Ava's POV
The library rug still smelled like Lucas—leather, paper, and the faint trace of his cologne that clung to my skin. I lay there for long minutes after he finally fell asleep beside me, one arm heavy across my waist, his breathing slow and even. The house was silent except for the faint tick of a distant clock and the soft rustle of the curtains as night air slipped through the windows. My phone buzzed again on the rug beside me, the vibration faint but insistent.
I didn’t reach for it. Not yet. Not while Lucas’s arm was warm around me and his heartbeat was still steady under my palm. The danger of the gala felt smaller out here, under the soft light of the library lamp, with his body covering mine and his voice whispering praises against my skin.
But sleep refused to come. Eve
