Page 55 of Sinful Escape

“Oh? You must’ve missed us when we took Mon Petit Chou outside for a walk. After he treated her, I mean.” I’m a terrible liar and I was certain he’d noticed.

“Hmmm. Okay then, if you say so.”

My insides twisted. “Yeah. Don’t know how you missed us? We were only outside for a little bit. But she’s all good now. She’s so adorable.” Stop talking, Daisy.

“Are you ready to go?”

I nodded. “Yep. All good.”

“After you then.” He stepped back and indicated with his hand that I walk in front of him.

Three steps later, I felt a tug in my hair. I glanced over my shoulder at Roman.

He held up a sliver of green vegetation. “You had hay in your hair.” His cheeky grin made my heart buck.

“Oh.” I launched into a weird chuckle/huff. “That’s funny. It must’ve been when I helped Luca feed the horses.”

“Riiiiight.” He wriggled his brows.

Shit. I’m in trouble. Roman and his wretched twenty questions kind of trouble.

We arrived at the passengers, who were congregating around in the parking area. Grateful for the distraction, I forced my brain into tour guide mode. “Okay, guys. I bet you never want to look at another French pastry again?”

A few moaned in agreement.

“Excellent. You should have enough sugar in you to keep you awake till midnight. Let’s get on board.”

Roman opened the door, and as I herded them in, his eyes drilled into me like truth-seeking missiles. It took all my might not to look his way. Once everyone had disappeared into the bus, I reached for the handle to step up.

Roman tapped my shoulder. “I guess you and Luca were just horsing around.”

I made a noise that would be best described as a snorting guffaw. “Haha, very funny.” I stepped up, and Roman smacked me on the butt. I turned, openmouthed, eyes wide.

He grinned like he’d just found a gold nugget.

Being carried away in a paddy wagon suddenly seemed appealing.

I climbed the steps, squirted sanitizer onto my hands, and vigorously rubbed it in. Given what I’d just done, the sanitizer was hardly sufficient. If I could bathe in it, I would. Shoving that thought aside, I strolled up the center aisle and confirmed everyone was onboard.

Roman maneuvered the bus out of the parking lot and along Château de Fontainebleau’s tree-lined driveway. I shoved my mind from what I’d just done to my job. It wasn’t easy though—not with the frequent glances Roman shot at me courtesy of the large mirror over the windshield.

My strategy was to talk to the passengers all the way to our next destination in Beaujolais. It was a three-hour journey. Mission accepted.

“I trust you enjoyed seeing one of the largest royal châteaux in France. What was your favorite part, Charlie?” I chose the British man because he was traveling alone. It was one of my ploys to get people involved. Over the years, I’d learned that although they started out as strangers, by the end of their vacation, many tour members would become lifelong friends. I’d like to think I was a strong contributor to that.

“I loved the history. I learned so much,” Charlie said.

“Anything in particular?”

“Well, for starters, I had no idea Napoleon tried to commit suicide.”

“It’s true. Twice, actually. They like to keep that little fact out of the history books.”

“What about you, Claudette? What was your favorite aspect of Château de Fontainebleau?” She, too, was traveling alone.

“Oh, the ballroom, the queen’s bedroom, the stairway to the king’s bedroom.” She giggled. “I loved it all.”

I looked toward the back seat. “Okay, Anthony, what did you like?”

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