Chapter 9 - A Table for Four
Six months later, summer had arrived on the Rhode Island coast.
The dark, gloomy grey stone of Falcone House was bathed in bright, golden sunshine. The iron gates stood open, letting in the cool sea breeze and the fragrant scent of blooming white roses that Maeve had planted along the garden walls.
In the backyard overlooking the Atlantic, a long wooden dining table was set for lunch.
Chloe sat at the center of the table, her health fully restored, her cheeks rosy and bright as she laughed hysterically at a magic trick Gabriel was performing with a deck of cards and a missing silver coin.
Declan sat beside her, wearing a plain t-shirt, patiently showing Chloe how to tie a proper sailor’s knot using a piece of yellow rope, his intimidating tattoos completely forgotten in his gentle interaction with the young girl.
Maeve stepped out onto the patio carrying a large ceramic platter of grilled seafood, fresh pasta, and garlic bread. She wore a light yellow sundress, her hair tied back, a bright, radiant smile resting on her face.
Roman followed behind her, carrying a bottle of chilled white wine and glasses.
As Maeve set the platter down, Roman stepped up behind her, sliding his arms comfortably around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of her neck.
“Everything looks perfect, Mrs. Falcone,” Roman murmured into her ear, his voice rich with quiet happiness.
Maeve turned in his arms, smiling up at her husband. They had been married two months ago in a quiet ceremony on the cliffside, surrounded only by family.
“It’s just lunch, Roman,” Maeve teased softly, resting her hands against his chest.
“It’s a home, Maeve,” Roman corrected, looking out over the table at his brothers and Chloe, their laughter filling the clear summer air. “You gave us a home.”
Gabriel raised his wine glass toward them, grinning wildly. “To Maeve! The only maid in America who conquered the mafia with a mop and a plate of scrambled eggs!”
Declan laughed loudly, raising his glass as well. “To Maeve!”
Chloe clapped her hands happily. “To my big sister!”
Maeve looked around the table at the people she loved—the broke girl who had walked through the iron gates with twelve dollars in her purse, and the incredible, fiercely protective family she had found on the other side.
May you like
She picked up her glass, rested her head against Roman’s shoulder, and smiled.
The forty-eight-hour rule was officially broken forever.
