Chapter 11
ANGEL
I ventured onto the terrace leading to the infinity pool outside my suite, sick of the darkness inside.
Settling on an outdoor lounge and table, I wrote a new song that had repeated all night in my mind.
I scribbled in my notebook, tearing off pages of abandoned lyrics until I had a semblance of a song.
Reaching for my guitar, I plucked a few chords with my antique silver thumb pick, working my way through the melody.
I was getting into the flow of it when a voice called out.
‘Ciao, Mr Forrest!’
I glanced up to see Mrs. Campanelli moving toward me with care, her expression pinched.
‘Signore, I have to ask a favor,’ she stated, resting her hand on the back of a lounge chair as she pulled up. ‘My hip and leg are flaring with pain.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear,’ I rasped with concern.
‘I can’t make the trek to the market for our groceries. I may need your help this week.’
I shifted my six-string aside, eyes narrowed on her.
‘Where’s Carlo?’
‘He services several private estates on this ridge,’ she explained, shaking her head. ‘He’s got too many guest pickups and airport drop-offs to handle our daily food runs. I’d like to ask you to please go with Signora Roxy to the marketplace.’
A groan slipped from between my lips.
‘Mrs Campanelli, I’m in the middle of a song here.’
‘Do it, you’ll love the experience and some fresh air,’ she countered with a stubbornness that brooked no argument.
I let out a harsh breath, tamping down my irritation at the disruption, keen to channel my fury into an album of pure lamentation.
I wanted to bury my fractured pride in a series of brutal acoustic tracks, hoping the savage chords might purge Evangeline from my system.
A daily grocery run with my surrogate bride was a massive, unwanted distraction.
However, as I narrowed my gaze on Mrs. Campanelli’s pleading espresso-tinged eyes, my defenses crumbled.
Saying no to anyone in need remained my biggest freakin’ weakness.
Besides, her culinary skills were off the charts.
Despite my garbage appetite, I’d thoroughly enjoyed the triple-cheese omelet she delivered this morning.
I even surprised myself by devouring the entire plate, along with three thick slices of rustic sourdough bread.
When Mrs. Campanelli mentioned earlier that Roxy baked the loaf herself, I arched a brow.
Evangeline never set foot inside a kitchen, let alone kneaded dough; her nails would have never survived the carnage.
I tamped down the memories of my runaway bride, redirecting my focus to the undesirable mission at hand.
Needing to keep us all fed, I shrugged and gave in.
‘Is there a bus?’ I grunted, packing my lyric sheets and notebook into a neat stack.
‘Sì, signor,’ the older woman replied, her sweet smile returning.
‘A transit coach departs from Marina Grande, past our gates to a stop outside the property and climbs to the square in Anacapri. The shuttles run every half hour, seven days a week. Or you can take a local taxi. The ride takes nine minutes and costs fifteen to nineteen euros.’
Still pissed as hell about the inconvenience, I shoved my charcoal pencil into my vest pocket and nodded.
‘Fine. Give me half an hour to get decent.’
I laced up my sneakers, threw on linen shorts, an inky tee and a vest, then slapped my aviator sunglasses on my head.
Striding to the kitchen, I found Roxy locked in a shared joke with Mrs. Campanelli.
Somehow, seeing her laugh while I was going through a shitshow of agony set me off.
‘You engineer this?’ I growled, gritting my teeth, crossing my arms over my chest.
Roxy blinked, her smile faltering. ‘The hell, Angel?’
‘This sudden trip to the Anacapri markets,’ I snarled, thoroughly pissed off. ‘Are you behind this plan?’
Roxy appeared shocked as she flicked her eyes from the housekeeper and back to me.
‘No, but it sounds like an awesome idea,’ she replied, blinking.
I was beyond annoyed.
‘Mrs C. the room please.’
I made the growled demand along with a chin jerk at the housekeeper.
She got the memo and hurried out.
I prowled closer to Roxy.
‘You trying to get some time with me. Why? What you after?’
‘I’m not after anything.’
My rage at the Rosedales and their manipulation churned higher in me.
‘You can’t pull this shit, Roxy. I’ve no desire to be going fuckin’ shopping with you. I want to be left alone. But you won’t; so it’s a play to spend time with me. For what reason? To fuck with me as your sister did?’
‘You’re losing it, Angel,’ Roxy warned.
I was incandescent and stepped in closer so my face loomed over hers.
‘Stay back,’ she whispered.
‘Or what? Think you can tempt me as Evangeline did with her sexy smiles, her lush lips, and her sweet talkin’?’
I was spiraling.
‘Angel, please -.’
‘Let me show you it won’t work so that you can give up the play.’
Madness hit as I lowered my head and captured Roxy’s mouth in a hot, angry kiss.
My hands hit her waist as I tugged her to me.
Her hands came to my shoulders, pushing me away as I walked her to a wall, working her lips.
