Kevin removed my bags from the trunk and rolled my silly little lime green suitcase up the sloping stone toward the door. I just paused outside of the limo, staring up at the gigantic, shining example of prime modern luxury. I looked down at my plain grey v-neck, ripped jeans, and Birkenstocks. I sighed, muttered a curse, and then strode forward to join Kevin. He rang the doorbell once I'd arrived and the door swung open two seconds later to reveal a short, latina woman with a shrewd eye and an apron over her yellow dress. She exhaled in a puff and turned her eyes to Kevin.

"¿Está trayendo ratas callejeras a casa ahora, señor?" she snapped, reaching for my suitcase and waving a hand at Kevin with a huff.

I raised a brow, unaccustomed to being referred to as a street rat by someone I barely knew. Though, I imagined my comfortable flight attire wasn't doing me any favors here.

"No soy una rata callejera. Aunque no me opondría a algo con queso," I replied easily and then breezed past her into the house.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide as she stared at Kevin who just doubled over laughing.

I raised my eyes to the enormous chandelier above me and the black iron stairs descending from a loft above on either side. To my right was a sitting room, a casual mix of couches and armchairs, cozy rugs and scattered art work and light fixtures. On my left was a library of sorts, with bookshelves filled to the brim and covering every wall and a well-stocked bar in the center. Booze and books. Maybe this was Lucas' house.

"My apologies, Señora, I did not know you spoke Spanish," the woman hastened to apologize, her cheeks tinted pink as shee slammed the door on Kevin and waved over a younger, male servant to help with my bags. He took my suitcase off without asking and I watched him go, confused.

"Where is he–" I started but she was speaking again.

"Señor Vega had something come up at the office last minute. He sends his apologies and promises to return home for dinner. He hopes you will be dining with him," the woman told me, bowing her head slightly in a sign of submission. Had I truly scared her so much?

"What's your name?"

"Luisa, Señora."

"Luisa, I'm Piper. You may call me Piper. There's no need for all this..." I waved my hands in the air to indicate the ludicrous grandeur of the house around me, "Class separation."

She said nothing but I noticed the hint of a smile on her lips.

"I am making Empanadas," she told me. "Señor Vega told me he recalled they were your favorite?"

I raised a brow.

"If Señor Vega thinks he's getting out of this armageddon-level argument we're about to have by appeasing the gods of hunger... he knows me better than I thought," I joked and Luisa smiled again before bustling off down a hall on the opposite side of the sitting room. I followed after her, struggling to keep up with her as she sped ahead.

"There is the bathroom, just up ahead. But you will have your own in your room, of course. And the walk in closet as well. Maria will be unpacking your things as we speak so if you–"

"My room?" I spat, incredulous. "Maria? Unpacking my things? Just one second, Luisa."

I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, forcing her to turn around and look at me.

"Just what, precisely,

did Lucas tell you I was doing here?" I asked.

"Staying, of course. For a time, at least," she replied with a shrug. I furrowed my brow in confused suspicion.

"And what did Señor Vega tell you about... us?"

"Very little," she replied, her tone measured. I could tell she was choosing her words carefully as she said them. "He has always maintained that he is married. After a while, we learned to stop asking about the wife. One day he gets a call, orders us to prepare a room, and here you are."

"And you don't think that's strange."

"A marriage is between two people, Señora Vega. Nothing more."

With that, she turned on her heel and stalked off towards the smell of Empanadas and what I assumed was the kitchen. I stared after her, thinking about her words, but mainly about what she had called me. Señora Vega. Suddenly, it was very difficult to breathe.

I pushed through the door to my room, feeling the panic attack coming on already. I cast my eyes to the young servant unpacking my things in the closet which was as big as my bedroom back home and snapped at her to leave. I regretted it immediately, of course, and thought about apologizing even as she scurried out of the room, pulling the enormous door closed behind her. Instead, I made a mental note to find her and apologize later and took a seat on the edge of the bed, burying my head between my knees and taking deep breaths.

It was just too much. It was all too much.

I hadn't thought about Lucas in six years and now here I was, in this frivolous mansion, back in California surrounded by beaches and ocean and constant sunshine. Even the feel of the goose down comforter beneath my legs and the silk sheets underneath almost sent me into another spiral. I slunk from the bed onto the lush carpet and took deep breaths, trying to hold it together. I wasn't made for this life. I wasn't made for this luxury. And to have it all thrust upon me at once was more than a little overwhelming.

And Lucas. Shit. That was not the man I married.

If we'd met on the street in New York City, I wouldn't have recognized him if he'd walked up to me and punched me square in the face. There were still some similarities, of course. He was still six foot three, that wasn't something that changed. His eyes were still green, though they seemed much sharper without the glasses blocking them from view. If I tried hard enough, I could see the Lucas I'd once known but it was buried beneath the body of a greek god, and I was not prepared to face the man he had become.

I cursed again and rubbed my hand over my face. Why hadn't I done more research on the man I'd married before I'd flown all the way out here and tossed myself right into the thick of things?

Suddenly, a soft knock came at my door and I jumped, my blood running cold at the words the sweet feminine voice spoke to me through the thin wood.

"Mrs. Vega, your husband is home."