“I’m game,” I say softly, gazing up at him. In this moment, my mind is firmly in the ‘good times’ camp, and I would gladly go along with anything he wants, do anything he wants.

“Señor Esguerra?” An uncertain female voice interrupts us, and I turn to see a middle-aged woman standing there. She’s wearing a black short-sleeved dress, with a white apron wrapped around her rounded frame. “Everything is ready, just as you requested,” she says in accented English, watching us with barely restrained curiosity. “Should I serve you dinner?”

“No, thank you, Ana,” Julian replies, his hand resting possessively on my hip. “Just bring a tray with some sandwiches to our room, please. Nora is tired from our travels.” Then he looks down at me. “Nora, this is Ana, our housekeeper. Ana, this is Nora, my wife.”

Ana’s brown eyes widen. Apparently the ‘wife’ bit is as much of a shock to her as it had been to me. She recovers quickly, though. “Very pleased to meet you, Señora,” she says, giving me a wide smile. “Welcome.”

“Thank you, Ana. It’s nice to meet you too.” I smile back, ignoring the sharp pain squeezing my chest. This housekeeper is nothing like Beth, but I can’t help thinking of the woman who had become my friend—and of her cruel, pointless death.

No, don’t go there, Nora. The last thing I need is to wake up screaming from another nightmare.

“Please make sure we’re not disturbed tonight,” Julian instructs Ana, “unless it’s something urgent.”

“Yes, Señor,” she murmurs, and disappears through the wide double doors leading out of the entryway area.

“Ana is one of the staff here,” Julian explains as he guides me toward a wide, curved staircase. “She’s been with my family in one capacity or another for most of her life.”

“She seems very nice,” I say, studying my new home as we walk up the stairs. I’ve never been inside such a lavish residence, and I can hardly believe I’m going to be living here. The decor is a tasteful mix of old-fashioned charm and modern elegance, with gleaming wooden floors and abstract art on the walls. I suspect the gilded picture frames alone are more expensive than anything I had in my studio apartment back home. “How many people are on the staff?”

“There are two who always take care of the house,” Julian answers. “Ana, whom you’ve just met, and Rosa, who’s the maid. You’ll probably meet her tomorrow. There are also several gardeners, handymen, and others who oversee the property as a whole.” Pausing in front of one of the doors upstairs, he opens it for me. “Here we are. Our bedroom.”

Our bedroom. That has a very domestic ring to it. On the island, I had my own room, and even though Julian slept with me most nights, it still felt like my private space—something I apparently wouldn’t have here.

Stepping inside, I cautiously survey the bedroom.

Like the rest of the house, it has an opulent, old-fashioned feel to it, despite several modern touches. There is a thick blue rug on the floor, and a massive four-poster bed in the center. Everything is done in shades of blue and cream, with some gold and bronze mixed in. The drapes covering the windows are thick and heavy, like in a luxury hotel, and there are a few more abstract paintings on the walls.