I avoided him the next morning.
Not deliberately. At least, that was what I told myself.
I just woke early, dressed quietly, and went downstairs before I had time to think too hard about the fact that I had kissed my fake husband in the middle of the countryside like none of the rules we had set for ourselves actually mattered.
Because they did matter.
That was the whole point.
Without the rules, this stopped being controlled.
Without the rules, this became dangerous.
The kitchen was empty when I went in, which should have made me feel relieved. Instead, it left me strangely unsettled. I made coffee I didn’t really want and stood by the window with the mug warming my hands, staring out at the pale morning light spread over the grounds outside.
Everything looked calm.
Still.
As if
