Page 128 of Thorns of Death

My men rushed around me to ensure I wasn’t an open target. This was a spontaneous stop and nobody knew where I was taking Isla, though, so I wasn’t worried about a surprise attack.

Her fingers met mine. “We’ll get some gelato first. And then we’ll get your surprise.”

She blinked. “Gelato at nine in the morning?”

I nodded. “It’s never too early for gelato.”

Pulling her closer to me, I threw my arm around her waist as we strolled to the nearby shop. There were a few customers drinking coffee, but other than that, it was empty. The owner was in the process of bringing freshly made tubs out, so we waited for all flavors to be out before Isla settled on “tutti frutti” flavor.

“Hmmm, this is the best ice cream,” she exclaimed the moment the spoon touched her tongue. “I think I’ve died and gone to gelato heaven.”

The owner beamed at her praise. Isla was smiling and laughing, telling the owner she wanted to taste them all. He was more than happy to let her. She chuckled and licked her lips, squealing with delight.

“Any time you want ice cream, I make a fresh batch and send it to you,” the owner said.

Isla’s eyes found mine, glimmering like the greenest forests. It was nice to see her relaxed. Content.

Her happiness sank into my bones and it was like medicine for my soul.

“We can book him for weekly deliveries,” I recommended.

“Oh, yes, yes,” she eagerly agreed. “Can we have it daily?”

“You got it,amore.”

She squealed with delight, her small frame bouncing up and down. “You are the best husband. I don’t care what anyone says.”

I chuckled. “Give me their names and I’ll have them handled.”

She waved her spoon in the air. “No matter. Because everyone is wrong.”

I flicked my amused gaze at the owner and told him in Italian to arrange deliveries with my staff. If my wife wanted daily ice cream delivery, by God she’d get it.

With my hand in hers, we made our way out of the shop and onto the sidewalk. Rome in late November was the best. It didn’t have tourists scurrying around to see all the sights, and the locals were busy carrying on with their lives. It felt like it was just my wife and me in the world.

We walked down the sidewalk, and I watched her licking gelato off her lips, giving me way too many ideas that were inappropriate for a public place. She scooped up another spoonful and fed it to me.

“You sure you want to share?” I teased her. In truth, I didn’t have much of a sweet tooth, but there was no way in hell I’d ever reject anything she was offering.

“With you, always.” Fuck, when she was sweet like that, all I wanted to do was take her home and bury myself inside her. Hear her whimpers and, even more, her words of love.

By the time we arrived at our destination, the ice cream was gone and our sweet tooths were sated. For now.

“This is where we’re going,” I told her casually as she tossed her empty cup into a nearby trash can.

She turned to look at the store display full of instruments. It was Rome’s most famous instrument shop, with musicians from all over the world flocking to it for its exquisite handiwork.

“A music store?” she asked, her delicate brows scrunching. “What are we doing here?”

“Andiamo.”Let’s go. I opened the door and nudged her inside. “Don’t ask too many questions.”

Her hand found mine again and our fingers interlocked. For the briefest moment, her steps faltered and she inhaled a deep breath, her eyes fluttering shut. “God, I love the smell of old stores and instruments. It’s the best aphrodisiac.”

She gave me a secret smile and I knew exactly what my wife was thinking. It was the same thing I was thinking. “I’m your best aphrodisiac,dolcezza,” I reminded her, pressing my mouth on her soft lips. She tasted like her ice cream. “Don’t you forget that,” I said as I playfully slapped her ass.

“Signore Marchetti.”

The store owner had both of us glancing at him. The old man—gray hair, gray beard, and spectacles on his nose—smiled, his small eyes darting between us.