Cassia blinked awake to the sound of a zipper.
She sat up slowly, the sheets sliding off her bare shoulder. The room was still dim, gold morning light barely slipping through the drawn curtains. Dorian stood by the closet with a small bag open on the bench. He was folding a sweater. His phone was nowhere in sight.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.
He didn’t look up. “We’re leaving.”
Her brows pulled in. “What do you mean, leaving?”
“Twelve hours,” he said, now sliding in a fresh shirt. “No vineyard. No calls. No board. Just air. Just us.”
“Is this your way of proposing a vacation?” she asked dryly.
“It’s my way of stopping you from drowning in silence you think you deserve.”
That made her sit straighter.
Dorian finally turned to look at her, his ex
