Page 82 of Sinful Promises

“Oh, and get yourself a Brazilian.”

“What?” I burst out laughing.

“Babe, you gotta try it. Drives men wild.”

“Oh, it does, does it?”

“Well, it used to way back when I was actually getting some.”

I couldn’t stop the grin on my face. “I don’t think Roman cares what my bush looks like.”

“That’s true. But you two are gonna be fucking like rabbits in no time.”

“I hope so. But anyway, it’s not about the sex.”

“I know, babe. I know. Mom! Mom put the fish down. Gotta go. Mom’s trying to drink the fish water again. Love ya.”

I chuckled. “Love you too.”

An hour later, after a long hot bath where I’d read thirty pages of a new romance novel and drank a cup of chamomile tea—and resisted the mini bar—I crawled into bed.

As I pictured running toward Roman in a pretty flowing dress and his eyes lighting up as I jumped into his arms, I allowed sleep to drag me into another glorious world.

Choosing a dress to wear when I greeted Roman was like trying to choose a prom dress. Or worse—my wedding dress. Not that I had firsthand knowledge of either.

On top of that, was the unpredictable London December weather.

Day after day, I strolled from shop to shop, suffering through incessant Christmas jingles. I finally settled on three dresses that covered all possible contingencies—including if, by some miracle, it was a sunny day. I got my nails done, bought new boots, and even trimmed my bush. Which, in reality, was a total waste of time. Because within minutes of seeing Roman again, I’d have to wave him off as he went on the next twenty-day tour.

Not once since I’d arrived in London had I considered that rotten fact.

Maybe he’d quit and the two of us would stroll off, hand in hand, into the distance together. I giggled at that silly thought. I really should branch away from romance books.

Nah.

I bounded out of bed at five o’clock on the first of December and tugged the curtains open. It was still pitch-black. Of course it was. The sun wouldn’t hit the city streets for another three hours. But at least it wasn’t raining.

In record time, I showered and dressed and went down to the restaurant for a coffee and light breakfast. But my greedy eyes had a different plan and I ate way more than I needed. Maybe I was a nervous eater or something because I devoured every single thing on my plate, including the double serve of scrambled eggs.

By the time I waddled back up to my room, I was seriously worried that I wouldn’t fit into my new dress.

I still had an hour to kill, so I took my time applying makeup and doing my hair in a way that pulled some of it back into a pretty little clip I’d bought yesterday.

Stepping into my navy wrap dress, I pushed my arms into the long sleeves and tied the belt around my waist. With my knee-high black boots and dangly gold earrings on, I stood in front of the mirror. My heart fluttered at how good I looked.

This was the perfect outfit to greet Roman in. The boots were sexy. The dress accentuated all my curves, and my jewelry tied the outfit together with a bit of spunk.

With a spring in my step, I rode the elevator down to the lobby and strode out into a glorious London sunrise. It was a weather miracle.

Now I just needed another miracle—Roman to be happy to see me.

I could barely breathe as I turned the corner and spied my bus parked in the Vacation Dreamz parking lot. Several backpackers were standing around their bulging suitcases. A woman with a clipboard was with them. Her uniform suggested she was probably my replacement.

My heart was a giant drum, its rapid beat matching my pace as I walked toward the group. The luggage hold was up, and I slowed my steps, ready to watch Roman’s stunning butt as he backed out of there.

But when I saw that butt, my heart thudded to a stop. It was not perfectly rounded or perfectly toned. It wasn’t any kind of perfect. It was flabby and large. No way was that Roman. When the man was fully out, the sun reflected off his balding scalp.

Forcing my feet to get moving again, I approached the pretty young staff member. “Hi. I’m Daisy.”

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