Maria
Seeing the old house takes a toll I didn't anticipate. My emotions are twisted and pulled in every direction until I am a mess, on the verge of tears. Instead of ruminating, I force myself to sleep on the car ride back to Manhattan. And when I wake up, someone has placed me in my bed. We were gone the entire day, and I was not expecting to see Mikhail sitting beside me in the bed. His hair is tousled over his forehead as if he's been pulling at it. Shirtless, with his tattoos showing, he's deep in thought as he studies a book. Instead of glossy photos of art, the pages are handwritten.
"What time is it?" I ask, stretching. Then I notice someone removed my dress before putting me in bed.
He looks up abruptly, startled that I'm awake. "It's almost one in the morning."
The nap makes
