CHAPTER FORTY-TWO.
"Your phone, Sir."
Gale twisted on his side to look behind him, his silk sheets falling from his torso to his hips. He smirked when he saw Marisol glance away quickly, her nose wrinkling because of the amount of skin he was currently showing. He looked down at her, at her perfect A-line dress made from shimmering white chiffon, her brown tresses pulled tight into a low ponytail and her face bearing no trace of makeup, apart from her signature lipgloss. He didn't have to look at her feet to know that she was in flats but he did so anyway, snorting when he got it right. He pulled the sheets higher around him, sitting higher on the bed.
She chanced a look at him as she heard the rustle of the sheets and seeing that he was a bit decent - or as decent as he could be, she
