Joanne woke in the early hours, her body still tuned to the rhythm of farm life. Not even crossing oceans could change that. Wasn't jet lag supposed to hit harder? She wasn't sure. Maybe the excitement coursing through her veins canceled it out.
She stretched slowly, her limbs still deliciously heavy from rest, and took in the room around her. It was massive—easily large enough to fit her entire first floor back home. And if this was just the guest room… how grand must the master suite be?
Her eyes wandered to the intricate carvings on the tall, colonial-style bedposts. Every twist of the wood, every flourish, was a quiet masterpiece. I want a bed like this, she thought, though she wasn't sure if craftsmen who could carve such elegance even existed anymore.
But none of it compared to the true wonder in the room—the man still asleep beside her.
