They had escaped winter completely.
Coats and grey skies were far away, forgotten the moment they landed in Goa, where mornings arrived warm and bright, sunlight spilling through open doors and settling across stone floors and pale linen like it had nowhere else to be.
The villa was quiet in that slow, indulgent way that only expensive places ever managed. The sea moved lazily outside. Palms shifted with the breeze. Nothing asked for urgency.
Renee stood near the dining table with her phone already in hand, dressed and alert like it was noon instead of morning.
"I made an itinerary," she announced. "Breakfast at eight, spice plantation by ten, Old Goa by noon, sunset cruise at five—"
Valeria didn't even open her eyes from the sofa. "It's morning," she said. "We survived hell. I vote we rest. Then we repeat last night. With better champagne."
