Page 35 of Sinful Promises

It was so stupid, but as the two of us resumed eating our meals and chatted away like we’d known each other forever, I felt like our relationship had surpassed some sort of invisible line. A line that said we were no longer just friends. But I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what we were.

I, as usual, was reading way too much into something so simple.

I gulped at my cider, hoping the alcohol could take the edge off my buzzing brain.

Chapter Seven

After dinner, we waved off our group, the majority of whom were heading to Karlovy Lázne, a five-story dance club near Old Town. Somehow when the dust settled, it was just me and Roman left. YAY. And I had the perfect place I wanted to take him.

I grabbed his hand. “Come on, I want to show you this bar I found last year.”

Squeezing my palm to his, he let me lead him back through Old Town. The surrounding landmark attractions were lit with superb lighting, and the Church of Our Lady before Týn that towered over Old Town Square looked even more gothic in the glow. Small food stalls offered everything from pickled cheese to wood-fired meats and giant sausages served in crusty bread, and Trdelník, or chimney cake, for those who couldn’t pronounce its traditional name, which was a donut-like treat shaped into a cylinder that was cooked over a fire and smothered in cinnamon sugar.

The air was crisp and many of the revelers were gathered around forty-four-gallon-drum fires, beer in one hand, food in the other, and smiles all around. Of all the town squares I’d been to in Europe, Old Town Prague, or Staré Mesto, was the most medieval-looking and vibrant. Every time I came here, I saw something new, and I left feeling blessed to have visited yet again.

Tonight though, I was going to show Roman another side to this extraordinary city.

The crowds in the square were both larger and rowdier than they’d been when we’d passed through earlier. And it was impossible not to get caught up in the excited vibe. Leading away from the square were several cobblestone alleyways, all offering the promise of something interesting to see.

Prague was known for its absinthe bars that were dotted around Old Town, but still clutching Roman’s hand, I led him to a bar that was like none I’d ever encountered in Europe. Aptly named Anonymous Bar, the venue did very little to attract attention—in particular tourist attention, which was exactly why it appealed to me. The entrance was dark and unwelcoming with absolutely no hint at what was inside.

“Where are you taking me?” Despite the limited light, Roman’s eyes still dazzled me.

“You’ll see.” Grabbing his hand, I tugged him behind me like we were a couple of schoolkids sneaking into a love tunnel.

We crossed over a tiny arched bridge and entered a dark hallway marked by enormous ropes attached to brass bollards. At the end, we pushed through yet another door and entered a room that was everything a secret bar should be—trendy, intriguing, and moody. A green light glowed beneath the countertop, and the wall behind the bar was dedicated to absinthe and gin and chartreuse, and dozens more colorful and potent alcoholic drinks that were guaranteed to knock you senseless.

The barman wore a white mask that was somehow both spooky and cheeky, and he was stirring a bright blue liquid in what looked like a giant test tube. The smoke that hung in the air had an interesting, sweet smell, like grilled oranges. Subtle acoustic music emanated from speakers dotted around the room. A dozen or so couples were seated at tiny, round tables that had been designed to seat only two people. The bar was the very definition of a speakeasy.

A man wearing long dark pants, a leather vest without a shirt beneath it, and a top hat greeted us and led us to a table at the back of the room. We sat and he handed us a couple of menus. When he left our side, Roman leaned across the table. “This place is great. How did you find it?”

“By accident. I was walking up that alley and saw a couple of women disappear inside. I followed them and found this.”

He turned toward the bar, his mouth slightly ajar as if something profound was about to whisper off his lips.

I pushed the menu toward him. “You need to order the first drink on the menu.”

Frowning, he glanced at the limited drink options. “The Enlightener?”

I nodded.

His grin was delightful as his eyes skimmed from me and caught the eye of the waiter.

The waiter glided over to our table and Roman pointed at the menu. “May I please have The Enlightener?”

The waiter nodded, pushed his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a small flashlight. He handed it to Roman and walked away.

“What the?—”

“Shine it on your menu.”

Roman’s grin grew to spectacular as he turned the light on.

Like an act in a magic show, the purple light lit up several secret cocktails. Roman’s expression was worth every cent the overpriced cocktails were going to cost.

“Ha. That’s so cool.” He ran his finger down the menu and I watched his expression evolve as he shifted from one cocktail description to the next. Glancing up at me, he frowned. “Do you know what you’re having?”

“I had three last time I came and they were all delicious.”

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