CHAPTER Vine moonstruck (adj.) dreamily romantic or bemused Wla, Å knock woke ME. I groaned and pulled my pillow over my face when I saw it was only seven a.m. I’d stayed up watching Russian sitcoms into the early hours of the morning, my skin flaring with the aftermath of Ronan’s mouth on mine. It made sleep impossible to find. I still couldn’t believe how quickly the kiss had escalated, that I orgasmed in a public hallway from only the press of his thigh. I would like to think it was the cyclone of teenage hormones and lust I suppressed, but I knew it was because we had chemistry. The kind that sizzled like the sun on hot pavement from simply being in the same room. And now I knew he felt it too. I could only assume his disturbed reaction afterward was due to him remembering I was only nineteen. Like it would help, I planned to tell him I was actually twenty. When the knocking continued, I sighed, tossed the comforter back, and padded across the room to answer the door, half-expecting Ivan to be standing on the other side. But it was only a teenage boy holding a large white box with a paper bag on top. “Mila Mikhailova?” “Um, yes?” He shoved the packages into my arms and disappeared down the hall. I watched him retreat and closed the door with my foot, then set the box on the bed. Peering into the bag first, I smiled. Breakfast. Opening the box, I found a card.