I tear my gaze off her, go into the bathroom, and shower. I spend extra time under the water, thinking about her and eliminating my hard-on. When I'm spent and feeling better, I dry off.

And I must be a sucker for punishment because instead of getting dressed and leaving the room, I toss on my boxers. I stand over Georgia for a moment, studying her in the darkness.

Her plump lips part slightly. The sound of her soft breath fills my ears. Her long eyelashes flutter briefly, and I think she's going to wake up, but they relax closed again.

Not wanting her to catch me being a creeper, I slide back into bed, then move over to her side. I sling my arm around her waist and take deep breaths of her sugary-rose scent.

Unlike with my normal insomnia, I fall back asleep. For the first time in years, I dream. But it's not good. It's a nightmare. And it freaks me out.

Georgia's shrieking at me with tears falling down her cheeks, but I can't comprehend what she's saying. I try to pull her into my arms, yet she won't let me. She pushes me away and runs.

I chase her, running faster and faster, but no matter how quickly I move, she outpaces me. Then, she disappears. I'm standing in the cold snow, wet and freezing.

The scene changes to my penthouse. I'm holding papers, but I feel empty. I glance at them again and read, Annulment. The bottom of the page has Georgia's signature scribbled on it.

I wake up in a sweat. Like my dream, Little Miss Sunshine isn't anywhere in sight. Panic fills me. I get out of bed, toss on a T-shirt and a pair of joggers, and leave the bedroom.

The smell of breakfast hits my nose. I call out, "Georgia," rushing through the house.

I go down several hallways and then yell louder, "Georgia!"

She steps out of the kitchen wearing a Christmas apron, with her hair in a high ponytail. Relief fills me. Confused, she pushes a rogue lock of hair behind her ear, and a white mark stains her cheek. She questions, "Why are you shouting? Where's the fire?"

I release a stress-filled breath, then swipe my thumb over the floury substance. I should have known she'd be baking, yet something feels comforting about it instead of the irritation I used to feel. I answer, "I didn't know where you were."

"Should I leave you a note on my whereabouts from now on?" she teases.

I chuckle, replying, "Maybe you should."

"I'm making breakfast with the girls."

I glance into the kitchen. Emma and Isabella have matching aprons. My sisters and mom are drinking coffee at the table, giving me funny looks.

I ignore them, trying to pull my thoughts together.

"Did you need something?" Georgia asks.

I slowly shake my head.

"Are you hungry? We're making pancakes," she states.

"I don't eat pancakes," I state.