Page 46 of Sinful Promises

“Oh jeez, Daisy. That sounds like a shit plan. Why don’t you just whoop it up in Europe instead? While you have a chance?”

A plane in the sky, flying beneath the dark clouds, caught my eye. It was a sign. Despite all my dark emotions clouding my thoughts that slammed from Mother to Roman, it was time for me to go. “I have to see Mother. I have a shitload of questions I need answered.” Just thinking of how angry she made me spiked my voice with fury.

“Oooh. Now you’re talking. Oh, I wish I could be there to hear those conversations.”

“I wish you could be there too. It’s going to be interesting.”

We chatted some more. Mostly about her mother, who was still enjoying the raw spaghetti, and Kane, who was still keeping her awake at night.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta get going. I need to pack up my things and sort some stuff out.”

“Okay, babe. I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you. I’ll call when I get to Sydney.”

“All right. Love ya.”

“Love you too.”

That night, I went to the local pub and had bangers and mash for dinner. I’d been here about six times in nearly three years, and I was pretty sure each time I came, I saw the same patrons sitting in the same seats. I hoped wherever I ended up next, doing whatever it was that I’d do next, that I didn’t fall into that Groundhog Day situation.

The next day, I paid all my bills and closed my bank account, which took way too long. I packed up my things, most of which were items Edna had given to me, so I tried to return them back to her. She took a few but wasn’t interested in the bulk of them. So along with everything else, I either donated the stuff to charity or threw it out.

Finally, I had all my worldly belongings in one suitcase.

My whole world had come down to this.

One suitcase.

One broken heart.

And a mother who wanted to use me one last time.

Three days after leaving Roman, I said goodbye to Edna and Dave with promises to ring them at Christmas, and took a taxi and my suitcase to Heathrow.

Even as I headed to the airport, I still couldn’t decide if I was doing the right thing. Seeing Mother was guaranteed to bring up a mountain of memories I’d been trying to suppress for years. But that wasn’t my biggest issue.

It was whether my aching heart would get over Roman.

Get over him! God, I can’t believe I’m even thinking that.

It was not possible that I was in love. We’d only known each other for three months. And during that time, I’d been with several other guys.

Fuck. Who was I fooling?

Me. The answer was me. I was the fool.

Roman wasn’t into me. He was just being nice.

Leaving him, and Europe, was the best decision I’d made in months.

Before I knew it, I was seated in chair 92A, looking out my window at the miserable London weather. The sky was mirroring my emotions again. Dreadful.

I plucked a few items from my carry-on, preparing to shove it into the gap at my feet. There were some advantages to being small. Having surplus space in an airplane seat was one of them.

I placed the horseshoe-shaped, squishy pillow that I’d paid way too much for at the airport onto my seat. I grabbed my novel—a romantic comedy that promised belly laughs and a happy-ever-after—and shoved it into the webbed pocket behind the seat in front of me.

But when I pulled out my notepad, my heart nearly stopped.

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