The door opened a crack, and a fiftyish woman in a maid's uniform poked her head through. "Knock, knock," she said pleasantly. "Are you two decent? We knew you'd probably be too tired for breakfast, but Jerome will make you some brunch whenever you want it."
I could only say, "What?"
Caroline was slightly more coherent. "Jerome -- a cook?"
"For ten years now," said the woman. "Are you two feeling okay? You didn't have any spiked punch last night, did you?" She winked at me.
"I-I don't know," I stuttered. "I'm just feeling a little bit weird."
The woman came into the room and felt my forehead with the back of her hand. "You don't feel warm," she said. "Maybe it's just morning-after-the-prom jitters." This time, she winked at Caroline.
"I guess," I said, and then asked, "So nothing seems out of the ordinary to you? Nothing about me, or Caroline, or this house, or your life --"
She interrupted. "Just the way you're acting. I hope I'm not going to have to call your parents in Paris and tell them you're sick."
"Paris!" I exclaimed. "I thought they were in -- no, look, it's just that everything seems so different."
"Oh, for heaven's sake," said the woman, with a smile and another wink. "We all know this wasn't the first time you and Caroline slept together."
Suddenly, once again, I felt the sensation of my body stiffening.