Treasured by Thursday(41)

“Look at this tan. You look amazing.”

“Good food, great se—”

Gabi’s mother clicked her tongue before Meg could say the word sex, and they both started to laugh. “Grandbabies, Simona . . . grandbabies.”

“Stop seeing that doctor and taking those little pink pills . . . then you can talk about your sex life.”

Gabi wondered if Hunter was getting any of their conversation.

She turned, found him in a staring contest with her brother.

Gabi broke it off, pushing herself between their lines of sight. “No kiss for your sister?”

Val blinked her way, his face softened. “I’m pleased you’re here, even with that bastard.” His words were in Italian.

“He’s not that bad,” she found herself defending in their first language.

Val grumbled.

“Welcome to Sapore di Amore, Mr. Blackwell.” Meg was quick with the agreeable conversation.

“Hunter, I’d like you to meet my mother, Simona Masini.”

“I feel as if I know you after our conversation on the phone.”

Phone? What? “You two have talked?”

Hunter offered a grin. “We came to an understanding.”

She attempted to gain her mother’s attention and failed.

“I see where Gabi acquired her thoughtful eyes.”

Another man might say . . . good looks . . . beauty . . . no. Hunter went with the eyes. The one feature she and her mother shared without a shadow of a doubt.

Val stepped in, obviously uncomfortable. “I’m sure my sister has informed you of the rules of the island.” He lifted his hand, palm up. “Your phone, Blackwell.”

Gabi wasn’t sure how this was going to go. One alpha male to the other.

“I’m here for Gabi,” Hunter said. “Nothing else.”

Val kept his hand extended.

Gabi turned to her temporary husband. “Trust needs to be earned. Please.”

His gaze shifted.

He fished his phone out of the inside pocket of his suit and handed it over. “If the names Tiffany or Bridget flash, I need to know.”

Meg huffed.

“His secretaries,” Gabi found herself defending him a second time.

That seemed to relieve Meg’s posture.

“Fair enough.” Her brother pocketed the phone and glanced toward the plane.

“I assume you’ve made provisions for your pilot and staff in Miami?”

“I have.” Hunter stood closer. “I’d like you to consider them staying here.”

“That’s out of the question.” Val’s firm response was short of aggressive.

Gabi felt the power play and couldn’t help but question Hunter’s intentions.

Hunter pushed his shoulders back and all amusement left his lips.

The move was powerful, and the reason many men cowered in his presence. “The ghosts of Gabi’s past are here, Mr. Masini. If at any time during our stay she needs to flee, I’m going to help her do so without delay. We can both agree that having my pilot and plane here would expedite that.”

Val clearly wasn’t expecting that answer.

The thought of pushing Hunter off the cliff, which actually didn’t house sharks . . . drifted.

Val held firm. “I’ll have my helicopter and pilot here on standby.”

Hunter offered a slight nod. “I’ll send my staff on, then.”

A breath escaped.

“I hope you like pasta, Mr. Blackwell,” Gabi’s mother said as she led them away from the island tarmac.

“Please, call me Hunter.”

“We’re still a long way from first names.” Gabi’s mother dismissed him with a wave.





Chapter Thirteen



The mental scoreboard in Hunter’s head was plunged toward the murky depths of hell.

Valentino hated him. His dark, watchful gaze and short tone didn’t need definition.

Margaret . . . or Meg, as Gabi referred to her sister-in-law, was close to impossible to read. From her words and watchful gaze, Hunter knew she’d be happy to see him gone.

And Gabi’s mom . . . forget it. The woman told him, repeatedly, that he wasn’t good enough for her daughter. You don’t speak Italian. What’s wrong with you? Why go through all the effort to marry my daughter and not know her language? Call me Mrs. Masini . . . first names are for friends and family . . . and right now, you’re neither.

Hunter’s head swam with the woman’s insults.

For one brief moment, he wanted to remind the lady about his net worth . . . but knew she didn’t give a crap about his bank balance.

Gabi . . . Gabi was the woman’s concern.

The strange twist was Gabriella herself. She let her family deliver their verbal punches for a few hits, and then diverted the conversation.