Barefoot with a Stranger (Barefoot Bay Undercover #2)(95)
He laughed and took a step back, dropping to his knee right there in the hallway of their villa. He was surprised at how fast his heart beat and how much he wanted this moment to be perfect.
“Francesca Rossi, I love your spirit and your optimism and your relentless determination. I love the way you make me laugh and refuse to quit anything until you have what you want. I love your fearlessness in the field, your passion in bed, and your fiery spark in life. Will you marry me?”
Very slowly, she knelt down to meet him, pushing her glasses up like she did when she really wanted to stare him down. “Malcolm Harris, I love your strength and courage and heart of pure gold. I love the way you fight to the death for the people you love. I love that you always do what’s right, you always go with the flow, and you turn my whole body to helpless mush every time you touch me. Will you marry me?”
He couldn’t speak, so he just kissed her until they rolled to the floor, fell into each other, and both said yes.
Epilogue
Christmas Eve on the beach. It was the stupidest, kitschiest, lame-ass-iest thing he’d ever seen.
Gabe crossed the sand toward the long tables and flickering candles and six billion white lights strung like they were trying to re-create the whole damn Milky Way over Barefoot Bay. The scene was flanked by not one but two giant fake Christmas trees draped in sparkly seashells and topped with trumpet-blowing angel mermaids. Of course, cheery holiday beach tunes were pumped in over the sound system used by wedding parties that frequented the beach.
The pungent aroma of garlic and pesto for a dinner he’d grown up with for Christmas Eve mixed with the sea air instead of cinnamon and firewood. The incongruity of scents he associated with snowy nights in Boston hit his heart like a sour note.
This wasn’t tradition, but Nino had killed himself to make it so. Not to mention that half the Rossi family might never speak to Gabe and Chessie again for keeping their cook away on his big night. But Nino had convinced them to stay put in Boston, a move that Gabe knew was for his benefit, and he appreciated the privacy during these dark days.
But tonight wasn’t dark enough.
There had to be at least forty people at Nino’s traditional Italian Feast of the Seven Fishes with a surfside twist.
With each day of mourning his soul-ripping loss, Gabe felt his chest turn more into any icy dungeon to house his broken heart, and his reason for doing anything simply faded away.
But he’d promised Nino he’d come to the party, mingle with some of the resort guests, staff members, and their families. A play area had been roped off for kids, all of them vibrating with Christmas Eve anticipation, none of them caring that there wasn’t a chimney in sight.
“Mr. Gabriel!” Poppy, dressed in a crisp white housekeeping uniform topped with a ridiculous-looking Santa cap, rushed over to him, barefoot like everyone else on the sand. “So good to see you out and about, Mr. Gabriel! Merry Christmas, sir.”
She reached out and gave him a squeeze, which he returned with far less enthusiasm. “Merry…ahem…Christmas.”
She sucked in a furious breath. “That would have cost you a thousand dollars.”
“I bet this Italian Christmas is killing you,” he teased.
“We worked it out, Nino and me, just like you said we should.” She gestured toward the rows of tables. “Tonight is all about his fish. Pasta with fish, salad with fish, rolled-up crepes with fish. Enough fish to empty the ocean. And tomorrow?” She grinned, her smile bright and white against espresso skin. “A Jamaican Christmas, mon! Curry goat, stewed oxtail, and spicy rum, and fruitcake.”
“I might have to take Nino’s side in the Jamaican-Italian War.”
“You haven’t tasted my goat.”
“Oh, the places I could go with that.”
Poppy came closer, sliding her arm under his. “I know you’ve got a heavy weight on your heart, Mr. Gabriel.”
She didn’t know what it was, though. No one did. Just the vault, which now consisted of Nino, Chessie, and Mal. Everyone else just thought he was Gabe the Grinch.
“But I have some good news.” She added a happy squeeze. “Remember that pretty lady who was staying in Rockrose a little while back? The one who kept asking me about you and took a picture?”
The one who left a trail of heartbreak with her perfume? “I remember.”
“She’s here, Mr. Gabriel! She’s checked back into Rockrose.” Poppy beamed with her news. “Would you like to sit next to her at dinner?”
“No.”
Poppy’s face registered disappointment, but brightened again. “Then you can sit with Mr. Malcolm and Miss Chessie. Have you seen the engagement ring he gave her today?”
“I have not, but I’m sure I’ll be blinded by the light.”
“They are happy, Mr. Gabriel.”
Good for f*cking them. “I know. It seems I have a freakish matchmaking ability at this new enterprise.”
“For everyone but yourself,” she said dryly. “Would you rather I put you next to some of those fancy-pants billionaires? Mr. Nathaniel Ivory and his fiancée, and, of course, my boss, Mrs. Mandy Nicholas and Mr. Zeke. All everyone is talking about is the minor league baseball team they’re building to come to Barefoot Bay next year. The Barefoot Bay Bucks. Have you heard?”