Felicia flushed from cheek to chest. The points of her nipples peaked through the silk of her robe. She put down her glass with a clatter and stood, turning toward the house. Fernando followed after her, back inside and up the grand staircase. His eyes bore into her from behind. When she snuck a glance

Felicia fidgeted with her cigarette, flicking ash onto the marble floor. “Would you like something to drink?” Fernando inclined his head. She led him from the room, putting out her cigarette on the silk arm of a settee as she went. They walked across a cool foyer, then out onto a clay-tiled patio, bedecked with

Twenty miles northwest of Saguero lay the resort town of Antigua, nestled in the tree-studded, waterfall-laced slopes of the Paisa. With its alpine air and lofty elevation, Antigua afforded both wealthy residents and tourists alike a picturesque vantage from which to peer down on the mist-shrouded world below. Beautiful estates and resorts gleamed from the

Emmanuella slumped back in her chair. She seemed winded by what Fernando could only assume were many long years of unvoiced discontent. The worry lines in her face etched deeper with obvious distress at what she’d said. What Fernando had pressed her to say. It was like lancing into an old wound, delving into the

Emmanuella nodded. Her eyes were soft with sympathy. “Carmen died when you were very young.” “Not so young as that,” Fernando said, his voice clipped and hard. “I don’t know her because she was seldom around.” “It must have been difficult for her,” Emmanuella said gently, “caring for you on her own.” Fernando’s mouth thinned.