Camilla
The next day was Saturday, and I smiled and stretched luxuriously, feeling the rays of warm sunshine spilling across my comforter. Last night with Michael and Isabella had been everything I had hoped for and more.
My heart beat faster as I recalled Michael's response to my questions about our relationship. That it would be what I wanted it to be was the most perfect reply he could possibly have given. I knew that I wanted to be with him, and with Isabella. And for the moment, knowing that he felt the same way was everything I needed to know.
Then I groaned, recalling the rest of our conversation. Specifically, my promise that I would be the one to tell my parents about us. My reasoning at the time had been sound. I was an adult. I could make my own decisions. And I certainly didn't want my parents to find out by spotting us somewhere together. Or even worse, when we were spotted by someone else, who decided to take it upon themselves to break the news.