Page 100 of Sinful Temptations

“Yes, really. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice her checking you out.”

“She’s not checking me out.”

“Oh, my fucking god. You really are blind.”

“I’m not blind. I see you, Daisy.”

“Oh yeah?” I tilted my face to the sun. In my mind, I imagined I looked like a beautiful model posing in the spectacular afternoon sun with the breeze on my skin and Roman, my world-class model, at my side. I was glowing.

But when Roman’s expression grew all serious, I knew I wasn’t portraying that image at all. I was everything but. Although I didn’t want to ask, I couldn’t help myself. “What do you see?”

He squeezed my hand and letting go, he turned his gaze to the vines stretching out before us.

We fell into silence, but I was pretty sure the two of us were thinking completely different things.

He held the water glass up. “I’m going to check on the group. You stay here and finish the water. I’ll come and get you when we’re ready to leave.”

“Don’t abandon me.”

A frown drilled across his brow. “Daisy.” When he leaned over and kissed my forehead, I wanted to cry. “I would never abandon you.”

He pushed up to his feet and as he walked away, a lump formed in my throat. Soon I couldn’t breathe. I flopped back onto the grass, and the fluffy white clouds drifted across the perfect blue sky, tears spilled from my eyes.

I cried for all the time I’d wasted.

I cried for my uncertain future.

I cried for my heart that was cracking into pieces.

Chapter Twenty-One

Day two in Florence was one of my worst days of the year. It started with me waking at three in the morning, without any recollection of how I got back to the hotel.

One minute I was lying on the grass at the winery—the next minute, I woke up fully dressed in my own bed.

I assumed it was Roman who’d saved me. Yet again. God only knew what embarrassing things I did as he dragged my sorry ass from the winery to my hotel room.

I spent the whole day fighting a thumping headache that boomed behind my eyes like a giant cannon. And the urge to throw up was so strong that every time we crossed an ancient bridge, I sucked in breaths like I was giving birth or something.

It was all I could do to stop from hurling into the Arno River below. Knowing my luck, I’d probably hit one of the tourist boats cruising beneath.

But that wasn’t even the tip of my worst-day iceberg. I hadn’t seen Roman all day. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem—our tour schedule sometimes meant we didn’t seeeach other until the night. But not seeing Lydia—that was killing me. I couldn’t get images of the two of them smiling at each other and touching each other out of my memory.

I should be happy for him. Elated.

Instead, I was so fucking jealous, it was a wonder my whole body wasn’t green, especially combined with my hangover. And it was all stupid. We were just friends. God, the number of times I’d said that to myself and yet it still wouldn’t sink in.

Friends. FRIENDS. F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

I needed to get it tattooed onto my hand. Right next to that weird freckle on my thumb.

After dragging twenty-two hyperactive backpackers around Florence and trying not to crumble into a billion quivering pieces as I detailed random facts about the abundant ancient buildings, I finally got back to my room at six o’clock that night.

Still no sighting of Roman nor Lydia.

“They’ve probably been fucking each other’s brains out all day.”

There. I said it. I am happy for him. Just like he’s been happy for me having sex with other guys.

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