The sound of bread sliding into the toaster filled the quiet kitchen as I packed sandwiches into the twins’ lunchboxes. The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the counter, but my mind was still stuck on last night.
Roman.
The kiss.
The bond.
I sighed, pressing my fingers against my temple as if I could rub away the thoughts. Grabbing my phone, I dialed Helen’s number. She picked up after the second ring.
“Ruby? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.
“Everything,” I said, glancing toward the hallway to make sure the twins weren’t within earshot. “Helen, you won’t believe what happened last night.”
“What?” she asked.
“Roman was in my room.”
“In your room?” Helen repeated, her voice rising in disbelief.
“Yes,” I said, quickly recounting everything that had transpired—the kiss, the bond, my eventual demand for him to leave. By the time I finished, Helen was silent, a rare occurrence that made my stomach twist.
“Well?” I pressed.
Helen let ou
