17. Chapter 17
M ara
The first thing I notice is the chill.
His side of the bed has gone cold. I blink against the morning light filtering through the curtains, stretching a hand across the sheets instinctively — but all I feel is empty space.
The pillow’s cool. The covers barely disturbed. I sit up slowly, the ache in my muscles a stark reminder that last night wasn’t a dream.
It was real.
His hands. His mouth. The way he looked at me like he couldn’t stop. Every imagination I ever had of being in Zasha Petrov’s arms paled in the face of the real thing.
But now…
Now the room feels too quiet. I pull the blanket tighter around me, heart thudding in an unfamiliar rhythm.
I muster whatever courage I had left and slide out of bed, wrapping myself in one of his flannel shirts I’d found folded in the closet, and make my way down the stairs, each step a confirmation of what I already know.
He left without waking me. Without saying a word. My chest tightens as pride and pain twist together within me.
I shouldn't be surprised that he left without a word. After all, to him, this was supposed to be a temporary deal with no emotional attachments.
But last night… he didn’t touch me like I was temporary. And I didn’t let him in like he was just a placeholder.
“Maybe it’s time to redefine our marriage terms,” I murmur. “But what do I say to convince him that he now has to be stuck with me for life?”