Delaney James seems to have it all-a successful husband, a stylish Manhattan townhouse, and a thriving career in fashion journalism-until it all falls apart. Her husband leaves her, shattering the perfect life she once knew. Heartbroken and desperat...
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I'm on a cloud. Something must have happened last night. We were robbed at gunpoint in a dark alley, and I was shot like Patrick Swayze in the opening scene of Ghost, or I died of cardiac arrest in my sleep, because I'm in heaven. I'm wrapped in the softest, bamboo-viscose atop a bed of the comfiest, most luxurious cotton, and I can feel myself slowly sinking as the cloud molds around me, nearly sending me back into the deepest sleep I've ever had.
My eyes flutter open, and I quickly realize I'm in fact not dead, but stretched across the coziest mattress I've ever had the pleasure of sleeping on. I reach across the bed for Greyson, but come up empty, and when I lift my head from the pillow, I find myself alone. The indent from his head is still on the pillow and the blankets are pulled back, but his side of the bed is cold. He's been awake for a while.
The sliding door separating the bedroom from the living room is closed over, and I can hear the faint sound of street traffic in the distance. I roll over and grab my phone expecting it to be almost noon, and I'm surprised when I see it's barely nine o'clock. With as rested as I feel, I assumed it was at least mid-morning.
I throw off the comforter and force myself out of bed, and as I head toward the bathroom, I hear the low hum of Greyson's voice coming from the other room. He's on the balcony, on the phone, and I don't need to see his face to know he's upset about something. I can hear it in his voice. In the gentle lilt as he rattles off question after question. In the way he's trying to be positive and strong for the person on the other line, but there's fear behind his reassurance.
I give him privacy while he finishes up his call, and when he sees me lurking in the doorway, he puts down his phone and smiles at me, immediately cheering up.
"Good morning."
"Morning. Is there coffee?"
He leans over the side of his chair and picks up a tall, plastic cup. "Baby wants, baby gets."
I make grabby hands and eagerly grasp the cup, taking a generous sip. "God, that's good."
"You look even more beautiful after just waking up than you do in a full face of make-up and a fancy dress." I put my hand on my hip and tilt my head, arching a brow. "That doesn't mean you don't look beautiful wearing make-up and a fancy dress, because last night, woman, you looked incredible. I've just always loved the way you look first thing in the morning." He stands up and closes the small distance between us and takes my face in his hands. "The blue in your eyes is so vivid right after you wake up, and you get these adorable sleep lines on your face from the pillow. Your hair looks a little crazy, kind of like you were electrocuted, but in a really cute way. I love that I can see your freckles and your beauty mark. The beauty mark you've always felt insecure about but has always been my favorite feature of yours."
I lean into his hand and look up at him as he places his lips on the tiny brown freckles on my cheek, and I don't need a mirror to know I'm gazing like a young girl with her first crush. Like a girl in love.
