I burrowed my face deeper into the pillow, letting its softness carry me away. The house sat quiet, not so much as a creak anywhere.

I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my face. Next to me, Angelo lay on his back, one tightly muscled arm thrown across his face. His chest rose and fell slowly, the man lost somewhere deep in slumber. A thin ray of light crept through the space in the curtains, hitting the sheets across his legs.

We’d slept together.

In the same bed.

I hadn’t thought about it, but it seemed strange considering he was so eager to escape my apartment the other morning.

Maybe it was only due to convenience. Or him not wanting to seem like a jerk and ask me to move to another room.

But I couldn’t stop the small amount of pleasure a night together brought me.

A smile stretched my face. After some more time watching Angelo, I gingerly rolled out of bed. My limbs ached in protest. An afternoon spent indulging in pleasures of the flesh with Angelo was akin to running a marathon. I would need my own sports masseuse if I hoped to get through the day.

After the play in his bedroom, we’d rested by taking a slow and quiet walk on the beach. After eating the Chinese food, we ordered in for dinner, we went right back at it. The intensity of our bodies connecting, along with my way too long of a dry spell, had me spent by eight o’clock.

Not wanting to spend the day naked, I looked around for my duffle bag first. After pulling on a tank top and the soft pink pants I often slept in I padded carefully from the room, pulling the door closed to just a crack. The floorboards in the hallway creaked under my feet and I walked even slower, studying the vaulted ceilings and long walls covered with art and photographs.

We had eaten dinner in the kitchen, but I hadn’t gotten to see most of the house yet. I tiptoed down the hallway, pushing each door open just enough to see through. Each section had a different feel to it. Some areas were light and airy, with lots of windows and brightly painted walls. Other parts of the house were darker, and more masculine, with paneled wood and leather furnishings. I noticed several bedrooms, an office, and finally, a room with a pool table and fully stocked bar.

The main hallway wound its way around the house’s perimeter, taking me down an area that doubled as a sun room. Tall windows let in the morning light, and double doors led out to a large porch. Beyond them the beach was visible, its water sparkling and dancing. I thought about going down and looking for seashells the tide washed up during the night, but decided against it. I didn’t want Angelo to wake up and worry once he found me gone.

Once in the kitchen I moved about freely, confident I was far enough from Angelo to not wake him up. The clock above the stove made me double take. Eleven hours. That’s how long I’d slept.

I took a casual look through the cupboards to find the cooking utensils. After I found what I needed, I went to the fridge to see what ingredients I had to work with.

Since I decided against going down to the beach, breakfast in bed seemed like the next obvious thing to do. I would surprise Angelo with a tray laden with anything and everything I could cook up. Too bad it was spring and I couldn’t go out and borrow flowers from a neighbor’s garden. Whenever you saw someone serving breakfast in bed in the movies they always had a perfect bouquet of flowers sitting in a little vase as part of the spread.

After breakfast, maybe we could have another romp in the sheets. Perhaps another walk on the beach or a trip into town. But then what? Would Angelo take me back home and in three weeks I would meet my future husband?

My hands began to shake. I quickly set the carton of eggs I just pulled out of the fridge down onto the counter. A tired sigh left my lungs, one so heavy my chest hurt.

No. I couldn’t do it.

I was not agreeing to an arranged marriage. I didn’t even want to know the details. It didn’t matter how important this ‘deal’ was to whoever had made it. I was a free woman living in twenty-first century America. We didn’t do arranged marriages here. It was also the worst time in my life to even think about being with a man other than the one in front of me.

I had originally assumed Angelo and I were just a one-time thing, but the unfolding day proved otherwise. On top of our wildly irresistible physical attraction, I was sure we had something more.

I didn’t believe I was imagining it.

Lifting my shoulders, I went about making breakfast. Though the fridge wasn’t close to half stocked, there were enough breakfast ingredients to make a decent omelet. I diced peppers and onions while the skillet heated up.

