Chapter 34
ROXY
Inside the cool cabin, I glanced at our four-month-old daughter, Mila, sleeping on my husband’s chest.
She was such an angel.
She’d only cried for minutes during our takeoff from the Nashville tarmac, reacting to the change in air pressure on her first-ever flight.
Her tiny fists were now bunched into a fighting stance as she settled into the flight.
I stared at her with so much love as I remembered the grueling nausea and the labor that left me drained for days.
Yet every single second of that agony was worth it the moment I gazed at our stunning little girl.
We survived the storm and brought this beautiful soul into the world.
The thought brought a lump to my throat as I studied her perfect face.
Mila had her father’s thick, black hair.
At first, her eyes were smoky grey like Angel’s, but as the weeks went by, they took on my hues, turning into a beautiful, warm hazel tint.
At four months old, her favorite hobby involved blowing drool bubbles while jamming her entire left fist into her mouth.
Angel scarcely let her out of his sight, the edgy rockstar in him transforming into a dad obsessed with diaper schedules and burping techniques.
‘She’s out cold, babe,’ Angel whispered, his sizable palm covering her tiny back as he adjusted her pink swaddle.
‘You’re a natural at this, honey,’ I murmured, leaning across the aisle to glide a hand over his sinewed arm. ‘Who knew the badass guitarist would be kickass at wipe-downs and tracking ounces of milk?’
‘Nobody messes with my girl’s routine,’ he smirked with a twist to his lips that made my stomach flip. ‘I’m the king of the changing table.’
He winked at me as I settled under my blanket with a smile.
We touched down in Capri, where Carlos was waiting for us.
After swooning over our daughter and kissing our cheeks in a warm welcome, he drove us to Isola dell’Amore.
‘Our honeymoon feels like a lifetime ago. I’m so happy to be back.’
Angel’s lips quirked at my pronouncement.
‘Perhaps this time we can make even better memories.’
We soon swung through the gates and stopped at the portico.
Carlos opened the van’s sliding doors, and I stepped out, breathing in the air rich with the scent of blooming bougainvillea and saltwater.
Heaven.
Mrs. Campanelli met us at the double oak doors.
She hugged us, giving me an extra-long embrace.
‘I see happiness on your face, and that gives me joy,’ she declared. ‘It all worked out well.’
‘It did, thanks to you,’ I winked, grateful for how she’d helped to push Angel and me towards each other, seeing something in us we couldn’t ourselves.
She then turned to Angel and gushed over Mila.
‘Che bella! Che angelo!’ she cried, reaching out with trembling fingers to pat the baby’s soft cheek as she lay in her father’s arms.
I huffed with a smile. ‘Not so angelic; she keeps us up half the night demanding her milk, Mrs. C.’
‘Ah, maybe I can take her during the day, and give you both a break, sì?’ Mrs. Campanelli declared as she snapped her fingers toward the hallway. ‘Carlos! Bring the luggage inside! Do not leave the baby’s things out in the baking sun!’
Angel chuckled, stepping past me to plant a kiss right on the Mrs Campanelli’s cheek.
‘Relax, Mrs C. Carlos is already on it. Just tell me you have a cold limoncello waiting inside, because the heat is already killing me.’
‘Of course, of course, everything is ready,’ she said, ushering us through the air-conditioned threshold.
An hour after our arrival, our little one lay asleep in her bassinet in our primary.
Angel gathered Carlos, our driver, and Mrs. Campanelli and me in the central courtyard near the infinity pool.
My husband, handsome in a black vest and shorts that emphasized his sinewy physique and ink, reached into his pocket.
With a grin, produced a brass key wrapped in a generous silk bow.
He placed it into my palm, his eyes dancing.
‘What’s this?’
‘It’s your key to your new house in Capri.’
I blinked. ‘Which house?’
‘The one you’re standing in. I bought Villa Isola dell’Amore, Rox, for you,’ Angel rasped, in a rough timbre that sent a shiver straight down my spine. ‘The owners finalized the deed last week. It’s yours.’
I stared at the metal in my hand, my brain stalling.
‘Are you for real right now? You bought the entire villa?’
Angel arched a brow and addressed me in his horse, gritty-sexy timbre.
‘Did I stutter? Yes, I got it for you. The last time you were here, you mentioned wanting a place like this, so I gave you your dream.’
I clapped my hands in delight because he remembered; he always remembered.
‘Angel Daniel Forrest, I adore you so much right now, thank you,’ I murmured, as I threw my arms around his neck.
We kissed for a moment before drawing back.
‘When we’re back in Leiper’s Fork, the other Six Sinners can use it. We’ll also run executive leases when it’s empty, and Mrs. Campanelli and Carlos are locked in as our permanent host team.’
‘I love you so much right now,’ I breathed, tears pricking the corners of my eyes as the scale of his thoughtfulness hit me.
