"What? No," she leaned over to the lady, planting both her hands on the cool marble counter, and said, "I specifically asked for a room with two beds a couple of days ago."

The lady looked at her screen again and looked at her with the same awkward look, "We don't really have the bedroom that you want right now, Miss Anders."

"What?" She was really getting confused. It must be the heat. "Then give me a freaking penthouse or something," she said, not remembering the name of the most expensive rooms in the hotel.

"I'm afraid that's impossible, ma'am. Reservations are needed to get the rooms. We are full today until next week."

"You must be kidding..."

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice here." Philip brushed her aside to talk to the woman, "We'll take the room. We don't mind the room you can offer us at all."

"But I specifically made changes—" she started and he cut her off with a look.

"Don't even try saying we'll find another hotel because I'm already beat, Cassandra," he said stonily.

"Fine, but you're sleeping on the floor."

Philip smiled at the woman who was now looking at them with confusion. "She's just kidding," he explained. "Where do we sign?"

The lady just nodded and handed them papers to fill out. Philip handled the bill and they were off to their room. The bellboy led the way with their suitcases on a luggage cart.

Cassandra was still in confusion over their bedroom when they finally reached it. It was big and spacious and the view from the glass windows was stunning, but there was really only one bed.

"This is freaking movie material. Bad fate playing on two strangers walking into a hotel," she muttered under her breath in disbelief.

Philip was busy handing the bellboy a tip when she decided she should dominate the bed. Dropping her bag, she half-ran to the queen-sized bed and flung herself on top of it, her arms spread out.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his brows furrowed.

"I'm lying on my bed," she answered.

"It's our bed," he corrected, his hands unconsciously planted on his hips. She could see he was breathing heavily. He was obviously tired.

"No, it's mine. Yours is down there," she pointed at the carpeted floor.

"The hell it is," Philip scowled and without a word dropped on the bed beside her. "This bed is big enough for two..." he said beside her. She managed to scoot on one side before his big lean body hit the bed. "...and maybe some other activities," he added with a leer.

Cassandra gasped and pushed him with her hands and feet, "The only activity on this bed is me sleeping on it," she pushed harder until the lower part of his body fell from the bed, "alone!" she added with a grunt, giving him one last kick.

Philip jumped right back on the bed. "That's not going to happen. I paid for this room."

Cassandra pushed him with four limbs but this time he was heavier. "I'll pay you back gladly. Now get off my bed!"

"Are you afraid I'll touch you?" he teased, his rumpled brown head turning toward her and his lips were grinning at her wickedly. There went his odd temperament again. One moment he was the arrogant bastard from that first day in the coffee shop and he was the playful, sexy guy the next. His parents' genes must have been a wrong match from the get-go.

"I'm not afraid of anything," she lied.

"Really?"

She arched an eyebrow and said, "Really," she coupled it with a wink. They lay there in a battle of unblinking gaze, both with no intention to give up. Intending to send him away from her, she lifted her right arm and placed it over his chest. His muscles tightened.

The frown deepened on his face. Instead of jumping out of bed, he lifted his arms and crossed them under his head.

Squinting her eyes, she lifted her left leg and crossed it over his outstretched ones, taunting him.

"Not really working, Cassandra," he uttered with a pretend yawn, but Cassandra could feel his heart hammering against his chest where her hand rested.

For her last attempt, she trailed her hand lower to the edge of his shirt.

"Nope, not working."

She stayed like that for a long time as she thought of another way to keep the bed to herself. She could slip her hand lower or under his shirt, but then she was not quite sure she would want to end it there if she did. She worried her lower lip. "Want to play papel, gunting, bato?" she challenged.

He frowned. "What's that?"

She disengaged herself from him. She hadn't even touched skin yet her heart was beating fast. Was she having a heart attack? It would be embarrassing if she died in bed with her new husband.

Brushing off her thoughts, she focused on the important matter at hand. "Rock, paper, scissors. Papel for paper. Gunting for scissors. Bato for rock." Cassandra explained the few Filipino words she managed to retrieve from memory. "Whoever loses takes a step to the edge of the bed. The first to fall off the bed takes the couch."

Philip was never going to give up. After all, he paid for the room himself. But she couldn't give up either. The only thing left was for them to play a game.

He immediately sat down on the center of the bed and she did the same. They crossed their legs and faced each other, fists balled and ready for battle.

"Papel, gunting, bato!" they both chanted and Cassandra howled with victory when her rock crushed Philip's scissors. She pushed him forward, closer to the edge of the bed behind him.

Determination was now apparent in his eyes as she looked at him. Really, the game is just like poker. All you have to do was bluff. "Papel, gunting, bato!" and Cassandra lost this time. She glared at him as she scooted back.

Three more rounds and they were both sitting on both ends of the bed. She thought of reaching out to poke him because that was all that was needed for him to fall down the floor.

"Papel, gunting..."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Cassandra cut in with one hand. "Surely there can be an agreement here," she said. Philip had won two straight rounds. And in this game, it meant the winning player was able to finally know how to read the losing one's hand beforehand.

