Page 36 of Angel

‘Fine.’

‘Fantastic.’

‘Perfect.’

‘You done now?’ he growled.

‘I was done long before this conversation even started.’

I dropped back onto the bench, keeping my face turned away from him as my frustration simmered in the afternoon heat.

The boat kept skimming over the waves while the sun beat down on the deck.

A dry wave of thirst hit my throat, forcing a sigh from my lungs.

The ice chest sat beside Angel’s feet, and after a moment, I swallowed my pride.

‘Angel, hand me a bottle of water, please.’

He kept his eyes locked on the horizon, his jaw setting tight.

‘Thought you said you were done.’

His voice carried a hard edge, and I realized I needed to wave the white flag before we sank deeper into despair.

‘I was,’ I murmured, ‘but a girl still needs to stay hydrated with a total thirst trap sitting next to her.’

That landed.

He tilted his head, his chest rumbling with a quiet laugh.

‘Nice try,’ he growled with a smirk, reaching into the storage compartment and handing me a cold Perrier.

‘It worked.’

It had, as the tension between us eased, and I finally let out the breath I’d been holding.

Angel kept taciturn for the rest of the ride, but he shifted his sunglasses to the top of his head and caught my gaze several times.

He even twitched his lips as I gasped as we passed yet another incredible island.

Less than an hour later, we landed on Capri.

The vessel dropped us at the Marina Grande dock where a sleek late-model van waited under the brilliant Mediterranean sun.

A local man leaped out from the driver’s seat and introduced himself as Carlo, our driver.

He was sporting a crisp white linen shirt, neat navy striped trousers, and aviators.

‘Benvenuti a Capri,’ he said, welcoming us with a generous smile. ‘What do you think of our island?? È bellissima, vero?’

‘It’s very Tuscany meets Heidi Klum,’ I murmured, sliding into the back seat as Carlo loaded our bags. ‘I’m kinda scared to show up without five-hundred-dollar loafers, a designer sweater tied over my shoulders, and a golden tan.’

When Carlo took the wheel and drove off, Angel shifted, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the front rest.

He launched into fluent Italian with our driver, discussing Capri and the latest local news.

I blinked at my husband, floored by the smooth, rolling cadences coming out of Angel’s mouth.