The smell hit her first—rich, warm, and buttery, with hints of garlic and tomato. Lasagna alla Bolognese. The homemade kind. The scent curled through the air like a coaxing hand, gently pulling her from the depths of sleep.
Heather didn't want to wake up.
It was the kind of sleep where she'd finally found the perfect position after hours of tossing. Of course, the universe decided to ruin it.
The sound of curtains being pulled tore through the room like a scream.
Light flooded in, uninvited and harsh, stabbing at her closed lids.
She groaned, flinching, raising an arm over her face. "Oh my God—" she mumbled under her breath. Her body felt like it had been thrown into a gym after years of bedrest, aching muscles, sore limbs, wrists that throbbed with every twitch.
Caius stood by the window, one hand still on the curtain, watching her like he had every right to be there. Which, technically, he did. She hated that.
