Victoria slides the cappuccino in front of Silvano. He thanks her, and lifts his cup toward me. “Well, at least there’s good coffee.”
I go back to Alexis’ room after my coffee with Silvano. She wakes when I close the door behind me, long lashes blinking open.
“Hey.” She smiles. “Where’d you go?”
“I was just talking to Silvano,” I explain as I crawl up the bed, peppering her with kisses. “The police have dropped their investigation into me.”
“That’s great!” she exclaims. Then she frowns. “That is great, isn’t it? Why the sour mug?”
I chuckle and collapse next to her. “It is great, you’re right. I’m just nervous. I don’t like how Felicity just disappeared.”
“We can be vigilant but still take our wins when we can.” Alexis throws her arm around me, nuzzling against my chest. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”
I consider telling her. If now isn’t a good time, then when is? But I just can’t face it. Not now. Not when she’s so happy, and when telling her what I know will break her heart.
“There’s something I want to show you,” I say instead. A distraction will be good for both of us.
David drops us off in front of a proud Victorian revival on a quiet street lined with maple trees, their burnished leaves waving weakly in the afternoon breeze. The air smells like freshly mown grass and mulch, and Alexis inhales deeply the second she steps out of the car.
“Can I take my blindfold off now?” she asks.
I smile. “Yes.”
Alexis rips aways the blindfold and blinks as her eyes adjust to the light. Her grin loosens just a little, and she looks at me in confusion.
“It’s our house,” she says. And then, scrunching her forehead. “Is this still our house?”
A few months ago, I purchased a house for Alexis and me. Something smaller than the mansion, where we could hopefully achieve a level of normalcy. We came here one time before Alexis published the article that tore us apart, and it has been waiting for us to return ever since.
“It’s still our house,” I say, wrapping my arm around her. “The surprise is actually inside.”
She brightens. “Show me.”
We climb the front porch, the wood squeaking softly under our weight. Inside, the house is just as we left it—empty rooms and bare walls. I gave Alexis carte blanche to decorate it, but she never got the chance. I figured she wouldn’t mind if I took the initiative to breathe life into one of the rooms.
I lead Alexis up the stairs and past the door to the master bedroom. Next to that room is a smaller one, currently painted a light seafoam. And the one next to that…
Alexis gasps. “Is this…” She trails off, spinning around to face me with a wide smile on her face. “Is this for the baby?”
I had the new nursery painted in a sunshine-yellow color and outfitted with sleek, white wooden furniture. It’s similar to Harry’s nursery at the mansion, but a little smaller. Homier. There is a fluffy armchair in the corner by the window, overlooking a tree in the backyard that I think would be perfect for a tree house.
“It is,” I reply. “But you’re going to have to start making plans now if you want the rest of the house to be finished by the time the baby arrives.”
Alexis leaps into my arms, legs tight around my hips. She giggles and kisses my forehead, then my cheek, then my lips.
“We’re going to be so happy here,” she says wistfully, gazing around. “I can just feel it.”
Her smile is infectious.
“There was something else I wanted to say to you as well,” I say,
“What is it?” She lowers her legs, and I release her, though she stays close.
I don’t know how she will react to this.
“I am going to hold a dinner in my city penthouse,” I begin. “A dinner in your honor.”
She cocks a brow. “In my honor? Why would it be in my honor?”
I gather Alexis’ face in my hands, looking deep into her sea-blue irises. “Because all my most trusted men and their wives will be there, and I want to anoint you as my queen in front of everyone.”
Alexis sucks in a breath. I can’t tell whether she hates the idea or loves it at first, and then the corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile. Her hands bunch into the front of my shirt, drawing me closer.
“I love you, Gabriel,” she whispers.
The words are more delectable than chocolate. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted to hear them until they danced from her lips.
“I love you too,” I whisper back.
30
Alexis
“Stop freaking out.”
“I’m not freaking out.”
“You’re absolutely freaking out.” Clara bats a pretzel out of my hand and glares down at me. “You’re practically vibrating. Just chill a little.”
“Chill a little?” I mutter. “The spotlight is going to be on me tonight. What if I make an ass out of myself in front of everyone? All Gabriel’s men? All their wives?”
Clara goes to the closet and pulls out the garment bag with my new dress in it. It arrived yesterday, a gift from Gabriel. I haven’t tried it on yet, but I know it will fit perfectly. Gabriel will have had it made for my measurements.
“I wish you were going,” I say.
“Why would I be going?” Clara turns away from me to hide the blush on her pale cheeks. “It’s not like I’m married to any of Gabriel’s men.”
I snicker. “No, but at this rate, you could be.”
Clara hangs the dress over the closet door and removes the wrapping, fingering the delicate green silk. “Shut up. Angelo’s not a capo, so he wouldn’t have been invited anyway.”
“He might be a capo one day,” I say in a singsong voice.
Clara, who has grown more and more comfortable with the Mafia lifestyle, shrugs—but there is a hopeful gleam in her eyes.
There’s a knock on the door, and I bolt out of my seat. “That’ll be Sandra,” I say.
“Sandra? Who the hell is Sandra?”
Before Clara can get too jealous, I pause at the door and wink at her. “My stylist.”
Sandra bustles into the room in a cloud of strawberry-scented perfume. She looks exactly the same as she did when I last saw her, when she made me up before the fundraiser where I first met Patrick Walsh. Every inch of her five-five frame is primped and polished—glossy chestnut curls, a perfect, even tan, and a set of teeth so white I have to squint to look at them.
“It’s good to see you, darling,” she greets jovially. “Where should I get set up?”
I sit at the desk and wait as Sandra lays out her hair and makeup tools around me. Clara sits on the bed and watches with a wistful smile, and I would bet anything she’s picturing her own future pampering session at the hands of Sandra.
My cell phone rings, and I go to silence it. Then I see who’s calling.
I look up at Clara and frown. “It’s Debbie.”
“Really?” Clara cocks her head a little. “Are you going to get it?”