Morning came upon Tristan slowly, and he did not want to move. He was comfortable for the first time in weeks, and he did not want to get up at all. But his body was insisting that since the sun was up. He had to be up too.
The night before, after returning home, instead of going into the penthouse proper. Tristan had wasted several hours hiding out in the garage. He had literally sat in his car, not doing a single thing. Stalling instead of just heading upstairs and talking to his wife.
Instead he had waited until a period of time in which he'd thought that she would be fast asleep. Then, like a thief in the night, he had snuck into his own home, tiptoeing upstairs and letting himself into their bedroom. All so he could watch Ariel sleep. His plan to have just a few precious moments staring at her had been blown to smithereens when she'd woken up.
