Page 65 of His Angel

I…I don’t know. And I’m not sure I ever will.

Chapter21

EVERLY

Itrudge up the porch steps, the sand still sticking to my bare feet from my walk on the beach. The ocean air lingers on my skin, a salty coolness that clings to my hair and the hem of my sundress, but my mind is heavy with so many thoughts scattered in too many directions.

It’s been weeks. Maybe months. I’ve lost count. It’s easy to lose any sense of reality when on an island like this, surrounded by paradise while the man I love so wholly, so dangerously, occupies every minute of every day. But every now and then the world trickles in with memories and worry.

Like my mom.

Isaia’s been keeping a close eye on her, receiving regular reports from her doctor keeping him informed of my mother’s treatment. All I know is that she’s doing great under the circumstances.

Chemo isn’t making her too sick—only mild nausea easily treated with medication. All in all, she’s in good spirits, considering.

I keep asking him if I can see her. Talk to her. FaceTime or something. But every time, I get the same answer as before. “It’s too dangerous.”

I get it. I really do. I’ve been forced to live in the world of power plays long enough to know Isaia’s right. Anthony’s dad, Tony, the man is nothing if not patiently ruthless. He can easily wait this out, and Isaia’s pretty sure he too has his eyes on my mom, just in case I’d want to do something stupid like reach out to her.

But goddammit, it’s hard. It’s hard sitting here on a tropical island where Isaia and I can play pretend while she fights for her life alone.

But these are the cards we’ve been dealt, and now Isaia and I are forced to play with what we’ve got.

Luna runs up to Ryan, wagging her tail at him, and there’s a slight tug at the corners of his lips. Trust a basset to crack even the stoniest of faces.

Isaia’s been gone most of the day, and Ryan's been shadowing me, his presence a silent, looming reminder of the Del Rossa family’s control.

I don’t try to start a conversation with him or anyone else this time, keeping my distance. After the fight between Isaia and Wyatt, I decided to tread on the side of caution.

I haven’t seen Wyatt since that explosive confrontation, and a part of me wonders where he’s gone. I chalk it up to Isaia’s temper; he probably fired him, his possessive streak leaving no room for second chances.

My eyes catch on something unexpected on the porch table, a bottle of champagne, its label gleaming in the fading light, a single crystal glass beside it, and a card tucked neatly against it.

I glance at Ryan, who doesn’t bat an eyelash, and then at Luna. “What do you think this is, girl?”

She flops down, ears splayed on the deck, completely uninvested in whatever this is.

Curiosity flickers through my exhaustion, and I step closer, my fingers brushing the cool glass as I pick up the card. The handwriting is unmistakably Isaia’s—sharp, commanding, with a roughness that matches the man himself. I read the instructions slowly, as excitement blooms.

Baby girl,

There’s a dress waiting for you in our room. Put it on for me.

Talon’s taking you somewhere on the island. Don’t ask questions—just follow him.

Drink the champagne first. Sip it slow. Savor it. It’s expensive as hell, and I want you tasting luxury before I get my hands on you.

Isaia

My heart skips a beat, a mix of intrigue and nervous anticipation swirling in my chest.

What is he planning?

I pour the champagne, the golden liquid fizzing softly as it fills the glass, and take a slow sip, the crisp, buttery taste blooming on my tongue. It’s rich, decadent, with a hint of citrus that lingers, and I let it settle me, washing away the day’s tension as I head inside to find the dress.

The gown waits for me on my bed, a vision of ivory lace that steals my breath the moment I see it. It’s an A-line with a deep V-neck, the bodice intricately woven with delicate floral patterns that shimmer like they’ve been kissed by moonlight.

The lace clings to the fabric, tracing every curve with an almost otherworldly elegance, and the skirt flows, long and ethereal, soft as a whisper against my fingertips. A daring high slit on one side promises to reveal my leg with every step, a sexy tease that plays at my confidence.

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