Gianna
I passed out. Flat on the bed. I don’t know how long, but by the time I crawl out of it, shower, and dress, dinner is almost over.
Dmitry.
Why didn’t he wake me up?
I scramble downstairs to the dining room, and to my utter surprise, he hasn’t started eating.
He’s seated at the head of the table, white T-shirt clinging to his frame, phone in his hand, fully absorbed in whatever’s on the screen.
There’s a ghost of a smirk on his lips.
I’m not sure I’ll ever get over how freakishly handsome he is.
I clear my throat, dragging his attention to me.
His eyes light up—actually light up—and I have to lower my gaze to the table.
Why does he look so happy to see me?
“Gia. I didn’t think you’d be coming for dinner,” he says, setting his phone down.
I frown.
“I overslept,” I say. “T
