{GIANNA}
The first thing I do when I wake up in Michael's empty bed is rush to my own room and check my pills. My shoulders, knotted with tension, finally relax when I see they're right where I left them. I snatch them out with trembling fingers.
I'm only supposed to use one per day, but after last night's unprotected sex—without waiting the advised forty-eight hours —I pop two into my mouth, desperate for the meds to flood my system faster and erase my recklessness.
Fingers crossed. Hell, toes crossed too.
Seriously, universe, if you ever plan on doing me a solid, now would be the time. Shoving down my nerves, I make my way downstairs, already knowing Michael will be waiting for me. He's made it his
personal mission to sit with me for breakfast every morning since I got here—a gesture that feels both possessive and oddly considerate. Sure enough, he's already positioned at his usual spot at the dining table when I walk in.
