Chapter Eighty-Six. Diana.
The cooing of the wood pigeon wakes me up. Unlike yesterday morning, when I wanted to stone the thing to death, I just find a serine smile on my face, enjoying the morning sound. The sheets beside me are cool, as I hear the sound of my vacuum cleaner in the other room. I cannot contain the giggle that escapes my lips. My man has OCD, I tell you.
I move the covers back, and head to the shower, I glance in the mirror to see my hair looking like the wood pigeon had broken into my bedroom last night and nested there. Then my eyes see the multiple deep purple marks all over my neck, boobs, and stomach, and I let out an audible gasp, as my fingers trace over the ones that adorn my throat.
“Jessie!” I say his name like a curse, because I am covered in hickies none
