Chapter 37
Anne turned over, stretching and groaning. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply and woken so easily. Nothing hurt or ached. Every single part of her felt good. She opened her eyes, and for just an instant, she wasn’t sure exactly where she was.
The space was small, barely the size of her own bedroom in her parents’ house. But rather than staying trapped in the painfully outdated pastels and Day-Glo of a teenaged girl in the Eighties, this was an adult’s room. Deep burgundy rugs covered parts of the smooth hardwood floor, beside the queen-sized bed, in front of a plain black chest of drawers. The bed itself felt like floating in a warm cotton cloud, with the softest sheets and pillows Anne had ever slept in.
Rather than being covered with tattered posters
