Isla’s POV
I wake up before my alarm.
For a moment, I don’t remember where I am. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar, painted in ivory with delicate molding that catches the early morning light filtering through the curtains. My head throbs faintly from last night’s drinking, and my mouth feels dry.
Then it all rushes back. Leaving. My chest tightens.
I sit up slowly, careful not to disturb Sienna, who is sprawled beside me, one arm thrown over her face, her hair a chaotic mess across the pillow. The Aperol bottle sits abandoned on the nightstand, half-empty, along with two glasses tipped sideways like casualties of war. I don’t even remember how we got up on the bed.
A small, helpless smile touches my lips. God, I’m going to miss her.
I swing my legs off the bed and begin gathering
