Page 64 of Sinful Escape

Chinking my glass to his, I had no idea why we were toasting my crazy childhood. “It was.”

“No, it wasn’t. Far from it. I’m still in the same house I was born in. My parents live upstairs and are still together after thirty-five years. I went to two schools, one for junior, one for senior. I’ve always had the same neighbors, and I’m still very close to all my school friends. That is the definition of boring.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Well, I think yours sounds wonderful.”

I rolled my eyes. My childhood was far from wonderful.

At times, it was downright horrible. I swigged my drink. My favorite champagne had taken on a bitter element; rotten thoughts instigated that. Roman reached forward, placed his hand over mine, and squeezed.

His gentle touch had a lump forming in my throat.

We barely knew each other, yet Roman seemed to know when I was struggling with my emotions. It was like he was reaching into my brain and seeing what I was seeing. I hoped not, or he was going to need something more potent than champagne to eradicate those images.

“Hey.” His voice was a throaty whisper. “Just so you know. I’m like a vault. You can tell me anything.” He leaned over the table, closer to me. “I’m excellent at keeping secrets. Just ask my sisters. They tell me all sorts of stuff that I can’t tell Mamma.”

The room became still, all sound extinguished. It was like I was in a vacuum with just me and Roman. Waiting for me to reveal my deepest, darkest secret. Acid churned in my stomach. My bones sagged. If I didn’t escape, there would be no turning back.

Forcing myself to move, I tugged my hand from his grip and glanced at my watch. “Oh, will you look at that? We have to get going.” I pushed back on my chair and made a dash for the restroom at the rear of the restaurant. Every step was like wading through wet cement.

My embarrassment at revealing my childhood to Roman weighed a thousand times heavier than it had when I’d told Zali. Maybe it was because everything about him was so damn perfect. His looks. His personality. His home life. I couldn’t think of one single thing wrong with him. Not one.

Locking myself in the toilet cubicle, I fought the humiliation inching up my neck. What the hell was wrong with me? Since I’d met Roman, my emotions had turned haywire. And all my flaws were suddenly being displayed in giant neon lights.

Someone knocked on the door and I jumped.

“Sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Is that you, Daisy?”

“Yes, who’s that?”

“It’s Sunny.” She sang her name like a bird flying in a glorious ray of sunshine.

“Sorry, I won’t be long.” Fanning my face, I straightened my shoulders and told myself to snap out of it. “Did you enjoy your meal?”

“Oh, God, yes. It was so delicious. The bread alone was amazing. But that fish meal . . . I’ve never tasted anything like that sauce.”

And just like that, the rabbit hole I’d tumbled into was closed again, and I was reminded of why I truly loved my job. I exited the cubicle with a smile on my face.

Sunny scrubbed the front of her funky denim overalls with wet paper.

“Oh, what happened?”

“Ahhh it’s nothing. Spilled some sauce down my front.”

I burst into laughter, and she blinked at me. “Sorry. Sorry. It’s just, I did the same, but, well . . .“ I shrugged and pointed at my chest. “Not much gets past these.”

She giggled. “You’re lucky. Most guys have bigger tits than me.” Despite her comment, Sunny’s smile confirmed she held no bitterness over her non-existent breasts.

It always surprised me when women expressed their jealousy over my bust size. There was nothing sexy about tits that could flop to your belly button.

But sharing this moment with Sunny made me realize how much I missed Azalia. The two of us had talked about everything. And we laughed a lot.

Maybe Roman was right; I had forgotten how to truly laugh like I meant it.

I left Sunny to finish cleaning off the mess and returned to the restaurant. Roman and all the passengers were mingling outside. I thanked Sophia, kissed her cheeks, and suffered through Matthieu ogling my chest one more time.

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