Page 103 of Sinful Escape

“Oh no, no, no.” I shot my gaze to the elevators. Where the hell is my group? “It’s okay, I ummm?—”

“You can go to Pierre. You know, with the pretense of getting back that letter and . . .” A devious grin crept through Roman’s beard. “. . . pick up where you left off.”

“Oh, God. No way. I don’t plan on seeing him ever again.”

“What?” His eyebrows slammed together. “Why not? You had a fantastico time.”

“That was an accident.”

“Sometimes they are the best kind.” He bumped his hip into mine. “Go on. What is stopping you?”

The elevator pinged and six people from my group tumbled out and headed toward us. Their timing was impeccable. I planted a smile on my face and greeted them with varying degrees of affection. Some of them I was genuinely going to miss, like Sunny and even the blonde bombshells. Others, like Robert, not so much.

Soon, everyone had arrived in the lobby. They were a boisterous bunch and based on their rowdy chatter and the scent of beer that already hung in the air, they all had their sights on a huge night in Brussels.

With Roman at my side, I led the way toward the Grand Place.

“You should go to him.” Roman squeezed his hand on my shoulder and nodded like he’d found the solution to world peace.

“No, I shouldn’t.”

“You can’t leave things unfinished like that.”

“Of course I can. Besides, I’m down to five months left in Europe, and there’s a heap of things I want to see and do before I’m booted out. My time is precious.”

“Exactly. Pierre should be at the top of that list.” He wiggled his brows. “Pierre, the sexy Frenchman, is waiting for you.” Roman spoke in an exaggerated French accent that was more Pepé Le Pew than Olivier Martinez.

I giggled. “Oh my god. You don’t give up, do you? I could put it back on you, you know. Have you had sex on this tour?”

“Nah.” He flicked his hand like he was swatting an annoying fly.

“What?” That was a shocker. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “Too busy lugging their suitcases around.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the group waddling behind us.

“Oh, no you don’t.” I jabbed my finger into his bicep. “You don’t get out of it that easily.”

“È vero.”

“No, it’s not true.” I studied his face, and for the first time since I’d met Roman, I saw sadness in his eyes.

“Oh my god! You are such a hypocrite!”

“What?” His eyes bulged. “Why?”

“All this time, you’ve been telling me I needed to have sex to get over my ex. And yet you’re exactly the same.”

“Scusi?”

“You still love her.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play that game with me. You know who . . . Caterina. Your girlfriend of fifteen years who had sex with a married man while staying at your sister’s Airbnb.”

“Oh, her.”

I jabbed my finger to his arm again, feeling mighty confident. “You still love her.”

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