Dad would only be in his early fifties and Mom mid-forties, even though she tried to be secretive about her age. Numbers-wise, not so old. But their chosen lifestyles are hard on a human body. There are no guarantees in life, especially not in theirs.
Suddenly, I jolt up in my bed. In my room.
Which is weird—because I didn’t fall asleep here last night. Cyrille and I were downstairs in the living room.
Before I can even wonder how I got here, the bathroom door opens and Misha walks out. He’s wearing nothing but a white towel around his waist and dark, wet hair. My heart flutters girlishly at the sight of him. I immediately avert my gaze.
Not good. Not good. Not good.
“Did you carry me up here last night?”
He doesn’t look at me when he answers. “Cyrille left. There was no sense in lea
