Page 91 of Marrying My Ex's Brother
I crouch beside her, touching two fingers to her throat before I can stop myself.
Her pulse is steady. Warm skin.
Alive.
My breath comes out slower than I expect.
I hate the relief. I hate that I felt fear at all.
“Anya,” I say again, lower this time.
Her lashes flutter.
She wakes slowly, confused, then jolts when she sees me. “What?”
“You are asleep on the stairs.”
She blinks, looks around, then down at herself as if the staircase has personally betrayed her. “Oh.”
“That’s your explanation?”
Her cheeks color faintly. Even half-asleep, she manages to look offended. “I came down to get milk.”
I look at the glass. “Milk.”
“Yes.”
“At dawn.”
“It wasn’t dawn when I came down.”
“When was it?”
She pushes herself upright, wincing slightly. “I don’t know. Late. Or early. I couldn’t sleep.”
Neither could I.
I don’t say that.
She glances at the glass, then rubs her eye with the heel of her hand, looking suddenly younger than she did last night. “I drank it,” she says. “Then I sat down for a minute.”
“On the stairs.”
“I didn’t plan to fall asleep.”
“Clearly.”
Her mouth tightens. “You don’t have to sound so judgmental. Milk helps me sleep.”
“I see,” I say, trying to keep the amusement off my face.
She notices anyway, and scowls. “I was just asleep. What’s it to you?”
“I didn’t know that.”
Something in my voice makes her look at me more closely.
The irritation fades from her face. “You were worried.”
