I WAKE UP BEFORE ANYA DOES.
It takes me a moment to register the sunlight filtering into the room through the curtains, the faint ache in my muscles, and the warmth pressed against me.
That same instant, the familiar scent of Anya wafts through my nostrils, forcing me to look down, only for the air to leave my lungs and everything in me to freeze.
Anya is curled into my chest, one of her legs thrown over my thigh underneath the duvet, and one of her arms is wrapped over my torso. Her cheek rests against my skin, her thick, long lashes kissing her cheekbone, and her lips are parted as she breathes through them. Even her hair is sprawled all over my chest, the steady rise and fall of her chest pressing against the skin of my left arm. There’s a strange kind of softness to her face that I’
