She woke a few hours later, still drowsy and quiet, and stayed around for a bit, maybe two hours at most. We sat together in the living room, not saying much, just existing. She spent most of the time leaning on my shoulder, scrolling through her phone while Duchess occupied the far end of the couch like a queen on her throne.

Eventually, Val got up, stretched, and yawned. "I should probably go report to my dad before he sends a search party," she said, in that light, teasing way of hers.

I smiled, even though I knew she wasn't exaggerating. Her father wasn't the type to worry, not in the way normal parents did. For him, she was less of a daughter and more of a delicate asset he needed to keep track of.

She took Duchess with her, saying something about not wanting the cat around when she came back — that she wanted me all to herself.

But I didn't have enough time to miss her.

Because by 6:46 a.m., my phone started buzzing on the nightstand. The screen flashed —The Love Of My Life ❤️❤️ Celestia Valentina Moreau.

Of course it did.

I groaned, rubbed my eyes, and reached over to grab it.

"Hey," I mumbled, voice rough with sleep.

Her reply was short. "Come open up. I'm at the door."

It took me a few seconds to process that. "…What?"

"The door, husband," she said, completely unfazed.

"Right."

I forced myself out of bed, still half-asleep, and stumbled toward the door. My hair probably looked like a bird's nest, but I didn't care. When I opened it, there she was, Celestia Valentina Moreau, in one of my hoodies that reached halfway down her thighs, pajama pants, and fluffy slippers that looked like something out of a cartoon.

I blinked. "You're kidding."

She tilted her head, smiled, and breezed past me into the apartment. "Morning to you too."

She dropped her car keys on the table like she owned the place — which, to be fair, she sort of did — and turned back to me with that knowing grin.

"I'm not even gonna ask," I said flatly.

She giggled. "My house was too boring, so I decided to come home."

I froze for a second. Home. She said it so casually, so naturally, like there was never any question about where she belonged.

She must've noticed my pause because her grin widened. "That one touched you, huh?"

I shook my head, pretending to be unimpressed. "I'm going back to bed."

"Mmhm." She nodded, clearly not taking me seriously, and followed right behind, her slippers making soft thuds against the floor.

I walked back to my room, collapsed face-first onto the bed, and managed maybe five seconds of peace before the mattress dipped again.

Correction — she didn't just lie down next to me. She lay down on top of me.

"Val…" I groaned into the pillow.

"I missed you," she murmured.

I sighed, already defeated. "Just thirty more minutes and I'll be up."

There was a shuffle, a soft laugh, then the weight shifted as she rolled off me and onto her side. I could feel her staring, though. She wasn't sleeping — she was watching me. I tried to ignore it, maybe she'd get bored.

But of course, she didn't.

After a few seconds, I felt the light brush of her finger tracing along my jaw.

"Val…" I opened my eyes, giving her a warning look.

She smiled — that unfairly soft smile that could make a saint lose patience — and whispered, "Can I disturb your sleep?"

"No." I deadpanned.

"Okay," she said sweetly.

Five seconds later, her finger was tracing my nose.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to decide between being annoyed or amused. "You're doing it anyway."

She didn't even look guilty. "I want to play with you a little," she said, her tone all honey and mischief.

"Val, I'm feeling sleepy."

She hummed like she didn't hear me. "I read somewhere that a good wife occasionally disturbs her husband's peace. Keeps him from forgetting she exists."

I cracked one eye open. "You read that where?"

"Probably in my heart," she said without a shred of shame.

I groaned into the pillow again.

She laughed quietly, shifting closer until her forehead brushed against my shoulder. "You're smiling," she whispered.

I exhaled through my nose, trying to keep a straight face. "I'm not."

Her lips curved, eyes half-lidded with that satisfied little smirk she always wore when she knew she was right.

She grinned wider, voice soft but smug. "You are."

And I hated that she was right. Because as tired as I was, as ridiculous as she could be before eight in the morning, I still couldn't imagine a morning without her voice in it.

She must've sensed the surrender because she tilted her head up and said softly, "See? You like it when I disturb you."

I huffed out a laugh and rolled over, trapping her under my arm. "You're insufferable."

She beamed. "You love me."

"Unfortunately."

She gasped in mock offense. "You wound me, Sir Tanaka."

"Then let me sleep, Lady Moreau."

> "Never."

I opened one eye and looked down at her. She was grinning, utterly pleased with herself, her fingers still idly drawing circles on my chest.

I couldn't sleep anymore, so I let her "play" with me.

Her idea of that, though, wasn't what anyone else would call playing. She talked, about everything. Every single thing she could remember that happened in London. The ones she hadn't told me yet, and even the ones she'd already told me three times before.

Every time my eyes started to slip shut, she'd poke my cheek, tug at my hair, or call my name again, just to make sure I didn't drift off.

And even though I knew she came just to mess with me, I couldn't help it, I smiled too. Because this, right here — her warmth, her laugh, her absurd timing — was exactly the kind of chaos I'd signed up for the moment I fell for her.

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To be continued...

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