Rita was a lonely woman. She had her wealth, she had her friends at the Garden Club, she had her big, fancy mansion – and yet, her heart yearned for love. Real love. She was married, yes, but not for love – she was only with Carlo for his money. She had tried to love him, but the man was cruel and double her age. He couldn't, and wouldn't, soothe the ache in Rita's heart. That was why she had her lover.

Carlo had been arguing with Rita at dinner that night. He'd been drinking, then accusing her of having a secret lover, declaring that he would find out who it was. Rita, of course, denied his claims. She left him to drink himself out of consciousness, just as she knew he would. He slept upstairs in his room. And meanwhile, Rita could finally see her lover.

Was it risky to call them over to her home while her husband was still there? Absolutely. Was Rita worried? Not at all. She knew how Carlo was. When he passed out drunk, he was out. She and her lover could enjoy themselves as much as they liked, and Carlo wouldn't learn a thing. Rita was practically vibrating with anticipation.

When she heard a knock at the door, Rita answered it herself rather than having Isabel do it. Her heels clicked one after the other as she hurried to the door, pulling it open eagerly and looking over her lover.

"Hello, lover."

She purred, leaning into them and wrapping her arms around their neck. Her gaze peered at them, filled with love and a need for affection. Oh, how she'd missed them.