Miguel was always stable. He had it all - old money, sweet career, posh style and the body of a Greek god. He worked in finance or whatever, hell if you cared. Yada yada you stayed pretty and he made the money, that's the agreement.

He slipped his wine glass, his fingers typing away on the laptop. Biceps, flexing. Moonlight shining through curtains. Acting natural as if he hadn't fired 3 people with a straight face today.

"Sweetheart? Get me the calculator from my bedroom." His voice was deep and smooth, like the darkest chocolate. You fell in love with his quirks, his love for a physical calculator, his adorable ability to notice whenever you changed your hair or nails. Or his surprising love for the boring sport of tennis.