Page 34 of Angel

I picked at the edges of the meat with my fork, moving carrots and broccolini around the ceramic surface without taking a single bite.

I drank the red wine and finally pushed the tray away.

Marcus returned to lift the still-full plate from my folding table and onto his cart.

He reached into the overhead bin and retrieved a cashmere throw.

‘Let’s get you comfortable, Mrs. Forrest,’ he murmured, draping the soft grey blanket over my shoulders.

Tucking my legs beneath my skirt, I gazed out the window into the empty night.

At one point, glancing over at Angel across the aisle, I caught him hunched over a notebook.

His charcoal pencil moved across the parchment in fluid strokes.

My breath hitched as I glimpsed a poignant illustration of a face, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

He was a phenomenal illustrator, I thought in shock, for I’d never seen this side of him.

I wanted to ask him about his inspiration and technique, but before I could build up the courage to bridge the gap between us, his eyes flicked upward and caught me staring.

Heat rushed to my cheeks as I sliced my eyes away.

It twas clear from the chill in his gaze that he was not in the mood to indulge me.

Despite his grief, his protectiveness was undeniable.

He reached over to adjust the ventilation nozzle while I shivered under the blanket.

Later, when the aircraft hit a rough patch of turbulence over the Atlantic, he extended a hand to me from across the aisle.

‘You OK?’ he rasped as he squeezed me in reassurance.

I nodded as the plane stabilized.

He lifted off, leaving a searing imprint on my skin and my heart yearning for more of his touch and connection.

I was such a lost and sorry cause.

Pulling out my Kindle, I read for a bit.

I even napped until the dulcet tones of Captain St James sounded, letting us know we were approaching Naples-Capodichino International Airport.

The deceleration pressed me back into the seat as the G6 touched down just after 8 a.m. local time.

After saying our goodbyes and thanking the crew, we strode through the terminal, rolling our suitcases.

Tourists, families, and business travelers rushed past, the sound of fluent Italian filling the air.

During the customs and baggage checks, Angel handled every detail.

From dealing with our passports to hoisting our luggage from the carousel.

When the crowded hub lines became chaotic, his hand settled over the small of my back, using his bulk to steer me through the sea of bodies.

A private driver, Paolo, met us at the security exit, took our bags, and guided us to a sleek black sedan.

The vehicle navigated the winding, cobblestone streets of Naples, heading to the maritime docks.