At the same time, I jolted; my freakin’ body lurching as wild desire tore through me, disproving my argument, which only infuriated me further.
She made a small mewling sound, then with a sigh, her hands slipped to my neck, and she pulled me in.
We went at it, wild, savage, mouths crushing, breaths mingling, gasping into each other.
Until I tore my mouth from hers, disgusted with myself.
With a groan, I turned from her.
‘Fuck,’ I groaned, pushing a hand through my hair.
We stood apart, chests heaving for air, breathing hard, not speaking for a long moment.
‘Angel, I had no idea about any shopping trip, I swear. It was Mrs Campanelli’s idea.’
I swiveled and raked her eyes, hit with the hurt in their depths, and the purity of her utterance.
She was telling the truth.
I twisted my mouth. ‘Damn, Rox, sorry, I shouldn’t have -.’
‘Yes, you shouldn’t have made assumptions. I’m not Evangeline, and I never will be.’
We remained eyes locked for a long time before I sighed.
‘Forgive me?’
She pursed her lips and exhaled.
‘For now, but never pull that shit on me again, Angel.’
She was fierce, and I arched a brow, in awe of her self-possession.
I sighed. ‘Fine, let’s roll.’
‘I’ll go get proper shoes and grab my bags.’
She headed off toward her room as Mrs Campanelli slipped back into the kitchen.
I narrowed my eyes, shifting my glare onto the housekeeper.
The older woman shrugged as she handed me a scribbled shopping list, her face a mask of innocence.
I tilted my head, studying her posture. ‘You’re up to something.’
‘Me? No, Signore,’ she countered, smoothing her flower-dotted linen apron with an angelic smile. ‘I told you my hip hurts.’
‘Hmmm,’ I grunted, unconvinced by her saintly beam.
Roxy reappeared in the doorway, her face glowing as the sun’s rays reflecting off the pool fell on her.
Without warning, my heart got hit with a violent jolt, and my chest tightened.
Damn.
I racked my brain for a reason; perhaps she resembled Evangeline at a certain angle.
With an inhale, I shoved aside my wild attraction to Roxy and prowled to the door where I paused to hunt down an Uber.
I glanced down at my phone and opened the app; I wasn’t in the mood for a bus and needed a smaller vehicle with fewer bodies.
Behind me, Mrs Campanelli handed Roxy a shopping list and a few sturdy woven grocery bags shoved into one main one.
Roxy strolled to me, peering at what I was doing, and gave me a touch on my arm, shaking her head.
‘Angel, let’s please take the bus,’ she urged, clutching her sling bag and the shopping carriers. ‘It’s a much more authentic experience.’
‘Do we have to?’
She nodded, adding a lush smile as if we just hadn’t tangled in the kitchen.
Damn.
I let out a harsh breath and relented with a twist of my lips and a chin jerk, while thinking how refreshing it was to be with a woman who didn’t hold a grudge.
We trudged to the gates and out of them, then up the road to a shelter.
The simple structure, framed by iron steel posts, featured a white awning that scarcely provided cover.
The sun was a killer, and we sat on the bench where Roxy fanned herself with a small fan she extracted from her bag.
I refused her offer for the same, baking in silence under the woeful canopy.
At least, the view was staggering, and I spent a few minutes gazing out to sea, hands crossed over my chest, leaning on a steel post.
At some point, I sliced my eyes to Roxy, still confused about my earlier reaction to her.
She wore crisp white shorts, a tan sleeveless top, a patterned silk scarf knotted over her hair, and sunglasses.
Hell, she was beautiful.
A dozen local laborers strolling by on the roadside caught sight of her and reacted with wolf whistles.
A series of appreciative stares landed on her, and a construction worker walking past called out to her.
‘Ciao! Sei carina!’
My protective instincts flared hot even though he was complimenting her beauty, and I bristled, locking my jaw.
His mate paused and pursed his mouth suggestively, licking his lips.
I half rose from the hard seat and jerked my chin at him
‘Basta, she’s my wife,’ I growled in fluent Italian, boring my glare straight into his skull until he flipped his eyes away. ‘Have some freakin’ shame.’
He ambled off, his expression sheepish, as Roxy shot me an amused glance.
We shared a wry eye roll as I relaxed and sat back down, wondering how much longer the wait would last.
Thirty minutes later, a miniature orange-and-silver bus arrived.
It was about a third of the size of a standard Nashville school transport.
We entered a packed interior, with scarcely enough room to sit.
Stepping over feet and luggage, we squeezed into two narrow seats at the very back, surrounded by a chaotic mix of locals and tourists.
Across from us, a couple of sun-baked Italian nonnas clutched plastic grocery bags loaded with fresh basil and tomatoes.
They chatted a mile a minute in a rapid-fire dialect as the coach swayed.
Right next to them stood a cluster of loud, sunburnt college kids in linen shirts and oversized sunglasses.