"Raphael walked into the breakfast room at the unfashionable hour of half past nine the next morning and kissed his aunt on her soft cheek. "Good morning, Zia." "Up at last," was her tart reply as she peered at him over her gold spectacles. The remains of Zia Lina's breakfast was already on the table, and he knew well that she'd probably been awake for over an hour. "Perhaps I've grown soft," he said, sitting across from her. Or perhaps he'd woken to silken limbs and a tangle of golden hair and simply wanted to linger for a while in that warm feminine embrace."