The heiress's mystique lost its shine that first night with each breath that reminded him of the pulling of a saw that crescendoed into a drill-like whine. The pillow over his head served only to muffle the symphony of snores emanating from beside him.

He whispered in her ear, a gentle plea for silence. He then lightly shook her, hoping a change in position might bring some peace. Each failed attempt only deepened his sense of despair.

The idea of "accidentally" nudging her off the bed flickered through his mind, but the thought was immediately dismissed with a mix of guilt and affection. In his frustration and sleep deprivation, his imagination took a darker turn, conjuring scenarios where he could gag her, choke her, or even smother her—all of which were quickly banished as he remembered the tender goodnight kiss she had given him. These were not thoughts born of desire but the whimsical fantasies of a man desperate for sleep. Her lips tasted sweet; the stray thought interrupted his musing.

He remembered an anecdote from his youth about his mother hitting his father with a shoe in hopes of stopping his snoring and chuckled. I wonder if Claire and I could create a relationship like my parents. Her words the previous night echoed in his head, but he had long ago given up on the type of love his parents shared.

Ultimately, defeated by the relentless serenade, Roger sought refuge with a pillow and blanket in the only place left—the spacious bathroom. A surprisingly ample divan became his refuge from Claire's rendition of Ives' Symphony No. 4.

But now, it was the deathly silence that prevented the rest he craved. Surrounded by frigid white marble tile and lustrous gold fixtures, the bathroom felt more like a mausoleum for his final resting than a refuge.

However, it offered respite, and as his family escaped from Arandas to Yuma, they had slept in a cemetery, so the feeling wasn't new. He shivered. They were all gone now. His personal ghosts accentuated the cold.

He shut his eyes, did what Tata had taught him, and implored Ixchel, "May the moon's embrace guide my dreams to a nurturing space," but his plea went unanswered.

His mind wandered and drifted. The events of the days before. The night he met Chester. The downward spiral his life had taken. The fear when Claire was taken. The joy that she was unharmed.

In the darkness, his breathing slowed, consciousness sunk, and slowly, he came into a lucid-like state and saw the previous night's events.

"We're sleeping together," Claire stated as she closed the door to their bedroom, "but don't get any ideas. Nothing is going to happen between us."

"I can go to—" He tried to offer. Perhaps a little too much enthusiasm in his voice.

She frowned, "No! You need to sleep here so my mother will believe we have a true marriage."

Then she came close. Her voice a mixture of determination and a plea for understanding, and she whispered, "Just give me time, Roger, and I will become your proper wife." Her eyes whispered possibilities. His heart stopped, bewildered.

Then she kissed him goodnight. His heart tried to push out of his chest. It yearned. Like any male, he was attracted to her.

He took a deep breath and kept his distance. The memory of seeing his high school girlfriend kissing another guy made him cringe. Trust wasn't easy, and Claire was miles away from his league. Why start something doomed?

Hope's fragile seed took root in his mind. Could it flourish? Yet, the moon's lessons lingered: hope was ephemeral, home elusive, family fleeting, and love merely a brief respite.

"Become your proper wife," the promise echoed in his head. Did it mean what he thought it meant? Was she hinting at going beyond their one-year arrangement?

At the edge of sleep, Roger pondered Claire's whispered promise and whether it was an outcome he wanted.

He thought of his in-laws and the hurdles they represented. Would he ever be worthy of Claire in their eyes? The unsaid hint of a talk came to mind.

What about what he wanted? Would he ever become a doctor? Again, his dreams seemed to be spiraling out of reach.

Their unknown enemies would be back, and he was clearly the only effective countermeasure. Going back to school seemed untenable. He sighed and cursed the moon. Why was it always so fleeting?

That damned old man and his schemes! In the recesses of his mind, Ixchel laughed.

Claire yawned, did a feline stretch, and turned to the left, looking for her husband.

A ray of sunshine sneakily meandered through a sliver between the curtains, ending its journey on Claire's face.

A symphony of ocean waves played in the distance. The silk sheet seemed to wrap itself tighter like a lover impeding her escape. On the edge of consciousness, she yearned.

Images of him flashed in her head as she reached, eyes closed, across the bed in a searching pattern only to find emptiness.

Her husband. Warmth engulfed her.

"Mmmm," the involuntary sound escaped her. She grinned, her eyes still closed. Memories of his naked torso while exercising flashed, and she squirmed. Slowly, a thought formed. It begrudgingly came to the surface. She resisted, but it was as inevitable as a rising tide. You've fallen for him.

The warmth was too alluring, and she surrendered. It had been years since she felt this way for someone.

She reveled in the feeling. A subtle tremble traveled through her body. The subconscious decision her body had made came to the surface. Her breath caught.

He must be exercising, she dreamily thought.

"Roge! Are you here?" She asked halfheartedly, fighting the cobwebs of sleep.

Her personal version of Adonis walked out of the bathroom dressed for a run.

