I sit up in bed, alarmed. Am I really worrying about how he feels after he tried to pull a fast one on me? Jeopardizing my freedom?

Our eyes lock from across the rumpled sheets, mine conflicted, Jace’s rapt and intense. Oh lord, if I sit this close to him much longer, I’m going to forgive him, aren’t I? I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt, make excuses for his behavior, give him a second chance. And I’ve witnessed far too many women regret giving second chances to their significant others.

Jace is just like them. Isn’t he?

I start to get out of the bed, intending...