Maximoff is already in the main villa’s courtyard.
I’m getting a later start than Maximoff since I ran into my stepmom this morning. I was stuck in a thirty-minute one-sided chat, where she professed how much my old man wishes he could be here.
It is what it is.
Which is nothing.
I slow down for a second and watch Ripley inspect his hands, smacking his palms playfully together. Hands that I’m sure my dad would see and think, they’re meant to heal people one day.
Shit, I don’t want to be like him. I can’t be like him when it comes to my son. My father has taught me a lot in my life, I’ll give him that.
He’s taught me about medicine. About how best to care for people.
But his greatest lesson was one he never saw coming.
He taught me that fatherhood is more than daily chitchats and brief insignificant check-ins. It’s about what he never gave me. Love without reason. And through my actions, my child will know that he’s a top priority to me, for no reason but love.
I kiss his soft cheek. Pick up your pace, Farrow. Dashing around the bedroom, I gather my son’s toys and put them away.
The large four-poster bed is hung with white drapes, and glass doors open to a sea-view terrace. Among the frescoed walls are Neapolitan paintings, and an enormous marble bathroom is fit with an antique tub.
It’s beautiful.
And I’m as happy we picked Anacapri as Maximoff and even Jane. She’s been nervous we’d be disappointed, but there was really never any chance we would be.
Grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl, I listen to comms and adjust Ripley on my side.
“I’ve got eyes on the Crow,” Donnelly says. “I repeat, I’ve got eyes on the Crow.”
“Akara to Donnelly, don’t call Grandmother Calloway a crow.” We’re sharing the same radio frequency as Alpha and Epsilon during the trip.
Akara wants to be professional. Can’t blame him. At times it’s like we’re in competition to be the better security company.
Donnelly speaks. “Sorry, boss.”
I’m keeping Grandmother Calloway out of my mind. Omega has been intercepting her from approaching me and Maximoff, and I greatly appreciate the backup.
“Thank you,” Akara replies curtly, sounding busy.
Ripley rips the wire from my ear and lets out a choked sob.
“I know you want your papa.” I peel the banana with my teeth, easier than it seems, and then I bite the fruit. Chewing, I tell him, “But you have me. Let’s cry about it.”
He blubbers.
“See, we’re already working as a team. And you should feel special; I don’t always do the team thing.” I bounce him a little as I leave the bedroom. Barely sweeping into the hall, I come face to face with Thatcher, his brown hair wet and curled behind his ears like he just took a shower.
“You headed to breakfast?” I wonder.
“Yeah, Connor invited me.” Thatcher picks up the parrot that Ripley just let go. “You drop this, kiddo?”
Ripley makes a confused cry and has trouble looking up at six-foot-seven Thatcher Moretti.
I swallow another bite of banana. “He can’t see your face.”
Thatcher crouches down some, and Ripley shrieks.
I laugh my ass off.
Thatcher actually smiles. “That was the same effect I had on you not that long ago. Like father, like son.”
I smile, and Ripley grabs hold of the parrot.
Thatcher checks his watch. “I gotta move my ass.” His Philly lilt fights through, and we walk to the courtyard together. He tells me, “I’ve been doing security prep with the temp guards for the ceremony.”
“And?”
“Looks good.” He nods, eyes strict. Definitely not that relaxed. I’m guessing the issue is that Maximoff is marrying a bodyguard.
Therefore bodyguards are wedding guests. None of them can work during the actual ceremony. Which includes all of SFO. I’ve been in enough meetings before departure, and security is going fucking above and beyond. Plus, the temps have more experience now than they did months ago.
I’m not worried.
“There’ll be drones,” Thatcher warns me.
“Figured.” I wipe Ripley’s tear-streaked cheek with my thumb.
It reminds me of what Maximoff said about wedding footage leaking. If Jack Highland and the rest of the production team film and air our wedding on We Are Calloway, at least less grainy shit will be out there.
Jack also offered to film the ceremony, even if we don’t use the footage for the docuseries. We can keep it for ourselves, and I agreed to that. So he’s working in Anacapri with a camera crew, but I still haven’t decided whether I want the wedding aired on cable.
Outside the villa, we walk up to the umbrella-shaded tables. Specifically the table with Maximoff, his uncles, and dad. He sees me approaching and immediately stands.
“And he can’t wait to see me,” I whisper to Ripley.
Maximoff forces back a smile on purpose and then makes a playful face at Ripley.
Kid you not, the baby immediately stops crying like heaven is cracking open and light is beaming through. As though Maximoff Hale is Zeus, godly enough to rain thunder. And I’m just waiting for our son to realize that I wield the lightning.