"Going for a quick run. How'd you sleep?" He said as he neared the door.

"Hey! Come here, please!" You're not leaving just like that, handsome.

He obediently turned and went to the side of the bed.

"A little closer," She gestured with her hand.

When he was about halfway toward her, she sat up, grabbed his arm, pulled him closer, and kissed him. He only met her lips, surprised! His body tensed. A bewildered look flashed on his face. Don't worry, I'm not going to eat you.

"Stay safe, ok? I'll make coffee for when you're back." She resisted the urge to pull him into the bed and show him what she was feeling. His body relaxed. She let him go. Till tonight!

He lingered a few seconds, looking deeply into her eyes. He seemed to be pondering.

"OK, thanks! I'm only doing a couple of miles." He turned to leave.

"Take a couple of security guards with you." The docile, loving tone that came out of her mouth felt alien. Who is this woman?

He raised an eyebrow and looked at her questioningly.

"Roge, just make your wife happy, ok?" The tone of concern in her voice was palpable.

He smiled, rolled his eyes, and nodded in the affirmative.

As he neared the door, he stopped and turned, "Claire, don't worry. I won't let anyone harm us." He winked and gave her a dazzling smile.

She plopped back onto the bed with a groan—the strangeness of it all. A few months ago, she wouldn't have given a second look to a guy like Roger. Now, he lived rent-free in her head. A permanent tenant she wanted to lock inside.

A couple of life-and-death situations, and she felt like a married Helen Parr, and with Roger's bloodline, they might end up with a real-life Jack-Jack. If only I had her powers.

Forty minutes later, Claire was at the top of the stairs just as Roger and her mother entered the house.

"Divorce Claire, take the money and live your life," Stephanie offered. How easily mother transacts with my life.

Stephanie offered a gold card. Roger stopped and looked at the card as if contemplating the deal.

"Do you want more? We can negotiate the payment. Say five now and five after." In an even calculated tone.

He snatched the card. Looked, to Claire, it seemed sternly, at Stephanie.

"—Claire," she didn't quite hear what he said.

He hurried toward the back of the house, leaving Stephanie where she stood.

Claire clutched at her heart. The pain almost doubled her over. How could he?

She breathed deeply. He wouldn't. Would he? No, she'd seen Roger turn down much more money even before they got to know each other. Just ask him, Claire. Had she pushed him too fast?

She waited till they were gone to go to the kitchen and make coffee. You know Roger. He would never agree to anything like that.

Claire prepared the coffee. She saw Roger doing his usual routine on the grass by the pool.

He would usually take his T-shirt off, but today, it was on and covered with sweat from the mid-morning sun.

Then she saw her sister walking toward the pool. Topless. Her sheer cover-up left nothing to the imagination. Her bikini bottom was literally a string. The front was so small it seemed like a postage stamp.

She opened the window to say something when she noticed Roger turn so he wasn't facing her. He's always a gentleman.

"Good morning, brother-in-law. I don't mind if you look," she said loud enough to hear, "or touch!"

Roger turned slightly, "Good morning, Miss Williams."

"I'm going to work on my tan. You should take that sweaty T-shirt off, brother-in-law."

Roger didn't answer, continuing his movements.

Claire frowned. She huffed. Her eyes became hard. She poured two cups of coffee and marched toward Roger. The little witch thinks she can have what's mine.

The crash of the ocean waves, underscored by the whistling of an oriole, seemed the perfect score for her dramatic entrance.

"Roge, you done?" She didn't wait for an answer and walked straight to him. She handed him his cup. Then, she pulled in close and kissed him deeply. Seconds passed until she broke the contact.

"All you need to look at or touch is right here!" She told him seductively. His eyes went wide. He stood shocked. Sweat dripped from his forehead.

"Finish your coffee and shower so we can go into town." It was, without a doubt, an order.

They walked on Warf St. at the Waterfront Marina toward Claire's favorite little restaurant. She held his hand as they walked—a type of apology. The conversation in the car played in her head.

"I don't understand why you took the card, Roger, and I understand even less why you were looking at my sister's boobs!" Even though she was saying she knew it was unreasonable, she was hot from the screaming match with her mother and sister while he was showering.

He gave her the card and said something about just taking it to give to her.

She hadn't cared about his answer, looking more for a target for her furry than actual communication.

So they walked silently. She held his hand, although he didn't really hold hers back.

Half a block ahead, a handsome, tall, blond young man exited a shop. He was fashionably dressed for the beach.

"Edward!" Claire let go of Roger's hand and ran toward the man. When she was a couple of paces away, she leaped onto him, hugged him around the neck, and kissed him on the cheek.

The man held her in his arms, returning the kiss.

"When did you get in?" She asked as he put her down.

As if remembering, she turned, "Let me introduce you to," but the street was empty.

She walked back to where they had been, but he was gone.

"I seem to have lost my husband, cousin," Claire said, bewildered.

This chapter was an emotional ride. I hope you like it. We're halfway through to the end.

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