Phoebe's POV
The shrill alarm pierced the morning quiet, jolting me from my drowsy state against the headboard. I was already awake—had been for a while, actually.
I kicked off the tangled sheets and tugged down my pajama top, which had somehow worked its way up during the night, baring my stomach.
I shot Harold a pointed look, but he just gazed back with those puppy-dog eyes that never failed to make my resolve crumble.
"Morning run?" I asked, already knowing his answer.
He nodded eagerly and trailed behind me into the bathroom. We moved through our routine with practiced efficiency—before long, we were stretching at the villa's front entrance.
My daily six-mile run had become sacred ritual. Harold's usual workout regimen was far more grueling than mine, but since we'd started this thing between us, he'd split his training—mornings with me, evenings solo.
