His Mafia Queen

Domestic Bliss, Part II

I settle against him, sipping chianti.

"This is perfect," I sigh contentedly.

Gabriel feeds me an artichoke heart. "I knew you'd like this."

"How did you find it?"

"My nonna used to bring me here. My family owns this land. My dad was going to build a beach house at one point." He stares at the water, as if he's considering saying more.

I don't say anything, hoping he'll continue. When he doesn't, I ask, "Why didn't he?"

Gabriel inhales and looks at me. "He went to prison."

"Oh. I see." The mafia is never far from Gabriel. As evidenced by the two men and the black SUV that I can see in my peripheral vision. "When am I going to meet him?"

"Soon." Gabriel takes a long sip. "He's going to be difficult, so we'll have to deal with that."

"Can't be any more difficult than my father," I mutter. "I definitely want you to meet my mom, but my dad? I wish we could skip that."

Gabriel's expression is thoughtful. "Meeting our fathers is unavoidable. But it's something we can handle, together."

I nod. What I don't tell him is that my father has a lifelong hatred of Italians, born of being on the fringes of the Irish mafia. He's liable to do anything when I bring Gabriel home to Boston.

"I think we should probably arrange for a hotel when we go up there," I say.

"We can do that. We can do whatever you want. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Thanks. And same to you, for your father." We squeeze hands.

"My father will probably be a little more simple, at first. We'll have cocktails at the house. He'll be polite at first." He lets out a sigh. "I'm more worried he's going to try to bring his new stripper girlfriend."

"Yikes," I whisper.

"But enough about him. Let's dig into the food. I'm famished."

Eager to put this conversation aside, I unwrap my Italian sub, the crusty bread giving way to layers of salty prosciutto, sweet sopressata, and smoky provolone. My stomach rumbles loudly and Gabriel chuckles as he watches me take that first blissful bite. The meats and cheese blend together perfectly with the olive oil and vinegar that soaks into the bread.

"Oh my god, this is incredible," I mumble through a mouthful. Gabriel smiles and bites into his own sandwich. We eat in contended silence for several minutes, the waves providing a soothing backdrop.

All I can do is make soft moans of pleasure as I eat. The antipasti is also delicious.

"I thought you didn't like the spicy peppers," he says, feeding me one.

"Changed my mind. They kind of grew on me. Like you."

He chuckles and pops an olive in his mouth. "I'm glad to hear that."

"I know most women probably love you the instant they meet you," I tease.

"You had the opposite opinion."

I think back to that day when I was thrown into the back of his car. "Well... yeah." I pause to laugh.

"I'm still sorry about that. Or well, maybe not. Had I not taken such an extreme measure, we'd have never gotten together."

"I don't usually condone kidnapping," I say with a grin.

He sighs and I grab a napkin. "Hang on, you have a little mustard..."

I gingerly dab at the corner of his mouth. "There. All gone."

"I like how you care for me, babe."

As I polish off the last bite, I lean back on my elbows with a satisfied hum. The sun hovers just above the horizon, bathing our private stretch of beach in a warm tangerine glow.

"What a gorgeous sunset," I breathe, the dying light turning the sea to molten gold.

"Not as beautiful as you," Gabriel says, nose nuzzling my neck.

I turn my head and he captures my lips in a lingering kiss that tastes of sandwiches and lust. My pulse quickens as his tongue dances with mine.

"Onions," he whispers, and we both crack up.

Gabriel wears a roguish grin as he refills our plastic cups with more wine. I take a hearty gulp, the chianti fruity and full-bodied.

"Ready for the next course, amore?" Gabriel asks. He pulls out a few small containers: the artichokes, creamy burrata, and marcona almonds. He stabs an artichoke heart with a plastic fork and feeds it to me. The tangy olive oil and thyme dressing explode on my tongue.

"Yum!" I exclaim. We nibble our way through the antipasti as the sky deepens to a bruised purple. Gabriel points out the first winking star.

"Make a wish, amore mio," he urges softly.

"I love when you talk to me in Italian."

I close my eyes, clasping his hand. I wish for a lifetime of moments like this with Gabriel, simple but profound joy against an exquisite backdrop. I have everything I need right here on this beach: scrumptious food, excellent wine, and the man I love more than anything.

Every other concern — his father, his business, meeting my parents — is banished.

We continue our feast, polishing off the antipasti.

As the last sliver of sun disappears below the horizon, Gabriel folds me in his strong arms. His breath stirs the hair by my ear as he begins to sing a haunting Italian love song. I snuggle closer as his velvety voice washes over me. The depth of emotion in the lyrical phrases moves me profoundly even though I don't grasp the literal meaning.

When the song ends, Gabriel kisses the top of my head. "You make me so happy, Riley. These months with you have been the best of my life."

"It's only the beginning," I whisper.