Page 67 of Angel

I blinked, somewhat rattled by his casual use of the endearment; it was not the first time either.

With a dramatic sigh of defeat, Angel raised his chin to Carlos.

‘Please find us somewhere to eat, please.’

‘Before she tears our limbs off and gnaws at us alive, eh?’ our guide chuckled.

Carlos turned the skiff around, and we returned to Marina Piccola for a seaside lunch at a rustic tavern built over the tide.

We devoured plates of grilled calamari and fresh caprese salad, and tons of bread.

My appetite roared, stoked by the sun, sea, and the thrill of Angel’s presence.

Our conversations dove into music, food, and art.

I loved his inquisitive, keen mind, the tone of his gravelly, deep timbre, and the way he threw his corded neck back when he laughed at something I said.

Following the meal, we boarded the boat again to explore the Green Grotto.

The water inside the cavern glowed with an eerie, cerulean luminescence that defied reality.

I hopped off the stern, floating on my back in the emerald light while Angel swam laps around me, his power-driven strokes cutting through the flux.

We puttered past the historic Punta Carena Lighthouse.

The red brick tower stood guard over the rugged western point of the island, providing a perfect backdrop for our photos.

Our final nautical stop brought us to the legendary Blue Grotto.

We transferred into a tiny timber rowboat, the local skipper ordering us to lie flat on the floorboards as he guided the craft through the microscopic opening.

The interior exploded into an impossible, glowing neon blue.

I let out a gasp, my knuckles gripping the wooden seat.

In the darkness of the cave, Angel reached out and slid his hand over mine, his thumb tracing soft circles over my skin.

Did this mean something real to him? Or was I just a convenient hand to hold in the dark?

My heart jolted, caught between the divine beauty of the grotto and the enticing shift of our fragile arrangement.

Hoping, yearning, craving so much more.

Chapter 14

ROXY

That night, we celebrated our successful day trip with a magnificent dinner of baked sea bass and herbed potatoes, roasted to perfection by Mrs. Campanelli.

We insisted that Carlo and Mrs C. join us, as the cozy kitchen filled with the rich aroma of garlic, olive oil, and charred rosemary.

We piled our plates with fresh vegetables and poured glasses of a lovely Di Chieti Pecorino wine with hints of fresh fruit and sage.

‘You know, Capri hosted some of the biggest scandals in Hollywood history,’ Carlo said, wiping his mustache with a napkin as he gestured toward the ocean outside.

‘Is that right?’ I asked. ‘What kind of drama?’

‘Think old-school Tinseltown chaos,’ Angel chimed in, swirling his glass. ‘You’re talking about Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, right, Carlo?’