Page 116 of Sinful Temptations

I heaved a sigh. “When I told her I was moving out, you know what she did?”

He cringed, obviously dreading what I was about to say. “What?”

“She told me to go. She said I’d end up on the streets slutting around and begging for money.”

“Oh, Dais.” He shook his head.

“She threw everything I owned out the door. My clothes and shoes. My schoolbooks. Even a coffee mug a friend had given me.”

“And you haven’t seen her since?”

“No.” I shook my head.

“But you talk on the phone, don’t you?”

“Sort of. When she needs cash.”

“Really?”

“The only time she rang was for money.”

“Wow. I’m so sorry, Daisy.” He pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and my heart wept at how sweet he was.

His mouth opened like he was on the verge of saying exactly what I wanted to hear. But in the very next instant, a cloud seemed to cross over his eyes. I waited, hoping he’d tell me what was on his mind.

A shift in the minibus’s engine confirmed we were approaching our hotel.

Damn it.

Whatever spell had formed between us was broken. Again.

Chapter Twenty-Six

During the next two hours, I had a long hot shower, FaceTimed Zali, and had a squeal with her over my zip-lining and a naughty giggle over Lydia’s meltdown. I also went shopping for tonight’s costume.

After Mother’s phone call, Roman had tried to cheer me up. In the end, it had been with a dare. A dare that I’d gladly accepted, intending to show him another side to me. Now I just had to pull it off.

Every night was Oktoberfest in many beer halls in Germany when you were a tourist. In Baden-Baden, several shops were selling Chinese-made Oktoberfest disguises and to my surprise, there were plenty of dresses for me to choose from.

It seemed beer-wench costumes were perfectly suited for big-busted women.YAY, about fucking time!

Back in my room, I had forty minutes to get ready. I was going to need every one of them.

I dressed in my sexy beer-wench outfit, and it was so ridiculous that I burst out laughing at myreflection. The dress was pulled in at the waist and had a flared-out skirt that was emphasized with layers of black netting.

The peasant-style top had my boobs nearly bulging right out of the minuscule bustier. By tugging it down, I risked nipple exposure. And it was so short that tugging it up just about flashed my red satin knickers.

I had black thigh-high stockings that were topped with silly red bows. But in keeping with Roman’s suggestion that Ijust be me, I put on my red Converse sneakers. No sexy, back-crippling, high heels for me. No bloody way. Comfort over crippling—that was my mantra when it came to shoes.

Giggling at how stupid I looked, I gave up fiddling with the dress and retrieved my makeup set from my suitcase.

One by one, I placed the items onto the vanity bench—liquid foundation and powder, rouge, mascara, eyeliner, three brushes, and lipstick.

Each time I applied makeup, I was surprised at how easy it was to cover my freckles. A new woman looked back at me. My skin was flawless; my cheeks had a touch of color. I looked . . . it was hard to pinpoint the right word.

It wasn’t beautiful, or classy, or younger. Maybe healthier?

Maybe that was what it was. I didn’t look like my face needed a good scrub.

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