Page 16 of Sinful Promises

Worst wing-woman ever.

Chapter Four

After Rome, we went to Venice where we stayed for one night. I repeated the same tours in Venice that I did every month for my guests, and sadly there was no time for any new adventures for me there.

Then we headed to Thorsteinn Castle where I had absolutely zero desire to see Count Thorsteinn this time. I was still trying to process the angry-sex thing I did with him on the last visit.

Once the guests were all sorted, I tiptoed around the castle like a petty thief—spying around corners and scurrying up stairwells, praying I’d go unnoticed. It crushed me that I wouldn’t be able to relax into my favorite bath. So, I filled in my time by giving my gift to Katrin—a crystal jewel box that would look lovely on her antique dresser; helping my group choose costumes for the fancy dress banquet; and, with a few hours to spare, I offered to show Roman around the castle, staying well away from Count Thorsteinn’s section in the keep.

Just like in Rome, as we strolled around the castle and I mentioned one interesting fact after the next, Roman seemed to hang off every word I said.

At the top of one of the turrets, we paused to peer between two merlons that had once protected soldiers from flaming arrows. Our view was spectacular, encompassing the mountain ranges in the distance and the castle walls in the foreground. I rested my elbows on the ancient brick and leaned over to look into the moat below us. Roman joined me, and in the mirrored water four stories down, our reflections appeared.

“It’s kind of surreal to be here. Isn’t it?”

Roman nodded. “Yeah. I’m so lucky to be doing this.”

“Hmmm.” I was too—until it was all over and there was nothing that could replace it. Nothing.

Shrugging off the brutal reality, I pushed back and led Roman along the battlement. At the end, we entered a spiral staircase. The dinner bell suddenly sounded and I cried out. Luckily, I was hanging onto the rail or I would have tumbled right to the bottom of the stairs. When it stopped, I looked up at Roman. “Bloody hell. That scared the shit out of me.”

“Me too.”

“I guess that’s the end of our tour.”

He grinned, all mischievous and sexy. “Where do I leave my tip?”

Well, Mr. Perfect, I can be sexy right back at ya. “You can slot it into my bodice later.” I spun on my heel.

“I may well do that.”

I slapped my own ass. “I expect nothing short of a twenty.”

His deep chuckle bounced off the castle’s stone walls. “You’re a bit cheeky.”

“Bite me.”

“I may well do that too.”

Bursting into laughter, I turned the corner and headed up the stairs toward my room with images of his gorgeous cherry-popsicle lips playfully nipping at my neck. But I didn’t cast it away. I played the image over and over like one of those silly memes on repeat.

Roman was permanently embedded in my brain. Hell, he was in my soul. And there was not a damn thing I could do about it. I’d just have to ride that wave until I left Europe for good. Then I’ll deal with that mess.

And it would be one hell of a mess.

That night, dressed in the red satin gown with the killer lace-up bodice that Katrin had helped me into, I regained my place at the banquet table next to Roman. And I felt like we were the king and queen overlooking our disciples.

During dinner, we laughed a lot. Not silly giggles like Lydia did. I laughed till my belly hurt. The lesbians kept us entertained with their witty jokes and hilarious mimicking skills. Those two could copy any accent and when they impersonated Roman—flicking their hands through their hair and exaggerating his sexy accent—oh Lordy, I thought I was going to pee my pants.

They did my Aussie accent perfectly, pretending to boss all the men around like I occasionally did on tour. I’d have loved to have even an ounce of the charisma that those two had.

I was good with the alcohol—I had enough to bring out my sassy side, but not so much that I risked a repeat of the boob-squish incident.

It was nearing the end of the night when my phone buzzed. I’d positioned it in front of my plate so I could see the screen. I didn’t recognize the number. My heart skidded to a halt.

I stared at the phone. Could this be the call I’ve been dreading?

Is Mother about to take her final breath? Or is she already dead?

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