SASHA ROSARIO'S POINT OF VIEW
Cold seeped through the thin mat beneath me, pulling me from sleep. My lids felt heavy as lead, and moving was harder still—something solid and warm was draped across my hips, pinning me close.
"Hmmm…" I went still, breath catching as I took in the sight before me. Angelo's face was relaxed in slumber, his features softer than I'd ever seen them, almost boyish.
He was facing me, and I realized I'd been using his arm as a pillow all night, while his other hand held fast to my waist. His scent wrapped around me—clean, sharp, purely masculine. When he sighed in his sleep, his breath fanned over my cheek, and his hold tightened just enough to make my heart flip.
I bit down on my lower lip to smother a smile, heat flooding my cheeks until I thought I might melt into the floorboards.
"God," I whispered, pressing closer. "You must have made me Your favorite." Seriously—how else did I land an instant husband who looked like that? I could barely contain my glee.
He was dead to the world, this gorgeous brute who'd left me aching and sated just yesterday. Now was my chance to indulge. I nuzzled deeper into his chest, burying my face against the firm muscle hidden beneath his shirt.
I breathed him in deep, squirming like a cat who'd found the perfect sunspot.
"Oh!" A tiny gasp slipped out. He smelled so good—the scent seeped into my lungs, branded itself into my memory.
I was about to drift back to sleep when a howl of wind tore through the air outside, jolting me upright.
My eyes went wide as I scrambled to my feet and rushed to the door. The sight that greeted me nearly dropped my jaw to the dirt floor.
"Holy… the typhoon's almost here." Blood drained from my face. I fumbled for clean clothes, yanking them on as I dashed outside to haul in my clay cooking pot. I had to get rice on the fire now, before I left for Aling Minda's place—we couldn't go hungry, not with the storm coming.
Then I heard it: a low whimper from the side of the house. I sighed and turned to find Burog, my mangy mutt, trying his damnedest to mount a dog twice his size.
"Really, Burog? A typhoon's bearing down and you're busy playing stud?!" The dog froze, looking at me with guilty eyes. I pointed a finger at him. "You dare step one paw inside this house, and you'll be sorry—I swear it."
I hurried back to the kitchen, grumbling under my breath. Sometimes I wished Angelo and I could be more like dogs—free to act on every urge, anytime we wanted…
I cut off the thought, shaking my head hard and slapping my own cheek.
"Get a grip, Sasha," I muttered to the empty room. "Work first, daydreams later. Your husband needs to eat."
He still wasn't fully well enough to work—though he'd had no trouble other kinds of exertion yesterday.
"But you did more than just 'exert.'" A wicked voice in my head chimed in. I pressed my palm to my forehead.
Lord, I was losing my mind. And to make matters worse, I'd nearly forgotten the storm. If the rains hit hard, floodwater would pour right into our place—we didn't even have a raised floor, just bare earth under our feet.
I let out a long breath and kept stirring the rice.
Being poor was a weight you never quite shook off.
—
"Don't worry, best friend! I'll keep your husband company—no funny business, promise."
I arched a brow at Andeng's overeager tone, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Uh-huh. You've got a husband of your own, remember? I know my man's enough to make any woman weak in the knees, but cut it out—" I narrowed my eyes at her. "Or I'll burn your whole house down!"
She laughed, lifting her chin with a mischievous grin. "Hey! Do you take me for a fool? I'm loyal as they come—I love my husband more than anything. Besides, I'll stay right here outside your door. Wouldn't want to accidentally knock your husband on his ass if he tries anything."
"You flirt!" I swatted her arm playfully.
"Look who's talking!" She swatted me back, and soon we were wrestling like kids, slapping each other's arms until we were breathless.
"Alright, alright—you wanna take this to the dirt?" Andeng planted her hands on her hips, still grinning.
I shook my head, laughing. "No way—I'll be late for Aling Minda's. I'm heading out now, okay? Keep an eye on Angelo for me?"
She saluted. "Yes, ma'am—you've said it a hundred times already!"
I waved her off and set off for the next village, my feet heavy in the dust.
