The Fine Print of Falling
I woke before dawn, Xander’s arm draped across my waist, his breathing steady against my neck. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant hum of the city waking up fifty-two floors below.
I slipped out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake him. He’d been working eighteen-hour days preparing for a major acquisition, coming home exhausted and falling asleep mid-conversation. I’d learned to let him rest when he could.
In the kitchen, I made coffee and stood at the windows watching the sun paint the sky in shades of pink and gold. The city stretched endlessly, and somewhere in Brooklyn, Maya was probably just going to bed after a late night in her studio.
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