Garcia
The annoying morning sun slipped past my lashes. I groaned in displeasure and turned over, dragging the edge of the blanket over my face.
“Charles,” I mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep. “Close the window, babe…”
There was no answer.
I sighed, lips brushing the pillow. “Charles, hon. Please.”
Still nothing.
My brows furrowed. “Charles?”
“Charles…”
“Charles—”
A deep...