Lisa’s POV
The morning sun spilled too bright across the villa floor, gold and sharp, like it was mocking me. Good morning, Lisa! Did you sleep well? No? Too bad.
Because no, I did not sleep well. I tossed, I turned, I poked Ronan’s arm fifty times just to make sure he was breathing. He didn’t even stir, the infuriating mountain of wolf muscle. Meanwhile, I lay there imagining creepy spell-houses and walls inside people’s heads and—ugh.
By the time he woke, I was already pacing. Again. Like some kind of haunted pendulum clock.
And now—boxes. Bags. Clothes everywhere. Damon was folding with mechanical precision, like he’d been born in a laundromat. Ronan packed like a soldier—efficient, no wasted motion. I… attempted. My pile looked like laundry had lost a war with gravity.
We were alm