With no bread to be found, I dug deeper into the pantry and found a box of pancake mix. The syrup in the fridge sat open, but hadn’t reached its expiration date yet. All in all, the breakfast came together pretty well.

Even though there were no flowers.

Lucky for me, an in-depth search through the endless drawers ended with the discovery of a serving tray. Loading the platter up with breakfast and two sets of silverware, I hefted it up and made my way back to the bedroom.

Instead of going back the way I came, I kept the circular journey going and traveled clockwise around the house. The foyer I saw when we came in the day before.

Well, somewhat. I’d been a little too preoccupied to notice much about the house, what with Angelo’s hands and mouth all over me.

The sitting room off to the right I’d also caught a glimpse of. The giant living room on the left I hadn’t.

It looked like something out of a big hunting lodge. Several couches spanned the length of the room and large oil paintings covered the walls, but the massive fireplace commanded most of the attention.

Noticing the number of framed photos on the mantel, I shuffled forward. Some of them were of children. I set the breakfast tray on a nearby coffee table and inched forward some more.

Which one was Angelo, I wondered. After a quick perusal, I spotted him. All of the boys had dark hair, but only Angelo’s was wild and thick. Plus, there was that devilish smile, something he could have even at eight years old.

The picture frames crowded together, taking up every inch of space on the mantel. A third were of the kids, taken at the house I was at or in other, various locations.

The rest, presumably, were extended family.

Near the other end of the fireplace one of the photos made me do a double take.

Holding my breath, I squinted my eyes.

No. It couldn’t be.

And yet it was.

My mother and father, standing in the middle of a photo taken at the beach. On either side of them stood two couples about their own age, and at the very end a young man.

My eyes raked over the photos background, looking for clues. Where was the group? Could it be right in front of the very house I stood in? Did that mean my parents had been to Angelo’s family home?

Other than some tufts of grass where the sand dunes stood up in one corner of the frame, there was nothing betraying the picture’s location.

My minute inspection of the beach finished, I stared at each of the strangers faces in turn. The two couples were familiar, though I couldn’t say exactly how I knew them.

Relatives of Angelo’s? Sophia claimed we knew the family from our teenage years, though I couldn’t remember so much as a detail about them.

My mother smiled brightly at the camera, my father’s arm looped around her waist. Everyone was dressed casually, and she was no exception in her jeans and t-shirt.

My breath caught in my throat.

That shirt.

It was one of her favorites. I’d been with her when she snagged it at the vintage store on forty-ninth street. It was white, with hand stitched red trim and short, puffed sleeves.

She wore it all the time.

Including the last time…

I saw her then, but not in the photo. I saw my mother in a memory so full and real it was like she stood right in front of me.

My breath came faster. In and out, rushing like it was eager to escape my body. Eager to get away from me, from this moment and what was happening in it.

My vision blurred. I reached out to grab the fireplace’s mantel. My fingers brushed against a couple of the frames, knocking them over. I didn’t pay attention. I needed my inhaler.

My inhaler. When was the last time I used it?

Not since leaving the city. I remembered holding it in my hand while confronting Sophia and Angelo at the apartment. And then what?

I packed it, right?

Yes. I had to of. It was in my duffel bag in Angelo’s bedroom. Just right down the hall.

I stumbled away from the fireplace, leaving the photographs behind. My mother followed me, her joyful smile and that shirt hovering in front of my eyes.

No. I couldn’t think about that. Not now.

I needed my inhaler. Needed to breathe.

But with each labored breath came another memory. Her eyes. Her hands. The sound of her voice. They were all around me, making it harder and harder to go on.

Each step seemed more difficult, each foot gained more uncertain.

Angelo’s bedroom doorway appeared, a bright beacon at the end of the tunnel.

So close. I was so close.

I gasped for breath, but realized I’d long ago stopped taking any in. My chest was tight, my throat just as constricted.

I pressed my hand against the wall, trying to keep myself upright. Just three more steps.

Now two…

Darkness bubbled up around the sides of my vision, then covered me completely and took me under.