—
"So—how's married life treating you?"
I'd been working at Aling Minda's for five hours now, and she'd asked the same question five times. If my hands weren't covered in fish scales, I'd be rubbing my temples.
"Aling Minda," I said with a smile, "you've asked me that so many times I could recite the answer in my sleep."
She scratched the back of her neck, her weathered face creasing with wonder. "I still can't believe it—you, married, Sasha."
"It's not like the stories you hear," I said, for the fifth time that day.
She settled onto a small stool across from me, helping wrap the freshly caught fish we'd sell to market vendors tomorrow. "What do you mean, 'not like that'? You're married—isn't that the same as any other couple?"
"Because we're not really married. He can't remember a thing, and when his memory comes back… he'll leave. Go back to whatever life he had before." The words sat heavy in my throat, but I kept them locked away. Saying them out loud would make them real, and that hurt more than I could bear.
They say when one door closes, another opens—but maybe some doors were only meant to stay ajar for a little while.
I let out a deep sigh. "Let's just say things aren't… stable. We might not be together for long."
Aling Minda didn't push. We worked in silence as wind whipped through the palm trees overhead—they said the typhoon would hit in just a few days, and living on the island meant we'd feel it first. Our houses weren't built to withstand this kind of weather.
—
The sun was sinking low when I started the walk home. My body ached all over, and every step left me gasping for air—great, my fever was back.
I dragged myself through the door, shoulders slumped, and stopped dead. Angelo was sitting on the floor, a spread of food laid out before him. The moment he saw me, a soft smile touched his lips.
"Angelo…" I whispered his name, my voice thin. His eyes scanned my face, and the warmth in his expression shifted to something sharper—something like worry.
Oh no. Did he see how rough I looked? I wanted to melt into the ground, but then he stood up and crossed to me in three long strides.
He pressed his forehead to mine, and I shivered at the contact. Then he leaned in and kissed my lips—soft, quick, and so gentle I barely had time to process it before I was buzzing all over.
"You're running a fever again," he said, his voice low. He guided me to the food, his hand steady on my back.
"You cooked?" I stared at the dishes—simple, but perfectly made.
He nodded. "Felt wrong letting you do all the work. I can move around fine now, so… yeah."
I turned away for a second, fighting back a silly grin. Husband material! I wanted to shout to the heavens. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I faced him with a smile, and we sat side by side on the dirt floor to eat.
"Stay home tomorrow," he said suddenly. "You're sick—your health matters more than whatever you're planning to do."
My spoon froze halfway to my mouth. I looked up at him, concern knotting in my chest. His gray eyes were fixed on me, warm and intense enough to make my knees weak.
"I can't," I said quietly.
He frowned. "Why not? You got paid today—can't you rest for one day?"
Is he worried about me? I fought the urge to get my hopes up. Maybe… maybe he cares.
I shook my head. "Look at our house, Angelo." I gestured around us, at the bare earth under our palms. "When the rain comes, the flood will fill this place right up. We won't have anywhere dry to sleep unless I fix the floor. Just a little more work tomorrow, and I'll have enough for plywood—at least to raise the sleeping area."
He was quiet for a long moment, just staring at me. Then he nodded slowly, saying nothing more.
Oh no—was he angry?
I went back to eating, stealing glances at him as he picked at his food. He'd been quiet like this when we first met—maybe it would pass.
That's what I thought, anyway. Even after we'd cleared the dishes and I'd curled up on our mat, he still didn't speak to me. I tried to sleep, my body heavy and tired, but then I heard him stand and walk out the door.
I wanted to follow, but I had no strength left. He probably hates this life, I thought, the weight in my chest crushing me. Who could blame him?
I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed—please, let him still be here when I wake up.
But just as darkness pulled me under, I heard his voice from just outside the door, low and sharp as glass.
"Yeah, I need all of it tomorrow morning. No—I am telling you to bring it before dawn, you can do it right? Yeah, yeah. Do it fast and smoothly, make sure you'll do it as I say, because if you didn't—you knew exactly what will happen to you."