Brittany awkwardly walked inside the house. It was very spacious, sophisticated and very luxurious. She did not even doubt for a second that Santana was a spoiled brat. There was a couch and two club chairs that faced a 36-inch TV.

"Take a seat Mr. Pierce," Santana said, as she led him to a cream-coloured couch. Her voice rang with a hint of mocking sarcasm. "I'm just going to call my dad."

"Thank you, Miss Lopez. You are just too kind," Robbie replied in a very formal manner.

"Have a seat," Santana said, or almost grunted at Brittany.

The latter took the other side of the couch as Santana disappeared into a door. A Hispanic middle-aged man appeared form the same door shortly.

"Robert!" the man grinned and held his hand for a handshake.

"Martin," Robert firmly took his friend's hand.

"Is this your daughter?" Martin beamed at Brittany.

"Good evening, Mr. Lopez," Brittany greeted politely.

"Good evening, my dear. You are so polite. Your father must be very proud," Martin exclaimed. "Oh, maybe I should let you meet my daughter. Santana…" he called out into the other room.

"What?" an anguished voice snapped back. Santana came huffing into the living room.

"Mind your manners!" Martin growled. "Forgive my daughter," he turned to the Pierces.

"It's alright, sir," Robbie smiled and shrugged. "Teens. Been there."

"You're right," Martin smiled. "Come, let's sit by my study while my chefs are still preparing for the dinner's final touches," he led Robbie into the adjoining study.

Suddenly, he turned to his daughter and to Brittany, who was still rooted on the couch.

"Santana…why don't you take Miss Pierce to your rooms and introduce her to your hobbies?" the Hispanic man said. "We will call you when dinner is ready."

"What?" Santana wailed.

"Get along well, the two of you," Martin smiled as he walked away with his friend towards the study, leaving the Latina and the blonde.

An awkward silence hung between the two girls.

"Make yourself comfortable. You're not supposed to sulk around here and tell everyone tomorrow that you had a living hell for an evening at my house," Santana grumbled as she flopped across the obese club chair opposite of Brittany.

"I am not going to tell anyone either, if ever I have a bad evening," Brittany gazed across the room. Her eyes landed on an array of photographs that was mounted on a glass shelf at a side of the wall.

"May…I take a look at the photographs?" she asked Santana quietly.

"Yeah sure, as long as you don't try to steal the ashtray," Santana said with venom in her voice.

"I am not…no, I am never…ever going to steal from anyone!" Brittany's eyes narrowed as she gritted her teeth. She turned around and tried to calm herself down.

She might as well look at the photographs and ignored Santana, She walked up and leaned out to the photos. There was Santana in Paris, in Pisa, in Rome, in Florida, Santana with Mariah Carey, Santana Lopez with Naya Rivera.

Rich people. Brittany thought to herself.

There was also a photo of Santana in her middle school uniform, a cheering squad uniform, prom queen Santana. There was Santana in an elf's costume in a Christmas-themed background, smiling widely at the camera.

What caught her was a photograph that wasn't Santana and she is sure is never related to Santana. It was an emerald-eyed blonde. She felt more intrigued when she saw another photograph of Santana and the blonde, both in a skiing jacket and bonnets, smiling wide. There were more photographs as she walked across the wall of the room. There were photographs of Santana and the blonde which was seemed to be taken while they were skydiving. All the photos, the blonde seemed to always have a hand and control on the camera.

And there was a different glint in Santana's eyes. Not the glazed, dead, fiery eyes that Santana had possessed. Somehow, in the photographs, she could see a different Santana. A Santana that was more human, happier, and more real.

That blonde might be someone special. Brittany mused to herself.

"They're just photos, there's no story in them," Santana muttered from the chair while switching through the channels. The Latina finally settled in for a local channel on surfing.

"Man," Santana groaned as a man was engulfed in a huge wave.

"I don't see the attraction," Brittany mused.

"No one asked you anything, toothpick," Santana growled.

"Well, I wasn't talking to you, either," Brittany snapped back.

Santana completely ignored the blonde. She just turned her back and watched the surfing show.

"Who is she?" Brittany regretted her question immediately.

