The morning light found me before my head did. It came thin and gold through the shutters, painting the room in shy rectangles. Luca's arm was warm across my waist, steady as a promise I hadn't asked for and couldn't refuse. I lay very still, listening to the faint rhythm of his breathing, and for a sliver of time the world outside his walls felt as if it belonged to someone else entirely.
"Wake up," he murmured, voice rough with sleep.
"I am awake," I lied, turning my face into his chest so I could pretend his heartbeat was the thing that had always kept time for me.
"You smell like sand and silk." He smiled against my hair. "Odd combination."
"That's new. I've been known to wake up like laundry and guilt." I pushed my lips into a smile and felt him chuckle.
"You're impossible," he said and the word was a caress, not a condemnation.
"You love it." I nudged his ribs. He made a sound that could have been an agreement.
