"I'm fine, Anna." I lie still for a moment, then splay my arms and legs like I'm about to make snow angels. "I'm just enjoying the feeling of coolness against my back after sitting in traffic for three hours."

But the little maid does not look appeased. "Ate, you'll ruin your clothes. And you might catch pneumonia." She is frowning disapprovingly at me. "Oh, and Kuya Boyett called the house phone. He said he left his mobile at home and he'll be stuck in the hospital tonight. Sorry daw."

I sigh. Frickin' Boyett. I had to do some schedule somersaults to get this block of free time and he does this to me. He always does this to me. "Any other calls?" I ask with a resigned yawn.

Anna reaches down and skinny, little thing that she is, easily pulls me up with almost zero participation on my part. After a shitty interview

literally—the model only wanted to talk about her bowel movement

and some shenanigans at the foundation

because one of the assistants didn't vet a charity properly

, I have maybe ten percent left of my will to live. Anna brushes my back briskly with the palm of her hand as if I had been lying in dirt. Impossible. Manong Berto keeps a clean house and takes pride in it.

"Cut it out, Anna."

She sighs and shakes her head at me. "If I were you, I'd take better care of my clothes, you know."

I laugh and give her a quick side—hug. "You know, Anna, I think you'd make a better rich person than I do. Maybe we should trade a day, huh? One day in your shoes for me, one day in my shoes for you."

Anna, an eighteen—year—old girl who is the niece of our laundress Juanita, came to us last year from her province of Tarlac. She is very pretty with smooth morena skin, shiny black hair, and an adorable shyness about her. She is now looking at me with one perfectly tweezed eyebrow lifted. "Ay, Ate, you're crazy. Do you want to start today? Your papa has me organizing your Mama's shoes to see what can be donated."

I shudder, feeling sorry for the girl. My mother's shoe collection has now probably surpassed Madame Imelda Marcos's haul. She has an entire room filled with racks of the stuff. "Hey, maybe one of them will have a genie, Anna, because it's a magic shoe. You can wish to marry your favorite teleserye star and move to Hawaii with your billion dollars."

The girl blushes a deep shade of red and giggles, covering her mouth. "Ay, Ate, you're too much. Miss Becks is upstairs waiting for you. Her friends are up there, too." She crinkles her nose.

Ugh, my baby sister Rebecca: the little monster.

I nod in commiseration. Even from where I stand, I can hear the ear—piercing shrieks of the girls from my sister's wing of the house. Some of them haven't seen Becks in years, so understandably, they're all very excited. It's going to be a long night. "Anna, can you have Millie bring a gin and tonic to my room? Bombay Sapphire with calamansi, okay? Just buzz me when dinner is ready."

The girl gives me a saucy salute. "Yes, Ate."

I trudge to my bedroom suite, which is down the hall from my sister's. There used to be five of us in this wing of the house, but my sister Louisa got married five years ago and has children of her own now, my youngest brother Juan Miguel is in Boston studying engineering, and my brother Giancarlo has a bachelor pad in Alabang. I guess living with his parents at thirty was cramping his style.

Even though my movements couldn't possibly be heard over the din of loud music, gabbing girls, and giggles, I push open the door to my bedroom very carefully and sneak in, quietly shutting the door behind me. I just really want to stay at home and watch a movie. I have a ridiculous amount of movies on video, a lot of them horror films. I especially enjoy Italian horror, like the classic Dario Argento stuff. Boyett thinks I'm super morbid. Suspiria is one of my favorite movies. It's basically about an evil ballet school. I love Suspiria like people love Terms of Endearment and the Notebook. It's my comfort movie.

I think of Boyett and get annoyed all over again. I've been with him for so long that I don't know what I feel about him anymore. We were just thrown in together because our parents were good friends with each other, and the families were always at each other's houses. Boyett and I were going to the same school and had a few mutual classes together. We hung out in the same "barkada," and eventually, we started dating exclusively. I guess I love Boyett and can see myself having a life with him, but I'm not super excited about it

That's not a ringing endorsement for a future with the man, is it? It's just that… he's Boyett, and he's always been around. I don't know if he'll always be around, but I've thought of him as my safety net for a while now, and that doesn't say a lot for a passionate marriage in the offing, either.

I shed my day clothes like a snake shedding its skin, leaving them on the floor, and wrap my favorite velour house robe around my body before getting on the bed, stacking a bunch of pillows behind me, and lying down to relax. I had just pressed play to start my video when my bedroom door flies open and Becks is suddenly standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips like she's some conquering heroine.

