Page 70 of Angel

I huffed in amusement as she declared how hungry she was, grabbing a flaky almond pastry and a takeaway macchiato from Mrs. Campanelli on our way out the door.

We settled into Carlos’ van and headed toward the highest cliffs on the island.

Once there, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through a map of the ruins as the wind whipped our hair.

I showed her my screen as we stepped on the edge.

‘The Roman Emperor Tiberius once constructed a massive fortress right atop this precipice. The local history archives say that back in the first century A.D., he threw his enemies off the precipice.’

‘Imagine the drop,’ Roxy murmured, leaning over the stone safety barrier to scan the depths.

‘The text says the fall measures about three thousand feet straight down to the breaking surf,’ I replied.

I moved up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her back to my chest to keep her steady on the windy ledge.

She leaned into me, her hands resting over my forearms.

‘At least his enemies ended their lives with one of the best views in Europe.’

Next, Carlos dropped us in Capri town.

‘We’ll take a taxi back when we’re done for the day,’ I told him, thanking him with a generous tip as we eased from the van.

He gave us a cheery wave and took off to pick up and drop off more guests all over the island.

‘Got to respect the man and his side hustle,’ I rasped as he raced away.

Capri Central, distinct from Anacapri, was a millionaires’ playground, from its chic outdoor cafes to its designer stores.

The confined, windy roads were lined with lavish Prada, Gucci, and Bulgari outlets.

Tanned tourists with designer sweaters over their shoulders nibbled on green salads and expensive pasta, nursing porcelain cups of cappuccino.

‘This place is bougie as hell, Angel,’ Roxy whispered, her eyes dancing with amusement.

‘It’s a ridiculous display of wealth,’ I agreed, catching her hand as a speeding luggage cart roared down the narrow cobblestone lane.

I pulled her close to my side, shielding her body with my own as the crowd swarmed around us.

We sought out the coast, for swimming in Capri’s sea represented a bucket-list experience.

We headed to a small pebble beach, with colorful umbrellas and a view of the Faraglioni.

The descent to the water required navigating a treacherous path of jagged limestone. Roxy hesitated at the edge of a steep drop, her sandals slipping on the loose gravel.

‘I’ve got you,’ I rasped, stepping down ahead of her.

I reached up and carried her all the way to an empty patch of sand along the shore.

We lay down nose-to-feet and feet-to-nose with a couple hundred other sunbathers for two hours.

We took a few dips into warm, clear water, which made the tight-roping along the boulders and tiny beach worth the hassle.

When we’d had enough of the crowds by the beachfront, we stopped at a tiny gelateria tucked into a stone alcove.

We bought two massive cones of dark chocolate and local lemon gelato.

As we strolled through the shaded back alleys of the town, I reached down and intertwined my fingers with hers.