Page 15 of Sinful Promises

He chuckled. “What about anchovies?”

“Absolutely, especially on a Caesar salad.”

“You’re weird.”

I cocked my head, grinning. “You only just figuring that out?”

“Nope, I had you figured from the day I met you.”

I squinted at him, watching him study the menu. “No, you didn’t.”

He paused running his finger down the page and turned to me. “I did. But I think it was you who was confused.”

Confused? More like off my bloody rocker. “I’ll admit, I’d lost my way.” I raised my glass. “But I’m back now.” I took a sip, trying to make it as small as possible. Although the wine was very yummy.

He drank with me. “Cheers to you, Daisy, and finding your way.”

I clinked my glass. “To finding my way.” But even as I said it and sipped the delicious wine, a rotten thought blazed through my brain like jagged lightning. I may have found my way, but that path was about to be obliterated and I’d be starting all over. Again.

God damn it. Life was fucked.

Maybe that was why I enjoyed Roman’s company so much. He was so positive. And levelheaded. And fun. Nothing seemed to faze him.

As he ordered our meals in his sexy accent and used his hands in that animated way when he spoke, I turned my gaze from him to the ancient ruins outside. The Colosseum was a legacy left by ancient rulers with some incredible foresight.

What was my legacy going to be?

Big-boobed, history-loving Aussie chick who didn’t believe in love.

Yep, that was about right.

So essentially, it was nothing.

I grabbed my glass and took a gulp and promised myself that I would not ruin tonight with my sad-sack shit.

Capturing Roman’s incredible gaze with mine, I said, “So, what’s your favorite meal?”

“Anything Mamma makes.”

“You must have a favorite.”

“Oh, well, she makes. . .”

And just like that, I fell under his spell as he talked about his mother’s cooking. It was a world I’d never experienced. The way he described it with his hands, and his eyes, and by gliding his tongue over his cherry-popsicle lips, was like something in a beautiful fairy tale.

Our conversation was so easy, and as our meals arrived, we ordered another bottle of wine.

We ate prawns and scallops dripping in butter and garlic for our entrée, and sipped our way through that second bottle of rosé.

Our mains were spaghetti marinara for me and the godfather linguini for him, which he explained was basically pasta with a range of spicy sausages and a tomato sauce.

Roman showed me how to use my spoon to twirl the spaghetti onto my fork. He was an excellent teacher—patient, funny, sexy as all fucking hell. That was another first for me, and I’d never forget the way his hands touched mine as he showed me.

The rest of our evening was an utter delight, and I didn’t want it to end.

But of course, it did end.

And once again, I didn’t manage to get to the bottom of Roman’s troubles.

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