~CELINE'S POV~

I don't remember the last time I breathed out without it sounding like a defense mechanism.

The night is too quiet—the kind of quiet that makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

I'm curled into one of the old chairs on the back terrace, nursing a cup of tea that's gone cold, trying not to think about the things I shouldn't be feeling.

Or the man I shouldn't be watching.

The glow from the windows behind us flickers against the stone like a soft warning: 'You don't ...