Angela and Rafael - Love Tales from Santa Margarita Island Book 2

Chapter 1

Angela opened the door to a two-bedroom unit on the seventh floor of a condominium in the heart of Makati City. It was her childhood home, but her memories from that time were stark and lonely. She was happy to leave it to board most of the year at the convent school her grandmother had sent her to. Her more recent memories, however, dripped with the venom of fear, pain, and abuse.

Suppressing a shudder, she stepped in, trying not to inhale the musty smell of space that had been closed off for some time. She looked around. There were still traces of her old life, the desperate one she had left more than five months before.

Thankfully, she couldn't spot anything of Martin's. It didn't really matter. He and his transgressions laced the atmosphere of this place. She could taste her own former unhappiness in the air. The old bleakness was beginning to creep into her chest, its tentacles squeezing at her heart, causing her to literally hyperventilate.

Angela squeezed her eyes and chided herself for being fanciful. Maybe she should have agreed to let Beatriz accompany her, but she knew how busy the older woman was with helping her daughter Carmel set up an art exhibit on Saturday.

Beatriz Dinis de Cohen. Her half-sister. On New Year's Eve, Beatriz had held her hand and said, "Angela, I love you like a daughter. Franz regards you as one of his own children as well. We want to unofficially adopt you. We feel though that a formal adoption isn't necessary as we are already family. A name change at this point will just complicate things. Also, you might eventually marry, so you'd just have to change your name again."

Although she had vehemently shaken her head at the idea of herself marrying, she had also begun to laugh and cry at the idea of being the Cohens' daughter. She had then been engulfed in their embrace and told that she was loved. "A happy and blessed new year to you, mija."

Wiping tears from her eyes, she had murmured, "Thank you, Ate Bea."

"Call her 'Mom,'" her youngest nephew, or brother, Zion had ordered to everyone's laughter. Angela had never felt happier in her life.

"Mom, Dad," she had addressed Beatriz and Franz, trying out the appellations that had still felt a little strange on her tongue. Even though she has since gotten used to calling them "Mom" and "Dad," she still felt a grateful thrill every time she did.

After flipping on the light switches to better survey her surroundings, she dragged her small suitcase into her old bedroom, preparing her stomach for the sight of the bed she had shared with Martin.

Her revulsion was momentary. She quickly shook her head free of any abominable memory and got out her phone to call Beatriz.

"Angela darling," Beatriz greeted her. "Are you in your condo now? How are you?"

"Yes, Mom. I'm okay. The memories are a little hard to deal with, but I'm trying to be as practical and sensible about this." She crossed the room to the window seat that had been her only space of solace in this house since childhood. She used to look out to the street and across the to the other buildings, imagining herself free from the invisible shackles of her circumstances.

"Oh, hija," Beatriz sighed. "I could have gone with you, or we could have just let Rafael take care of it."

Her heart clenched at the mention of Beatriz's nephew's name. Rafael Saavedra thought she was a worthless little snake out to take advantage of the Cohens' kindness. He would do this favor out of fondness for his aunt, but his estimation of Angela would sink into even lower depths, if that were possible.

"It's okay, Mom. I can handle this. There's little I want to take back with me. The furniture stays, and the rest will be donated. After I settle things with the agent, I'm heading back home. I should be in Santa Margarita Friday at the latest."

"Okay, bebé. Take care of yourself. Love you."

"Love you too, Mom," Angela returned, marveling at how easily the words rolled off her tongue now. She said it a lot these days. The Cohens said it every chance they got. Before being absorbed into their family, the only person she had ever said it to was her papa, João Dinis, who was also Beatriz's papa. Beatriz and her mom Lucía hadn't known about Angela's existence until she'd shown up for João's funeral.

João had also been the only one to ever say it to her until Martin. Hearing Martin say it, however, filled her with discomfort and, later, dread. She never said it back to him no matter how much he cajoled or threatened, depending on his mood. With a deep shudder, she got up from the window seat and started the task at hand.

She was already pretty much done with the boxes when there was a knock on the door. Her heart seizing, she quickly got up to peek through the peephole. It was her neighbor, Lara.

What did she want? She used to fool around with Martin. One of the many who had, whether they'd known about Angela or not. Lara's husband worked abroad, so she was plenty susceptible to Martin's charms.

Leaving the chain in place, Angela inquired, "Yes?"

"Ever unneighborly, Angela," Lara chirped back. She tried to peer inside the condo. "I left my Tag Heuer watch in there months ago and never got the chance to get it back."

"Martin probably already hocked it off," Angela replied.

"Can I have a quick look? Tyrone will kill me if I lose it."

Tyrone will kill you if he finds out all you've been up to, Angela answered in her mind, but obligingly unhooked the chain to let her in. When she stepped back, the door was violently pushed, landing a glancing blow on her shoulder.

Martin quickly stepped in, leering malevolently down at her. "Welcome home, babe."