"None of your business," Santana begrudgingly answered, as she was busily tapping the keys on her PlayStation and completely ignoring the loud TV.

"Okay. Fine," Brittany growled. Thankfully, the chef called them for dinner. She heard her father and Santana's father laughing at a joke as they made their way towards the kitchen.

"Hey, Bee," Martin grinned at her daughter. Santana returned it with a glare. "Let's go to dinner, we're so starving…" Martin laughed out.

The four of them went toward the kitchen, with Martin and Robbie doing most of the talking. They sat down around the 18th century six-seater dining table.

They were served appetizers, then some light soup, the main course. During the dessert, Martin started to ask Brittany.

"So, Miss Pierce, what do you love to do?" Martin asked.

"Please, call me Brittany," the blonde smiled. In the corner of her eye, she could see Santana scoff. Her father must have heard it though, because Santana was being thrown a real sharp look by her father.

"Well, Brittany…what do you love to do?"

"I like to take photographs. Of people, of everything. I also love to dance. It's my passion," Brittany answered, albeit formally.

"Mhmm..." Martin smiled. "That's beautiful. I like photography, too."

"Thank you," Brittany shyly said.

"My daughter, Santana, loves to surf. She also loved skydiving," Martin smiled.

"Wow, that's very beautiful. That's awesome," Robbie smiled. "You must be very proud, Martin."

"Oh please…" Santana rolled her eyes, making sure that Brittany had seen her glare after her utterance.

"Santana…" her father said.

"I'm done eating!" Santana exclaimed and shot up upstairs.

"Teenagers," Martin sighed and smiled at Robbie.

"Mine acts like one," Robbie shrugged.

"Dad?" Brittany groaned. "You're just an old man. Old loving man."

The three of them laughed. They all dug into dessert and Martin took Brittany into the study, where numerous portraits were hung and a lot of books were arranged on shelves. It reminded Brittany of an old library.

And then there was the portrait of Santana and the emerald-eyed blonde. It made Brittany swallow hard. However, her curiosity seemed to get the best of her.

"Umm…Mr. Lopez?" Brittany asked, her eyes never leaving the portrait.

"Yes? Ah, that was made in the Boracay Island sometime last year. My daughter and Dianna were spending two weeks in the Philippines and they had it painted. I heard the person who painted it was a disabled one. Lost use of his arm and leg."

"Wow. They're beautiful. It looked so real," Brittany said in awe.

"I know. Too bad Dianna had left her," Martin sighed. There was a killing silence.

Brittany's mouth ran dry as she asked her next question. "Forgive me, sir, but why? You sounded so sad about it. What happened to Santana and Dianna?"

"Nothing happened actually. It's none of your fucking business."

"Santana! Stop that!" Martin barked.

"Well, she stops asking to many questions, then I might have stopped in the first place," Santana sneered at Brittany.

The blonde tried to control her anger that was penting up inside.

"Dad!" Brittany called. Her father rushed in and saw Santana's rock-hard stare on Brittany.

"Oh, Martin," Robbie sighed.

"I'm sorry, dear. Sorry for my daughter's misconduct. Santana, to your room. Now."

Santana took the flight of stairs with heavy steps. The Pierces also opted to leave the house earlier and as they were driving across the road back to the house, Brittany did not talk to her father. She was busily figuring out who Dianna was.

Too bad she left her…

Santana always gets super touchy about the blonde…

Brittany, hoping that her guess was right went straight to her bedroom soon as they arrived. She slumped on her bed, thinking about the night. Santana had insulted her almost throughout the evening.

Santana Lopez shall pay.

She had drifted off to sleep when her shallow slumber was interrupted by a 'thud' on her bedroom floor. She's pretty certain that someone was there. And it might be danger.

She slowly took the rack which she filled with countless photographs on her hand.

Better safe than sorry.

The figure stood up again. Brittany was ready to hurl the rack at the figure when someone just stepped on her feet and the figure started to feel awkward. Brittany quickly switched the light on.

And there she was, in her PJ's with a girl who was wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers and a grey hoodie stood looking at her.

"Hi. I came here to apologize," Santana Lopez stared at her sneakers, and then looked up to the electric-blue eyes.