Book 6: Making Up

Tatiana

The morning sun warms my skin, stirring me gently from sleep. I stretch my arms above my head, muscles loosening as a sense of peace settles over me. It’s strange how a good night’s sleep can reset everything—my mood, my resolve, even my sense of purpose. Today, I feel new. Whole.

Turning to my side, I gaze at Angelo. He’s still asleep, facing me, his features relaxed and soft in the quiet light. I take him in—the curve of his lips, the strong line of his jaw, those unruly dark curls that slip over closed eyes, guarded by lashes so long they could make any woman jealous.

He looks like a different man when he’s asleep—unbothered, weightless. Awake, he carries the world like it’s chained to his back.

A part of me wants to believe I’m the reason for that peace. That I’m helping him, in the way he’s helped me—just by being here, by seeing him, really seeing him, the way that no one else has. Just as he’s able to see me differently.