Chapter 22

A few days passed, and Amara started indulging herself in household work. Waking up before Adrian and making breakfast for him. It all came naturally to her—preparing his morning coffee, ironing his clothes, arranging his lunch, preparing dinner, waiting for him in the living room of their giant apartment, and then sleeping—on different beds of course.

She was glad Adrian agreed to let her have a room to herself. 

She barely got time to paint, and she was glad because every time she grabbed the brush, her hands would shake and she wouldn’t know what she’d draw. All the while, pale blue eyes haunt her now and then. 

Amara moved between the kitchen counters, the clinking of utensils and the sizzling sounds from the stove pulling her out of her thoughts. The enticing aroma of pasta began to envelop the living room, but her mind was elsewhere—lost in the abyss of memories that seemed to intertwine with the scents reminding her of the time she lived with Rhys. <