Page 46 of Angel

The rejection cut through my brief happiness, and I sighed, the sound echoing through the room.

Mrs. Campanelli eyed me as my expression fell.

‘You love him very much.’

‘It seems obvious to everyone but him,’ I whispered.

‘He’s not ready for your light yet, but he will be,’ Mrs. Campanelli stated with a fierce, unyielding conviction. ‘We just have to get him out of that cave of his.’

I blinked at her, tilting my head as a mischievous twinkle sparked in her espresso-colored eyes.

Hell, she was a force of nature.

When she winked at me in glee, I wondered what wild scheme she had up her sleeve.

Chapter 11

ANGEL

10 a.m., and the sun was already high in the sky.

I ventured onto the terrace leading to the infinity pool outside my suite, sick of the darkness inside.

Settling on an outdoor lounge and table, I wrote a new song that had repeated all night in my mind.

I scribbled in my notebook, tearing off pages of abandoned lyrics until I had a semblance of a song.

Reaching for my guitar, I plucked a few chords with my antique silver thumb pick, working my way through the melody.

I was getting into the flow of it when a voice called out.

‘Ciao, Mr Forrest!’

I glanced up to see Mrs. Campanelli moving toward me with care, her expression pinched.

‘Signore, I have to ask a favor,’ she stated, resting her hand on the back of a lounge chair as she pulled up. ‘My hip and leg are flaring with pain.’

‘I’m so sorry to hear,’ I rasped with concern.

‘I can’t make the trek to the market for our groceries. I may need your help this week.’

I shifted my six-string aside, eyes narrowed on her.

‘Where’s Carlo?’

‘He services several private estates on this ridge,’ she explained, shaking her head. ‘He’s got too many guest pickups and airport drop-offs to handle our daily food runs. I’d like to ask you to please go with Signora Roxy to the marketplace.’

A groan slipped from between my lips.

‘Mrs Campanelli, I’m in the middle of a song here.’

‘Do it, you’ll love the experience and some fresh air,’ she countered with a stubbornness that brooked no argument.

I let out a harsh breath, tamping down my irritation at the disruption, keen to channel my fury into an album of pure lamentation.

I wanted to bury my fractured pride in a series of brutal acoustic tracks, hoping the savage chords might purge Evangeline from my system.

A daily grocery run with my surrogate bride was a massive, unwanted distraction.