The morning after the gala, the whole house was awake earlier than I expected. Daniel was already in the kitchen, sipping black coffee like he’d done this every day of his life, and I was still in the half-daze of heels, flashing cameras, and polite compliments echoing in my head.“You survived last night,” he said without looking up.“I did. Barely.” I slid off the sofa, grabbing my cardigan.“You okay?”“Yes,” I said quickly. Too quickly, maybe. My stomach gave a little twist, and I froze for a second.“Hmm?” he asked, finally noticing me.“Nothing,” I lied.But it wasn’t nothing. The gala, the walking, the little bit of champagne I had sipped all of it was heavier on me than I thought. My body was reminding me, subtly but insistently, that there was more than just my usual self to worry about now.Daniel frowned but didn’t push it. He knew I’d tell him when I was ready. That was something I loved about him, quietly observing, not hovering.By breakfast, I realized the faint dizzine
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