Page 57 of Captive Mafia Wife

“Of course you have,” I tease, though I’m starting to fall for his direct, organized ways. I realize he’s not stuffy; he knows what he likes and is confident about his choices.

“Three-hour drive, followed by a three-hour tour and visit at the castle, then a three-hour shopping spree?—”

I hold up a finger, making an important point. “Where we will be purchasing wool sweaters to add to our collection.”

“Absolutely.” He nods. “It’s kind of our thing.”

“Weareup to three sets. Harrods, the ones Morven brought us back from her trip, and those flashy green-and-pink golf ones we ordered after too much champagne last night.”

“Three sets are not nearly enough.” He shakes his head. “After we shop, we’ll dine at a local pub. No haggis, I promise. Then, three hours home.”

"Just in time for our nightly cuddles with Happy.”

“Yes, he’s dying to know the ending ofAir Force One.” He grins.

I smile back, imagining our peaceful evening routine after such a busy day: the two of us cuddled on the couch in our similarly styled couture pajamas, Happy curled up in his favorite resting spot on the top of the sofa cushion behind the back of Fredrick’s head as we watch movies.

Never having been allowed to waste time as a kid, Fredrick missed all the best American films, and I’ve taken it upon myself to catch him up.

Right now, we’re on a Harrison Ford kick.

Returning to our day, I ask, “What does our time in the castle consist of?”

“I’m glad you asked!” He flips his laptop open, reading aloud. “‘Embark on a guided tour. Go behind the scenes of the castle with a knowledgeable guide. Many claim this is an excellent way to spend a day—Marvel at the Crown jewels. Admire the oldest set of Crown jewels in the British Isles, first used together in 1543. Visit St Margaret's Chapel. Step inside Edinburgh's most ancient building, constructed around 1130 by King David I. See Mons Meg?—’”

“Mons Meg?” Sounds suspiciously like something minge-y.

He nods. “Mons Meg. It says here: ‘Look down the barrel of this massive siege gun capable of firing a 150kg gunstone up to two miles away.’”

“Acannon?”

“Not sure. But then we explore vaults, journeying into the areas that once held notorious pirate captives.” He stops, eyes lingering on my body in the thin white robe I wear. “I could think of a naughty thing or two to do to you in those vaults.”

“Och, stop.” I flush, waving him away with my hand. “Please. Back to business.”

“‘Witness the One o’clock Gun. Watch as the One o’clock Gun is fired each day’—so it must be a cannon,” he holds up a finger, “‘excluding Sundays, Good Friday, and Christmas Day.’”

“Whew.” I flip my hair. “Not our holiday, good. Open on New Year’s Day. Continue.”

“‘Take in the stunning views,’” he reads. “‘Soak in the breathtaking panoramic views of Edinburgh from atop Castle Rock.’”

“Och, selfie time!”

He groans inwardly, but I know he loves the pictures I snap of us on my digital camera. “Then we’ll grab a bite to eat in the Tea Room located at the highest point of the castle.”

“Love that!” A tea room means chocolate and pastries. My mouth is watering.

Reading my mind, he says, “I’ll be finding you some source of protein as well.”

“Spoilsport,” I joke, loving the TLC.

“You’ll need sustenance other than flour, sugar, and butter because we will climb the Lang Stairs. Here it says: ‘Count all 70 steps on these original entrance stairs to the castle, then pass through Portcullis Gate: Walk under themenacing spikes of this fortified gateway, built nearly 450 years ago.’”

“Och! My calves are already feeling the burn.”

He raises one brow. “I’ll massage them tonight.”

“I’m sure you’ll try,” I tease. “And I’m sure the tour guide will provide us titillating dates and historical facts to get your blood flowing.”

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