Isabella's POV
The mansion had a rhythm now, one I hated admitting I’d gotten used to.
Mornings began with Elena barging into my room like the sunshine incarnate, tugging open my curtains before I could protest. Then Rosa came with a tray of tea and warm bread, scolding me if I didn’t finish. After breakfast, I spent an hour in the garden, kneeling in the dirt like some kind of princess-turned-prisoner-turned-botanist.
And then, of course, there was Dante.
Some days he appeared at breakfast, other days at dinner, but recently… he’d been around far too often. Which meant more of his infuriating smirks, more of his teasing comments, more of his eyes on me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
And maybe more of my heart misbehaving.
“Morning, weed.”
I dropped my fork so fast it clattered
