't answer, I picked up one of his shoes and threw it at him. "Lottie, it's early," he grumbled in a sexy sleepy morning voice. "Come back to bed and we can both look for everything later."

I scoffed at his idea. "I am not getting back into bed with you," I assert, folding my arms over my chest and standing up straighter as if to prove a point. When I realised that I may not have been clear enough, I clarify my standpoint. "No more getting into bed with you today nor any other day. Just help me find my things so I can go and have a shower and quickly forget that this ever happened."

Despite the sexual tension that has built up between Isaac and me, I knew that what we had last night was just that- a one off. A one night stand. We couldn't be anything more than that. If I rationalise it enough, last night only happened so that I could get it out of my system. End of. We had sex. It happened. Done. Over. Not happening again. 

It can't happen again. I can't let Isaac be part of my life. I can't put myself in a position where I'm open to being hurt. Isaac is a womaniser. He uses women. If I didn't nip this in the bud now, he would only hurt me. He'll end up screwing someone else, probably wouldn't have the balls to tell me, and I'd probably end up hearing about it when his bit on the side sent me a Facebook message or a Snapchat. 

I've been humiliated enough and I am through being that girl. 

"Charlotte, stop being irrational," Issac sighs as he sits up on the bed and gives me a long, smouldering glance. "It's kinda annoying that you look better in my shirt than I do. Although, it would probably look better on the floor, where it was last night while you and I were-"

"Do not finish that sentence if you ever want to have children in the future," I threaten him as a shiver ran down my spine. I'd like to say that it was due to the disgust I felt, but I think it would be more accurate if I said that the shiver was caused by the way Isaac's gaze travelled up my legs with that sinful look held within the blue of his eyes. "I am going to be very clear, Isaac, so that there is no room for confusion here. Last night was, admittedly, a lot of fun but that's all it was. You aren't looking for a relationship and neither am I. And even if I were... it wouldn't be with you."

From the corner of my eye, I see my underwear on the sideboard and quickly grab them, pulling them up my legs as I turn my back on Isaac. The rest of my outfit could go to hell because the humiliation of waking up next to Isaac after a debauched night of hot, heavy, and sweaty sex was enough to send my diving for the door as I finally fled the scene of the crime. Now, all I had to do was get down to the other end of the hall, down a flight of steps and to the third door on the left. Unnoticed, hopefully.

Naturally, life was not on my side today. Just as I thought I was clear of this hallway, a door to one of the bedrooms swung open and I came face to face with Samuel Whitaker. Freezing like a rabbit caught in the headlights, I quickly come to a stop and stare wide-eyed at my sister's new brother-in-law. 

When Sam went to open his mouth, a remark surely on the tip of his tongue, I held up a finger and narrowed my eyes. "Say nothing," I told him. Tiptoeing closer to the staircase, I keep my stare on him. "You didn't see a thing."

Spinning on my heels, I take my chances and run, not once looking back. I made it to the guest room that I was staying in and quickly slammed the door shut, the noise reverberating not only around the room but my head also. Raising my hand to my head, I tried not to think about my appearance. Knowing that I had to wash the remnants of last night off me, I dashed to the bathroom and turned the shower on. After unbuttoning Isaac's shirt, I stepped under the spray of the warm water and took a deep breath. 

Closing my eyes, I was instantly plagued by fractured memories of last night. The fervent kissing. The unbuttoning of not only Isaac's shirt, but also his trousers. Zips were undone, shoes were kicked off, my underwear was tantalisingly slid down my thighs... his hands were going to inappropriate yet totally appropriate places as my fingers went to tangle in Isaac's hair. And then there was that thing he did with his tongue! 

Just thinking about it, I could feel my knees weakening. 

I washed my hair and scrubbed every inch of my body to rid myself of the stench of sex before I decided to tie my damp hair up into a messy knot at the top of my head. With my hangover now in full swing, I couldn't care less what I threw on as long as it was comfortable. I put some moisturiser on my face and decided that this was as good as it was going to get for me today. 

Just over half an hour since I ran into the bedroom, I opened the door and stepped into 2017 feeling a little more human that before. Feeling my stomach growling, I made my way down to the dining room, following the voices just in case I got lost in the maze that was Constance Whitaker's house. It only took me one wrong turn but I eventually found the room and the delicious aroma of bacon sandwiches. 

I took the first available seat, which happened to be next to Sam. "Good morning," Sam said, humour lacing his voice. Inside, I bet he was laughing his arse off at what happened this morning. Nevertheless, he had the decency to slide a glass of water my way and place two paracetamol tablets on the white table cloth between us. "Those are for your headache. Unfortunately, I don't have anything that can cure the embarrassment of having to do a walk of shame."

I glared at him but as soon as I caught the smell of bacon once more, I lost interest in entering a war of words with Sam and devoured breakfast instead until my stomach bloated with a food baby. While I ate, I socialised with those around the table, but my eyes would dart to the doorway every few minutes in anticipation of Isaac's appearance. It never happened, though. 

After an hour of sharing stories about yesterday's wedding with my family and the Whitaker's, as well as some friends of Sophie and Daniel, I decided that it would be a good idea to head upstairs to pack. Having closed La Petite Pâtisserie over the winter holidays, I was desperate to get back to London so that the business could open. 

Entering the bedroom, I jolted to a stop when I saw what was laid out on the bed. Neatly displayed, with my shoes to the side, was my dress from the wedding. A white card was placed on top, with my name written on it in a neat scrawl. 

Charlotte, I'm not the arsehole you think I am. I had to rush back to work, but when you're ready to give me a chance, I'll be waiting. I.F 

I toyed with the idea that maybe Isaac wasn't all that bad after all. Maybe he wasn't an arsehole and that I should give him a chance. Surely he deserved that, right? 

Isaac Fletcher. Charlotte Delaney. Hugo Cézanne.