Page 89 of Sinful Promises

I just hoped my newfound utopia wasn’t about to be obliterated.

My phone rang, and thinking it was Zali calling to wish me luck, I plucked it from my bag.

My gut twisted.

It was not Zali. The number indicated it was coming from Australia. That meant it was either the police or the hospital.

Inhaling deeply, I pressed the green button. “Hello. This is Daisy.

“Hello, Daisy. This is Doctor Alberts.”

When he paused, I mentally prepared for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry to tell you but your mother passed away in her sleep today.”

A knot wedged in my throat, and I fought it with all my might. Mother didn’t deserve my tears. And she sure as hell wouldn’t ruin my day. I had to swallow hard to speak. “Thank you for letting me know, Doctor. And thank you for looking after her. She enjoyed your company. I have left her funeral instructions with your reception.”

He cleared his throat. “I want you to know her last thoughts were with you, Daisy.”

I was sure they were, and probably not for any good reasons. “That’s sweet of you. Thank you.”

“She’s at peace now.”

“Thank you, Doctor, and thank you for all that you do for everyone.” I turned off the phone before he could reply, and as I sucked in the cool ocean breeze, I tried to analyze my feelings.

I was a touch sad. But that just made me angry.

Yet at the same time, I was at peace with myself. Although it had been harrowing, I was glad I’d seen Mother. I’d gone to her hoping for closure and I got it.

Now, with her gone, I hoped I rarely thought of her again, and that I never thought of Rob as my father.

Perhaps I could do what Zali had done for Kane and invent a father for myself.

Yeah. Maybe the other half of my DNA came from a man who mastered in researching medical miracles. Or taught disabled children. Or simply went on to be a wonderful husband and father.

The sound of a train had me jumping to my feet.

This was it. Moment of truth. Well, not exactly the moment. I had to find Roman first.

Lining up on the platform with just six other people, I giggled at the craziness of it. I’d traveled thousands of miles to try and find a man in a little Italian village to tell him I loved him.

I had officially lost my mind. But damn, it felt good.

Barely two minutes later, I stepped off the train and walked down a street that was nearly a mirror image of the town I’d just come from. Bright pink geraniums hung from balconies above me, as did strings of washing. Many people would have gone into hibernation during winter, and the streets certainly seemed to be deserted here too. Other than a few seagulls that were fighting over something above my head, my suitcase was about the only thing making noise. The smell of the ocean was calming—the complete opposite to my pulse that was thumping like I had hiked here.

Seven kids raced up the street. They looked like they were up to mischief, yet they were smiling and laughing. The girls in the front of the pack were screaming as if running for their lives. But their cheeky smiles confirmed it was all a game. They were young, fresh, and innocent.

The kids dashed around the corner, and an elderly woman setting a plant onto a small dining table watched them scurry past and shook her head. The woman turned toward me, smiling, and she shook her head again.

It was my cue. Hitching my bag on my shoulder and lugging my suitcase behind me, I strolled toward her restaurant.

The woman’s eyes bulged at my approach. She smiled and slightly opened her arms. “Caterina.”

I blinked at her. Caterina? As in, Roman’s Caterina?

I was a few feet away when her arms dropped, and a frown crossed her face. “Mi dispiace. Pensavo fossi qualcun altro.”

Frowning, I said, “Lei parla inglese?”

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