Chapter 19. Mistake

Margherita woke to the soft spill of morning light across her pillow. For a moment, she didn’t move—her head heavy, her body languid beneath the duvet.

She blinked, slowly realizing she was back in her own bed. The duvet was pulled up to her shoulders, tucked with care. Her nightdress was gone; only her bare skin brushed against the cool silk.

Her first thought was that she had dreamed it—the heat of his hands, the whisper of his breath against her neck. But then she shifted, and her muscles ached in ways that left no room for doubt.

They did it.

And he must have carried her back.

The thought unsettled her more than the memory of what they’d done.

Why? Out of decency? Control? Or just habit—like cleaning up after a mistake?

She pressed h