But when she slid into bed, comfort didn’t bring sleep.
She turned to the left.
Then to the right.
Adjusted the pillows.
Kicked the blanket off.
Pulled it back on.
Her mind refused to quiet. Zayn’s voice. His look. The ceremony. Lana’s teasing words. The way his hand had felt on her knee earlier—brief, controlled, yet electric.
After what felt like an hour, she groaned softly and pushed herself out of bed.
“Ice cream,” she muttered. “I deserve ice cream to clear my stupid head.”
The kitchen lights were low when she padded in, the house still wrapped in silence. She opened the freezer and began rummaging through it, pushing aside neatly labeled containers.
Then—
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
The voice came from behind her.
Lena jumped, yelping softly as she spun around.
“Zayn!”
