Page 100 of Sinful Escape

Of me. Of my fucking ugly tits.

I drank the warm water, trying to expunge the vile taste from my tongue. My mind suddenly slammed to a memory that I’d fought hard to forget. But I couldn’t.

It was the first time I’d experienced a crippling hangover—the morning after William had told me he was gay. The night before, he’d made me sit on the sofa, and after pacing across the room a few times, he’d fallen to his knees at my feet.

With the distress in his eyes and his uncontrollable sobbing, I’d thought he was going to tell me he had a terminal illness or that he’d accidentally robbed a bank or something.

But as he’d poured out his hurtful secret with tears streaming down his face, I, being the stupid fucking naïve idiot that I was, had actually felt so sorry for him that I’d hugged him to my chest and wished I could do or say something that would take away all his pain.

But eventually, he’d pulled back, and while wiping his bloodshot eyes, he’d thanked me for my understanding.

Thanked me! Like I’d forgiven him.

I didn’t fucking understand enough to forgive him. We’d been a couple. In love. Engaged to be married forever and eternity. Apparently not. A volatile burst of outrage had hit me like a Mack truck. I slapped his face. Hard. I’d yelled and screamed and thrown things at him and swore like I was tripping on a drug-induced high.

Then I’d drowned my heartache with a bottle of Jack and a bucket of chicken wings and had eventually passed out alone on my kitchen floor. The next day was Valentine’s Day. But instead of the romantic dinner I’d planned with him at the local Chinese restaurant, I’d had my own private apocalypse instead.

Vomiting and crying until I fell asleep.

It was nearly three days before I’d felt normal again.

Well, as normal as anyone could be when they found out their seven-year relationship had been a total fucking lie.

Ironically, that hadn’t even been the worst moment of my life.

Casting the rotten memories aside, I scrubbed my face with my hands and soap again. Aware that time was my enemy, I stepped from the shower and toweled off. A glance in the mirror had me gasping. I’d made it worse.

Hideous black smudges rimmed my eyes like I’d been pummeled to near death in a boxing bout. That was how I felt too. The whites of my eyes were a ghastly blend of pallid yellow and erratic red spider veins. I looked like I’d ingested a mind-altering drug that I was allergic to.

With wads of wet toilet paper, I scrubbed some more. By the time I gave up, I still looked like shit, and now my eyes weren’t just smudged with black mascara and bloodshot, but they were also red and puffy.

I needed a double shot of coffee. And a new brain.

A knock on the door made me clutch my hands over my boobs like an idiot.

“Buongiorno, Daisy, are you awake? It’s me, Roman.”

Faarrrk. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m coming. I’ll be out soon.”

“Okay. We are all onboard the bus.”

“Yep, coming.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I pulled on the first clothes I got my hands on: khaki green chinos and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, and as much as it appalled me, I tugged on my ruby Del Rey sneakers without socks. I shoved the rest of my gear into my case, and upon seeing the red satin dress in a crumpled heap on the floor, I gathered it up and laid the period costume out on the bed. Hopefully Nina would forgive me for not returning it to the laundry room.

After one last glance around, I grabbed my case, pulled open the door, and ran straight into Roman’s chest. “Jesus, what’re you doing?” I blinked at him.

“Waiting for you.” His grin was ridiculous.

“Well, I’m here now.”

He reached around and plucked my case handle from my hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Yep. All good.” Though my pounding head was a million miles from fine or good. “Sorry I’m late.” I spun around and trotted off ahead of him.

“I was only asking because you were very, ummm, happy last night.”

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