November 19, 2024 — 7:15 AMBohol, Private Villa
The second morning broke softer than the first.
Angel stirred to the distant cry of seabirds and the slow rush of the tide against the rocks. She blinked awake, her body still tucked under the linen sheets, Matthew's arm heavy across her waist, anchoring her to the mattress like he was afraid she'd slip away in her sleep.
For a few long, lazy moments, she didn't move.
Just listened to the sea, felt the weight of him, the warm steadiness of his breathing.
No alarms. No sprinting through timetables. No early check-ins with site engineers.
Just this.
Just them.
Matthew shifted slightly, his voice still raspy with sleep. "You're awake."
"So are you," she whispered, smiling against the pillow.
"Hard not to be," he murmured, tightening his hold on her briefly. "You think I'm going to let my wife escape a second morning without stealing breakfast?"
Angel chuckled low in her throat. "You're clingy."
