Page 96 of Sinful Promise

“I think Nikolay is missing his wife, and I doubt he’ll go. Dmitry’s wife is pregnant, and he’ll probably hightail it out of here as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize. So, they love their wives?”

She laughs. “The men who appear to be above love fall the hardest, in my experience. For the right woman, a man can be conquered. I figure there is a message in this for me as well.”

“I’m going with a dark blue,” Francesca announces. “I love this designer It will fit me because Italian designers know a woman’s curves. Let’s get shoes.”

An assistant gathers our gowns and disappears. I change into my clothes, and we pick heels to go with our dresses. At the register, there is a case with jewels.

“You have to wear something stunning with that dress,” Francesca coos as her eyes rake over the gems and diamonds in the case.

“I’m sure it’s all too expensive,” I murmur. The fact that the items don’t have price tags shouldn’t surprise me, yet it does.

“Nonsense, you need to fit in.” She looks at the sales associate and tells her we’ll take the choker of diamonds.

“I don’t know if I can wear that,” I whisper.

“You can and you will. Trust me.”

Oddly, I trust her with my life. I trust them both immeasurably.

I hand the woman the black card I’ve concealed in my tiny purse and try not to hyperventilate at the final number.

We’re escorted to the vehicle. The attendant loads the car, and one guard holds my necklace for me. We arrive at a shop where three women are waiting for us to arrive and quickly take us to their station for assessment.

Francesca oversees me as if I’m a daughter. “She needs conditioners and a trim,” she says briskly.

For over an hour, my hair is washed, infused with a moisturizer that smells good enough to eat, and placed under a hairdryer for it to activate. There are many stylists here, and everyone is chatting, so I tune it out so I can enjoy being pampered. Besides, I don’t want to hear intimate details about the strangers around me.

I’m plucked out from under the hood of the dryer, my hair is rinsed, and I’m finally sitting in the chair to have a trim.

“You have beautiful hair, full, thick. You are very lucky,” the French woman says in perfect English.

By the time we are done, my hair feels soft and silky. Francesca and Irina always look gorgeous to me, but they seem happy, and after we hand over our magical cards, we’re out the door.

Irina instructs the driver to go to obscure, out-of-the-way stores. A guard goes with her as she darts into a store, returning five minutes later carrying a bag. We repeat this a few times at different stores before driving back to the estate.

Staff take out packages and disappear.

I’m famished, and as luck would have it, the staff is prepared for our arrival. The terrace is set for lunch as a summer breeze blows in from the sea.

We drink iced teas with a slice of lemon and are served mixed green salads with salmon on top. A vinaigrette is drizzled over it. I’m too hungry to put my napkin in my lap before diving in. The salmon, greens, and pecans are sheer heaven to my taste buds.

“Okay, I’m going to need for you to wear a shirt that can get dirty and lie on the sofa in the study upstairs,” Irina says. “I’m going to make a mask of your face.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, it’s messy but perfectly safe.”

“I call dibs on the pictures,” Francesca teases.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I reply.

“It’s all in fun. Besides, we didn’t get many pictures on the yacht. When you get a phone, I’ll text them to you.”

“You took more pictures than of the three of us?”

“Oh, yes,” she replies with a mischievous grin.

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