Rosalie winced, her face tingling as the warm rays of the early autumn sun gently caressed her slumbering face. After what seemed like an endless rainy season, the sky had finally cleared.
Slowly, she blinked open her eyes, only to find herself nestled against Damien's sturdy, motionless body. He lay there, still lost in deep slumber, emitting the occasional soft snore, his back snugly pressed against the plush sofa. The comforting embrace of sleep still clung to Rosalie, making it hard to rouse herself. But as sensation gradually returned to her body, she realized that both her hands were firmly held by others.
One hand rested within the duke's large, weathered palm, its calloused texture a testament to a life of responsibilities. The other hand was clasped securely by the rescued boy, who had forsaken the bed for the floor and sat there, wide awake, swathed in Rosalie's warm blanket, peering out from his improvised cocoon.
