Page 105 of Sinful Promises

Oh, God. What am I going to do?

Roman stood and every rotten thought whizzing through my brain evaporated at the sight of him. Holy hotcakes. Kill me now.

He pulled on sweatpants, tugging at the drawstring. They hung low on his belly, revealing just enough of that ‘V’ muscle to have my girly bits singing.

Lordy, lordy. Maybe I actually was in heaven.

Nah. Not after all the naughty things I’d done. This was every bit real.

“I’ll go see just how close Mamma is.” He kissed my cheek and trotted out the door.

I too dressed in track pants and a plaid shirt and made my way out the door to the bathroom.

After a shower that was way too quick for my liking, we were seated at the dining table with Roman’s parents. It was nothing like the chaos from the previous night. But it was just as pleasant.

Conversation flowed via Roman’s translations, and I kicked myself once again for not learning Italian during my years in Europe. I would though. It’s going right to the top of my to-do list.

It was Sunday, and according to Papà, Sunday was for rest, reading, and catching up on any sport he’d missed during the week.

Roman however, planned on taking me fishing. A new first for me.

After breakfast and a huge hug with Mamma, we returned to his bedroom, dressed in warmer clothes, and with him holding my hand, we headed out the front door and toward the marina.

Roman waved at anybody he saw, and I waved too. During my whole life, I’d preferred to hide under the radar. Slinking into the shadows was my thing. Not now though—not with a sexy hunk holding my hand and an entire Italian town seeming happy for us.

The breeze coming off the ocean was slight but very cool like it’d come straight from an iceberg. I tucked my scarf tighter around my neck and tugged a pair of gloves that Roman had found for me onto my fingers. I would’ve been shivering if it wasn’t for the sunshine glistening off the aquamarine ocean. Only a couple of cotton-ball clouds in the distance dotted the perfect blue sky.

At the marina, we skirted around to the left and walked along a wooden pontoon that, based on the weathered gray timber and rusted bolts, looked to have been here for decades. Halfway along, Roman jumped into a small boat, put the bag and icebox he’d been carrying into the front, and reached up for my hand.

I climbed in and sat where he indicated.

He fiddled around with ropes and the motor, and every time he bent over, I was treated to another view of his sexy butt.

I could get used to this fishing thing very quickly.

The engine roared to life, and the wind whipped through my hair and my boobs bounced onto my knees as Roman guided the boat over the tiny waves and headed out to sea.

As we cruised parallel to the shore, I studied all the colorful homes. It was hard to believe I was here. Seven days ago, I was in Sydney, fighting with my mother.

Now I was in Manarola—a tiny Italian town where everybody knew everybody. I’d never had a place I’d called home. Never. Yet the instant I’d walked into Roman’s home and met his family, I’d felt like I’d found the place I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

And with Roman at my side, I feel so complete. So whole.

Life did not get any better than this.

The boat hit a wave and my tits slammed into my chin.

Laughter erupted from the back of the boat, and I turned to Roman. His grin was truly spectacular. I wanted to pinch myself. How was this even happening?

How did I deserve this?

Soon there were no more houses to see, just high cliffs with jagged rocks at the base and gnarly vegetation clinging to whatever they could. But after ten or so minutes, we came to another town, and I recognized the marina. “Hey, that’s Riomaggiore.”

He looked at me quizzically and I realized I hadn’t told him I’d spent the night there before I met him. We still had so much to talk about.

We cruised right on past the hillside town, continuing our course following the shoreline.

After a while, he slowed the engine again and leaned over the side. “Dais, check this out.”

---