Page 113 of Sinful Temptations

Roman and I stayed in our little corner as instructed, but Roman was forward as far as he could reach, clearly itching to help.

Victor arrived at our platform, and when Lydia was finally in view, she was a different woman from the one I’d last seen. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her face was red and blotchy. Her hair was a mess. Dirt-smudged tears had created grubby lines down her cheeks.

“Ehi, Lydia, stai bene?” Roman spoke Italian.

“Yeah, Lydia, are you okay?” I repeated in English.

Her shoulders heaved as Victor pulled her upright, unclipped her from the overhead zip-line, and tethered her to our safety wire. She and Roman strode together, gripping onto each other as if they’d just been rescued off a lifeboat after weeks at sea.

She was full-on ugly crying.

I mean, I ugly cry, but when someone as beautiful as Lydia cries like that, it takes ugly crying to a whole new level. Stepping up to her, I put my hand on her shoulder. “What happened?”

“I got fucking stuck!” she barked at me. “That’s what happened.”

Woah. Alrighty.“Okay, well. You’re here now. You’re safe.”

“Safe.” She spun her head my way. Her eyes were enormous. “Does this look fucking safe?”

I glanced left and right and instead of pointing out just how safe we were, I stepped back, leaving her and Roman to have a moment. I wasn’t sure what I’d categorize that session as being, but it was a moment all the same.

As Victor watched the zip-line, waiting for the next person, I pondered how many times he’d had to rescue people. I also wondered how many of them had had a littlehissy fit like Lydia was doing. I mean, she was here now, in Roman’s arms no less, and she was still carrying on.

Roman ran his hand over her hair in the soothing strokes that he was so good at. “You’re okay. Nothing happened.”

“A . . . lot . . . happened.” She spoke between sobs, and it occurred to me that Miss Italy was a bit of an attention seeker.

I put my tour-guide hat on. After all, it was my job to ensure all my guests had a marvelous time. Stepping into Roman’s view so he could see how sympathetic I was, I lightly touched her shoulder. “Would you like to try again?”

“What? Are you an idiot?” Trembling, she pushed back from Roman, but squeezed a handful of his shirt in her fist. “I’m getting off this thing. Right, Victor?”

Victor turned to us. “Yes, once everyone is on here, I’ll take Lydia down.”

Roman gripped her bicep. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. I won’t let you.” She wildly shook her head.

“But I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Iwillbe okay when I get off here.”

“But—”

“I said no.” She barked her order and the way she did it, with absolute finality, convinced me she was used to getting what she wanted.

Roman raised his hands in a peace gesture and she backed away, still clutching his shirt though.

Each new person who landed on our platform asked Lydia if she was okay, and each time, she barkednoat them.

I tried to give them warning with my eyes, but I was pathetic at that non-verbal facial stuff. Maybe it stemmed from my shitty childhood. Whether mother had been yelling at me or happy with me, she usually had the same expression. Drugs would do that.

Carmen was the final person to touch down and thesecond she did, she and Victor set about shuffling Lydia from the back of the group to the front. They opened a hatch in the door that I’d missed altogether, and Victor climbed down. “Okay, Lydia, you can do this.”

Easing onto her hands and knees, she sucked in shaky breaths. I thought she was going to make this all very difficult, but to her credit, she fed her feet, then legs into the hole and within a minute, she was gone, and Carmen had sealed the hole back over. “Right. You.” She pointed at Roman. “You’re my wingman until Victor catches us up again.”

“Sure.” Roman rubbed his hands together. “What do you need me to do?”

YAY, Roman. Our hero.

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