Camilla sat on the edge of her bed, her damp hair clinging to her skin. The warmth of the robe she had changed into did little to chase away the lingering chill from the pool. She had taken a long, hot shower, scrubbing away the remnants of the night—the cold water, the suffocating weight of her emotions, and most of all, the way Cyrus had looked at her.

That single moment of unexpected tenderness haunted her. The way his fingers had brushed against her cheek, the softness in his voice when he said, I see you.

Camilla exhaled sharply and pulled her knees to her chest, staring at the ceiling....