Page 69 of Captive Mafia Wife

He’s undoubtedly Pearl’s father. Though Erwin is a fairly common surname, it at least gave us a reasonable avenue to begin the search, but it’s possible the mother gave the child her last name, not his, at birth.

We’ve picked up a few names from the clubs and bars, women Erwin possibly could have connected with. We’ll follow every lead. With the new information, we should close in soon.

My wee heart can’t process the thought of her leaving ourhome. Often, these days, I say, “Vivre l’instant present. Live in the present moment.”

I’ve been learning French and everything there is to know about infants, Pearl in particular. I've been learning about her favorite foods, naptimes and bedtimes, and how she gets angry if she misses a single meal or snack. She eats six times daily, a girl after my own grazing heart. We’ve taken her to the pediatrician, the dentist, and many therapy sessions.

With everything she’s been through, I want her to have her best foot forward when she is reunited with her family.

I tell myself to enjoy my time with her, to live in the present, to forgive the Kings and the islanders who doubt me, and to move on with my future.

Fredrick. My perfect match. My new family.

He’s given me so much, and it’s time for me to give him what he wants more than anything in Scotland’s green hills—a wedding. Complete with the sweetest wee flower girl.

I’ve been preparing for the last two weeks.

It’s time to implement the plan. I handwrite an invitation using the calligraphy lettering Fiona taught me in her art studio at Norse Garden. When I’m finished, the words look like Pearl or Happy may have drawn them, but the information is all there.

She claps her wee hands. “Tit-ty, tit-ty!”

“KIT-ty,” I say, emphasizing the K sound. “That’s right. Mr. Happy Halloween is coming over to check you out.”

Pearl claps her hands as Happy creeps over slowly, whiskers twitching as he checks her out. So far, he’s been very unsure of Pearl, with good reason.

She laughs her belly laugh and goes right for his tail. “Tit-ty!”

“No, no. Don’t pull his tail. Here. Help me with my card.” I redirect Pearl’s attention, handing her a red crayon. She immediately puts it in her mouth. I take it from her, getting a clean purple one. I hold it up to her, saying, “PUR-PLE. We like this color better anyway. Let me show you. Like this.”

Soon, she’s scribbling happily, and Happy can make his escape.

When the invitation is truly a beautiful mess, I hold Pearl on my hip, and she proudly holds the paper up. “Let’s go find Fredrick!”

He’s in the kitchen. Morven is trying to show him how to boil noodles. They both stand at the gas stove, staring into a pot. Fredrick grabs an open box of bow ties from the counter, ready to pour them in. Morven taps the counter with the wooden spoon in her hand. “You don’t put the pasta in until the water is boiling.”

“Oooh,” he says. “I had no idea. No wonder mine never comes out right.”

Morven tsks, shaking her head good-naturedly. I clear my throat, announcing our presence. Fredrick and Morvan turn to greet us, both their faces lighting up.

“What have you got there for me, little Pearl?” Fredrick asks.

She hands him the card.

Morven steps in. “Here, let me take the baby. It’s bathtime.”

“Thank you, Morven.” I flash her anexcited grin.

Morven gives me a wink as she takes Pearl in her arms. She’s in on my plan.

Fredrick’s eyes follow Morven’s retreat, aghast. “Wait! Who’s going to make the pasta?”

Morven chuckles. “You supermodels will figure it out. Surely you two aren’t just pretty faces.”

I walk over, turn the knob, and cut the gas. “We’ll order out.”

“Thank God. That was intense. I really can’t cook.” He looks down at the invite. “Pretty. Are you teaching Pearl to hog up the purple crayon as well?”

My excitement bubbles to the surface. The wait is killing me. “Read it!”

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