"What the hell, Becks?" I groan. I throw a pillow at her, which she expertly dodges. "Get the hell out of here. I'm not in the mood, all right?"

My younger sister gives me an exaggerated pout, her lower lip pooching out. "Ateeeee… why don't you want to hang out with meeeee…"

I stare at my twenty—one—year—old sister in disbelief. "What do you want me for? You have your girls with you, right?" I gesture for her to move out of the way as I see Millie coming up behind her with my drink. The maid puts the gin and tonic on a coaster on my bedside table before quickly leaving my room. "Thanks, Mills!" I call out after her.

Becks lifts an eyebrow as she watches me take a sip from my drink. "A little early to be getting sauced, eh?"

So refreshing. I learned how to drink gin and tonics from a couple of friends in Rhode Island while I was attending Brown. I swallow a couple of mouthfuls before turning back to my sister. "Hey, no judgment. I had a hell of a day, all right?"

"If you say so." She shrugs insouciantly. "Come on, come with us. It's the grand opening of Venus, this super chic nightclub owned by Savannah's major hottie English cousin. I promise, we'll be in super VIP and you won't have to mingle with the masses."

I look at my sister in disgust. Just another rich Manila girl with her highlighted hair in a side ponytail, Free People peasant dress and BCBG tights. Not to mention the oversized platinum hoop earrings, Alex and Ani bracelets, and black horn—rimmed eyeglasses. Was I ever so young? "And for what, Rebecca? So we can sit in Super VIP for a couple of hours, lording our superiority over everyone, and blowing smoke up each other's asses?"

She rolls her eyes at me and crosses her arms across her chest, pushing up her breasts. "Oh my God, you fucking communist. Can you please enjoy being a rich person just once, for one night? When you turn thirty, you will be free to sign over your trust fund away to all the charities you want and live like Mother Teresa. But for once, Matet, can't you just have fun?"

Hours later, I am standing on the second floor of this brand—new, exclusive nightclub—the super VIP section, natch—sipping my third gin and tonic of the evening. At least the music is bangin.'

Savannah's cousin went all out and hired a London DJ who's currently playing a mix of classic trip—hop, Marseilles rap, and electronica influenced by world music. The motif of the club seems to be Victorian opulence and looks like a classic Doctor Who episode. Like a bunch of time travelers from the future crashed a ballroom party in 1850s England and brought dramatic lights and kick—ass music and ridiculously expensive cocktails. Seriously? A gin and tonic for five hundred pesos. That can feed a small family for a week.

I'm not entirely miserable. The music is brilliant, the drinks—albeit expensive—are strong and tasty, and the ambiance has that forbidden, illicit element of an old—fashioned opium den. There is just something about the place that feels wicked. Boyett would hate this place. He's kind of like an old man that way. The sheer opulence would offend his conservative sensibilities.

He would probably hate my dress, too. I had nothing club—worthy to wear tonight, so I had to borrow something from Rebecca. I put on her most modest dress, which to me, is still pretty frickin' naked. First, it's a black satin number and satin is a pretty unforgiving material. Second, the hem hangs several inches above the knees and the neckline is practically at the navel. Last, the back, save for a solid bit to cover the butt, are crisscrossed satin cords that start from the small of the back to the base of the neck.

And so I couldn't wear a bra or panties. This is the reason I am not on one of the six dance floors with my sister. I'm afraid that if I moved wrong, I'd be flashing my goodies to everyone in the club. I've gone commando before, on the days I'm feeling adventurous, but it has never gone further than that. It was enough for me to know that nobody else knew that I was sitting in a board meeting not wearing panties. It was exciting.

I have a feeling someone is standing behind me. The surrounding air has changed and I can smell sandalwood, even through the miasma of spilled alcohol and cheap imitation perfume. Sharp, clean, smooth. Almost like a fresh breeze. I hesitated to turn around to see who I might find there. I set down my almost empty glass on the ledge and wrap my hands around the cold railing of the balcony, my forearms trembling. I hold my breath as he lowers his head towards my ear and whispers, "Hello."

His voice is sonorous, a rich baritone that slides across my skin like silky chocolate.

His lips brush the shell of my ear, and all of my self—preservation melts away. I don't attempt to escape him. My knees have turned to rubber, and it is only because I am holding on to the balcony railing that I'm still standing up. I feel him trace my spine with the tip of his finger, and my breath comes out shakily.

"Would you like to come with me?" he says right into my ear before nipping my earlobe, as though in warning. An alpha about to claim its female.

I fall apart. Shivering, I tell myself I should shove him away, knee him in the balls or something. I open my mouth and to my surprise, my voice says, "Yessss…"