Midnight by Elisa Adams

robe she’d found hanging in
the closet, and went down to the kitchen for breakfast. Or lunch, since it was
nearing noon. Her whole schedule was disrupted, and she was beginning to wonder
if she’d ever get back to where she’d been before she came here. Maybe she didn’t
even want to. She was kind of enjoying being lazy for once, instead of putting
in fourteen hour days on the set.
    She looked through the cabinets, but nothing appealed to
her. Giving up on the idea of food, she settled for brewing a pot of coffee,
and, when it was finished, carried it into the living room. She’d been in the
room before, but she hadn’t really had a chance to study a couple of paintings
that she’d noticed. She definitely wanted to get a closer look.
    One in particular, an oil painting of an incredibly
beautiful green valley, caught her attention. It was breathtaking. The ground
was covered with trees, and a wide blue river cut through the bottom of the
valley. A large white house sat near the top of the far hill, flanked by a
rather large vineyard, but other than that there weren’t many buildings around.
She wondered where this was. It was a place she’d certainly like to visit
someday, just to see if the view was as beautiful in person as it was on the
canvas.
    After a moment she knew Marco was behind her. She didn’t
need to turn to see, she just felt him there. It was a strange sensation, and a
little unsettling. “Where is this place?”
    If her newly acquired powers of perception bothered him, he
didn’t show it. He stepped closer and put his hands on her waist. “That’s my
home. It’s the Douro River Valley in Portugal.”
    That explained the barely noticeable accent. “You’re from
Portugal.”
    “Originally, yes. That house was mine for a long time. I
owned the vineyard for close to a hundred years.”
    “It’s very beautiful.” She was going to pretend the whole ‘hundred
years’ part didn’t bother her. “Why did you leave?”
    “It was time to move on. I’d spent far too long mourning old
ghosts, grieving a past that I could never get back. I sold the property and
left.” He nuzzled her hair with his chin. “The current owners have turned it
into a bed and breakfast of sorts. Whenever I visit, I stay there.”
    “Do you visit often?”
    “Not as often as I’d like, but I go when I can.”
    “I’d like to go with you sometime.” It slipped out before
she had a chance to stop it, and she wished she could take it back. He wouldn’t
keep her around long enough to be making trips to foreign countries with her.
    He surprised her. “Would you really want to? I’d like that.”
    He seemed unusually receptive today, and she wanted to take
advantage of it while she had the chance. “Tell me about your family.”
    He sighed. “My parents were farmers in the valley. They’ve
been gone too many years. I had one sibling growing up, a brother.”
    “It must have been nice having someone to play with.”
    “We were close.”
    He was silent for a little too long. She was afraid that if
she let him keep quiet much longer, he’d shut her out again. She wanted to know
about him. “Do you work, or do you just go around kidnapping unsuspecting
women?”
    He laughed. “I’ve had many jobs over the years. I’m taking a
break right now, but up until a few months ago I was a stock broker on Wall
Street.”
    “You’re kidding me.” She had a hard time picturing Marco
within a hundred feet of Wall Street.
    “Nope. I did that for ten years. Now I think it’s time for
something else. I might go back to painting for a while.”
    “You paint?” She narrowed her eyes, trying to read the
signature on the painting in front of them. “That’s yours, isn’t it?”
    He nodded.
    “Cardoso? So ‘Just Marco’ has a last name after all.”
    “That’s the name I was born with, but I haven’t used it
publicly for a while.” He shifted, pulling her back against him. “Is there
anything else you’d like to