FIA
I woke to the sensation of fingers tracing lazy patterns across my shoulder blade. The touch was feather-light, almost reverent, and it pulled me slowly from sleep like being drawn up from warm water.
My eyes fluttered open to find Cian propped on one elbow beside me, his gaze fixed on where his fingers moved across my skin. The bedside lamp still glowed softly, casting everything in amber.
"Welcome back, sleeping beauty," he murmured.
I was so tired. My body felt heavy, languid, like I'd run a marathon. I started to turn away, to burrow into the pillows and escape back into sleep, but his hand pressed gently against my hip.
"It's four," he said.
I blinked at him, confused. "What?"
"By six, the servants will come flurrying in to get us dressed."
"Dressed for what?" The words came out thick with sleep.
Then it slammed into me. My eyes flew open wide. "Today is the wedding."
"And we smell like sex, spit, and cake." His mouth curved into that infuriating smirk.