He then turned to Carlos and Mrs. Campanelli and announced a 30% pay bump that had them both praising the saints.
Our summer unfolded into a blissful blur of blue water and long afternoons.
We spent our first two mornings in Anacapri.
We had a ball re-exploring the narrow, cobbled alleys of the town.
The locals swarmed our stroller to swoon over Mila, cooing and fussing over her as we pushed past the bright storefronts.
‘They’re obsessed with her,’ I chuckled, stopping near a flower stall as an older woman swooned at Mila’s tiny feet.
‘She has everyone who sets eyes on her wrapped around her finger, Rox,’ Angel rasped as he kept a protective hand on the stroller handle. ‘We can’t even buy bread without starting a fan club.’
For seven days, our secluded villa was a haven of bliss, with Mila, Angel, and me enjoying sleep-ins, the pool, Mrs. C’s amazing food, and much-needed downtime.
One evening we even had Mrs. Campanelli’s lovely, boisterous family over for a true Italian feast.
Angel helped Mrs C. whip up ravioli alla Caprese, lemon spaghetti, seafood scialatielli pasta, and, as always, a Caprese salad for all fifteen of us.
While Mila slept, her son Matteo and I spent the evening comparing our art as his kids frolicked in the pool.
A week later, the rest of the Sinners started trickling into Italy to join us for their summer vacays.
Jude and Sofia arrived in Week 2, bringing more laughter and joy to the sun-drenched mansion.
Jude, Carlos, and Angel wasted no time hitting the water in the skiff on a fishing trip.
They spent a morning out on the ocean before bringing back a massive haul of fresh Mediterranean sea bass and red snapper.
While the men cleaned the catch in the outdoor kitchen, Sofia and I caught up by the pool with Mila.
Sofia peppered me with a thousand questions about motherhood, labor, and handling a newborn.
‘Does the sleep deprivation actually get easier?’
Sofia’s eyes fixed on my daughter as Mila gripped a plush toy.
‘And how do you know when a cry means hunger versus just being cranky?’
I answered all her questions, sharing the messy realities of our baby routine, but suspicion popped into my head as she quizzed me.
Why was she asking so many questions about pregnancy?
Those thoughts were soon confirmed at dinner the following evening.
As Angel served grilled snapper with fresh lemon, she dropped her bomb.
‘Sono incinta, amici miei. I’m pregnant, friends.’
Sofia made the announcement, her face radiating a brilliant, soft glow, while Jude sat beside her, eyes soft and a proud smirk on his face.
My heart leaped with joy, and I jumped up from my chair to hug her.
‘That’s the best news ever, honey! Mila is getting a new little friend.’
Angel chuckled, a grin breaking across his face.
He gave his mate a celebratory hug.
‘Damn, brother. Congratulations. Welcome to the club of the baby-whipped.’
‘Thanks, brother,’ Jude rasped, his timbre husky with emotion.
He gazed down at Sofia with so much love that tears pricked my eyes. ‘We’re so ready for it.’
Angel arched a brow. ‘You think? Just wait until that kid gazes up at you and squeezes your finger in their little hand. You’re not going to handle the tears or how much you’ll melt into a puddle of mush.’
We spent the rest of the dinner exchanging baby stories, with Angel detailing his diaper-changing speed records and I giving the soon-to-be parents a few tips for their baby journey ahead.
That night in bed, Angel tugged me close to him, his hand resting on my hip.
‘I’m calling it right now,’ Angel prophesied in a deep rumble in the dark. ‘You think I’m a softie with Mila? Jude will be a goner when his bubba comes. That child will walk all over him.’
I laughed, turning my head to plant a kiss on his jawline.
‘Oh yes, but let’s be real, husband. You’re already wrapped around our daughter’s little finger, so you’ve no leg to stand on.’
‘Hey, I’m the boss, mama,’ he mumbled against my hair, though his chest shook with a chuckle. ‘I just choose to let her win.’
Three days later, Deacon and his ten-year-old son, Raff, arrived, joining Jude, Sofia, and us.
We welcomed them with delicious fresh lemonade, golden calamari, and bitter arugula salad.
We ate while Raff rocked Mila’s bassinet under the shade.
By eight, the ocean breeze cooled as we chatted, carrying the sound of crashing surf up the cliffside.
Deacon’s phone buzzed on the table, breaking our conversation.
He stepped into the living room, his mouth twisting into a hard line as he listened to the voice on the line.
He strode back out to us, posture tense, his face stormy.
‘Ana and her husband, Massimo, are swinging by,’ Deacon grunted, rubbing the inked skin on the back of his neck. ‘Raff left his dental tightening kit for his braces at her place in London. I hope that’s OK?’
‘Of course, mate,’ Angel grunted. ‘How are they on the island?’
‘They’re heading to Capri for a friend’s birthday celebration anyway, so they’re dropping it off now.’
Ten minutes later, the front doorbell rang.