Page 95 of Sinful Promises

It was a kiss that placed my heart in his hands.

It was a kiss that washed away every trouble in my life.

It was a kiss that I’d happily replicate a million times over.

He eased back all too soon. “How is your mother?”

My shoulders sagged. With the mention of Mother, the glorious bubble that’d surrounded me since I stepped off the train exploded like it’d been shot with a double-barreled shotgun.

He reached for my hand. “Is she okay?”

I huffed. “She’s gone.”

“Oh no, Dais. When? Don’t tell me you didn’t get to see her?”

“She died this morning.”

His jaw dropped. His eyes darkened. “Today? But . . .”

I knew what he was thinking. He couldn’t comprehend how I could have abandoned her on her deathbed.

To save him, I said, “Roman, I have a lot to tell you, and none of it is good.”

He frowned and placed his hand over mine.

“But”—I spoke before he had a chance—“I don’t want to ruin today. Please can we just enjoy this?”

He nodded and gave me that sisterly love look that I now knew meant so much more. “Okay. I understand. Promise you’ll tell me.”

I put my hand over my chest. “I promise. No secrets.”

He smiled. “I like the sound of that.” He raised his glass.

I sipped the delicious Chianti, trying to work out what to say next. There was so much on my mind, it was like a question soup. I just had to figure out which one to scoop out first.

I turned to him frowning, and with a look that I hoped portrayed utter sincerity, I said, “I am so sorry for leaving you halfway through the tour. It was a rotten thing to do.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay. You had to see your mother.”

“How did you go with everyone? Did Bruce send you someone to help?”

“No. He said it was impossible at such short notice.”

“He’s an asshole. I went to see him a few days ago.”

He cocked his head. “Why?”

“I was hoping to get your phone number.” I told Roman about Bruce refusing to give me his contact details and using my own argument against me. And also detailed how I’d thought I was so smart, going back on the first of December. “So, is that why you quit? Because of Bruce?”

“No. Because of you.”

My mouth dropped. I knew it. He really was angry with me. Oh, God. It was my fault that he left his job. How could I ever?—

“Because it wasn’t the same without you.” He placed his hand over mine and I lurched back.

“Oh.” I blinked at him, hardly able to comprehend what he’d said. “But you loved that job.”

“I loved it because of you. You made it fun, Dais. It was never going to be the same after you left.”

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