Page 42 of Angel

This time was different.

She’d crossed a line.

Walking away on the day of our wedding was beyond brutal; it was diabolical.

Yet she still held a tight grip on my heart, and the realization made me want to punch straight through the concrete wall.

Drowning in my feelings, I lost track of time until Mrs. Campanelli knocked on the door three days into my self-induced sulk.

I ignored her at first, hoping she’d take the hint, but she was persistent.

On her fourth attempt, I pulled the oak door open, a sigh escaping me as I squinted at the light streaming in from the hallway.

The villa’s housekeeper stood in the corridor with a tray in her hands, her brow furrowed with concern.

‘Signore, please,’ the small-framed woman began, peeking past my shoulder into the dim room. ‘You’ve scarcely touched the trays I’ve left you. If you do not like the lamb, I can prepare something else. A fresh seafood risotto? Some local pasta? You must eat.’

I was running on pure fumes and about to blow, but I forced myself to dial back the edge in my voice.

She was just doing her job.

‘I’m not hungry, Mrs. Campanelli,’ I said, keeping my tone clipped to make sure she understood I was serious. ‘Grazie, but I just need some space.’

She remained still, unmoving, her eyes narrowed on me, and I sensed her maternal instincts kicking into overdrive.

‘At least let me change the bed sheets and refresh the room for you. It’ll only take a moment to make things comfortable.’

‘No, don’t worry about the bedding. Everything is fine,’ I muttered, my patience thinning as I grabbed the silver tray from her hands to give her one less reason to linger. ‘I appreciate the care. Really. But please, I don’t want any disruptions for the rest of the day, perhaps even the week. I just need to sleep.’

Instead of backing off, she stood her ground, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing out toward the empty, sunlit terrace.

‘Your bride is out there alone, signore,’ she said, giving me a look of worry. ‘How does a man leave a gorgeous girl by herself like this on a honeymoon? She’s scarcely eaten since you both arrived either. This is not right.’

Frustration flared in me, but I checked my temper.

‘I understand your concern, but it’s between my wife and me,’ I rasped. ‘Please. Give us some time.’

The unyielding look in my eyes must have landed because her breath hitched.

She blinked, realizing she’d pushed as far as she could go, and she backed out of my space with a small, respectful nod.

She meant well, but I was at my limit and doing everything in my power not to lose my shit.

I shut the door and leaned my head against the wood, wishing the rest of the world would disappear.

ROXY

Capri was an island of undeniable, breathtaking beauty.

Seated on a lounge chair on my guest suite terrace, my eyes lingered on the horizon.

The view stretched across the glittering blue sea all the way to Naples and the peak of Mount Vesuvius.

Whoever stood on this exact limestone cliff in 79 AD must have had a front-row seat to the wall of smoke and boiling lava that buried Pompeii for eternity.

My eyes tracked a pair of white cruise ships steaming toward their next port of call.

I imagined everyone on board happy, carefree, lighthearted, unlike me, stuck in a dismal, depressing routine.