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When I finally open my eyes, I’m met with a light gray wall. For a split second, a rush of dread hits me at the realization that I’m not in my bedroom.

But any momentary panic wanes when I remember where I am.

Or, more accurately, who I’m with.

I draw in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Joshua’s laundry detergent.

And sex.

This room definitely smells like sex.

Because I had sex.

Last night.

With Joshua.

Not just once, either.

Many times.

So many times I lost count.

It’s like he was on a mission to make up for every year I’ve gone without knowing what it’s like to be with someone who actually cares about my pleasure.

That, or prove young men do have stamina.

Either way, I’m not complaining. Not after all the mind-blowing orgasms he gave me throughout the night.

I half expected to wake up this morning and be overwhelmed with regret. Or remorse. Or shame.

That’s what old Wynter would have felt.

Hell, that is what I felt this past weekend when I thought I’d slept with Joshua.

But I don’t feel any of those things, even now that I actually did sleep with him.

There’s no guilt. No shame. No desperate urge to rewind the clock and make a different choice.

Instead, I feel something I haven’t in a very long time.

Peace.

Like I’ve finally taken back control from everyone who’s spent years deciding which direction my life should go.

I made a choice last night.

Not for Wyatt.

Not for my father.

Not for the woman I’ve spent years pretending to be.

For me.

Hilde and my brother were right.

Doing one selfish or rebellious thing every day can be quite rewarding.