Philip gave a sheepish grin. "Afraid to sleep off the bed?"

She ignored his statement. "Fine," she said after so much deliberation. "We'll divide the bed."

"That's very wise of you," her husband said with amusement.

"But you can never cross to my side," she reminded.

"Deal," he said, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. After all, they had been sitting with half their butts in the air for more than five minutes now. "That was the most exhausting thing I've ever done in bed with anyone," Philip muttered as he settled himself in a more comfortable position.

"I promise you that it's the only exhausting thing you'll do in bed with me."

"Don't promise anything you can't keep, Cassandra," he said seriously. She looked at his blue eyes and what she saw almost made her gape: Fire. Electricity. Hunger.

Was he stirred up by their close encounter earlier?

She knew she was.

She chose to ignore his comment and climbed out of bed. She needed a shower.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking a shower."

"A very cold one?"

"Shut up," she slammed the bathroom door behind her.

*****

She changed in a light black and white shirt and denim shorts and leather sandals as Philip took turn in the shower. She left a note that she was going out, but did not specify where.

She didn't have any appointment until tomorrow, but she needed time to be alone and think.

That was what she'd usually do when her mind was reeling with so many things all at the same time: she'd think, ponder and plan.

Though all she wanted was to lie in bed and close her eyes and rest, she was not sure if it was possible. Her mind was exhausted from all the banters she had with her husband. He was not an easy opponent, she had long accepted that.

Dennis was easy, she thought. Shit, Dennis again. Why did she have to think about him every time she was alone? It's been two years, Cass, get over it, she reminded herself.

There were far more important things she must wrap her head around. One of which was what her father and Philip were hiding from her? Why the sudden marriage? Why the secrecy?

"God, I need a drink," she mumbled and made her way to the bar.

*****

She'd been drowning herself with beer for the last two hours or so alone. Yes, she liked beer. Especially the local Red Horse beer that she had discovered here in the Philippines the last time she was here. But then again, that time she was with Dennis and they enjoyed it together.

Her phone rang and vibrated inside her pocket and she fumbled for it feeling a little bit light-headed. "Yes," she slurred.

"Where are you? It's already dark."

"If it's not my concerned husband," she said dryly.

"Cassandra, where are you? Are you drinking? Your words are garbled."

"I left you a note, so don't worry."

"What note? The one that says 'Went out.'?"

"Yeah, that one."

"It doesn't really give that much assurance. I already figured out you went out before I found the damn note. Where are you? I'm outside the—"

"How smart of you to point that out," she cut off. "I'm at the bar," then she clicked off. He could go to hell. He could even take the bed for himself. She wouldn't need it. She could sleep anywhere.

She was halfway through another bottle of beer when she felt a presence standing just about half a meter away from her.

"Hi there," a male voice with that British accent said over her. With half-closed eyes, she looked up and saw an angel. His face was glowing and his smile was beautiful. He must have been enjoying the beaches of the country.

"Hi," she smiled back.

"Alone?" That sexy British accent again.

"Uhh...yeah."

"Can I join you?" He looked like Benedict Cumberbatch, Cassandra thought as she nodded. A tanned Benedict Cumberbatch.

"No, you can't," said another voice behind the man. Cassandra groaned. If it was not the devil himself.

"Excuse me?" The British angelic man turned to her husband.

Cassandra could only listen. Her eyes were already closed with the effect of too much beer.

"You can't join her."

"And who are you?"

"I'm her husband." Cassandra chuckled and stood up. She would have graced the floor with her pretty face if the angelic man did not catch her. And she would have said thank you if her dearest husband did not snatch her out of the man's arms and said, "Let's go back to our room, Cassandra."

"But I still have a bottle left..." she mumbled, her limp body sliding down his sturdy one. He grabbed her by the arms and held her up.

They did not notice the angelic stranger back out in disappointment. Goodbye, Benny, Cassandra thought. "You're drunk," he pointed out.

"No, I'm not..." she chuckled and opened her eyes. Her gray-blue ones met his deep blue ones and she smiled up at him, their faces just inches apart. "You're adorable, you know that? But you're so crazy. You're like a brat on PMS with your mood swings and everything. I think you're even more adorable that Benny." The words tumbled out of her mind, formed by her intoxicated honest brain.

"Benny who? That English bastard?"

"Cumberbatch," she corrected. "And he's no bastard! He's the best!"

"You're really drunk, darling," she heard his faint reply.

She lifted one heavy arm and touched his clean-shaven face with her hands and leaned up to kiss him. It was just a little centimeter more and their lips would have met if she did not start to gag and eventually threw up all over his shirt.

Philip instinctively stepped back but it was too late and his shirt was now covered with her stomach contents and he immediately stepped right back and caught her limp body before she fell on the floor.

Cassandra was barely conscious when she felt his arms sweeping her off the floor and carried her out the bar.

I'll be dead, was the last thought she had in mind before her senses finally left her.