Page 55 of Sinful Promise

“Yes, madam?”

“Can I have coffee delivered to me?”

“Yes, madam. It will be delivered to your cabin shortly.”

“Thank you.”

A girl could get used to this. I decide to start with a shower first and peel off Roman’s shirt. The air in the bathroom smells of his cologne. Is it possible to miss him when he’s only been gone a few minutes?

I wash my hair with shampoo that smells like coconuts. The conditioner makes my hair feel so soft that I use it to shave my legs. I may as well smell like coconuts all over. I never cared so much about how I smelled before.

When I finish and leave the bathroom, my caffeine fix has arrived, and the bed has been made. I swear, if I got up to pee in the middle of the night, I would come back to find the cabin steward had made my bed. The staff are that efficient.

I was expecting a paper cup of lukewarm coffee. Instead, there’s a silver tray with a ceramic pot of fresh coffee, two china cups, and an assortment of sugars and flavored creamers. I decide to save my calories for dessert and pour myself a cup of plain coffee. The first sip tastes like blueberries and doesn’t need cream or sugar. Yesterday, the coffee tasted like hazelnuts. The chief steward must rotate the coffee flavors.

I’m getting into a routine: breakfast, fun, and sun, then cocktails and appetizers, followed by a late dinner. And the best part is that everything runs seamlessly. It’s amazing how the mostly invisible crew anticipates and meets our every want and need. There has to be a huge staff working behind the scenes to make this trip magical.

With all this time on my hands, I find myself preoccupied with Roman and his incredible body. Ugh. He’s as addictive as caffeine. I never want to leave the bubble of tranquility onboard this floating hotel, spa, and restaurant. But I’m sensible enough to know we’re on borrowed time if the Volkovs don’t figure a way out of this crisis. I’m sure it’s not the first time they’ve had an enemy. Their world is full of them. What is that line? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

I try to blow out my hair, still clutching the towel, and decide to screw it. It’s easier to be naked. I drop the towel, finish drying my hair, and look for accessories to keep my tresses up and tidy for the day.

I’m getting used to life at sea. Here’s hoping Andrian doesn’t find me and drown me in it. I need to keep Roman close to protect me. Alex, too. He’s competent and loyal to Roman, despite his cigarette addiction and thirst for vodka. They work together and are obviously good friends. I wonder if they have guards protecting them when they are living their normal lives in Russia.

I choose a blue sundress with matching sandals from the selection in my closet and toss them on the bed. It crosses my mind that my passport is somewhere in Roman’s belongings. I quickly look around the room to ensure I’m still alone before stepping into his closet. I stop and stare at all his suits and shirts, perfectly lined up and color coordinated. I touch the creamy fabrics and wonder at the cost. How many tailor-made suits does a man really need?

Below the clothes is a pullout tray of silk ties and matching handkerchiefs, all neatly folded. Rows of cuff links, tie clips, and tie bars remind me of tongue studs, just longer. I have no doubt they are made of silver and gold.

Rows of shoes are perfectly lined up with the toes pointed forward. I feel like I’m in a high-end department store, surrounded by designer clothes and shoes. I’ve never set foot in one, but I see the ads in Katsia’s fashion magazines.GQalways has the hottest guys—that is, until I met Roman.

I run my hand over the smooth surface of the dresser until I feel a crack. I look closer. It’s not a crack. It’s a seam. I follow the line and find a button. Jackpot! Maybe this is the safe I’ve been looking for. I push the button and hold my breath in anticipation of setting off an alarm.

The top of the dresser rises, revealing rows of watches, bracelets, and rings nestled inside a velvet lining. A hidden compartment—ingenious.

Where is the safe with my passport? When we entered the yacht Roman walked into the closet and I’m sure he locked up his hand gun and our passports. It has to be in here somewhere. I hit the button again, and the dresser lowers. I run my fingers over the doors and drawers, trying to find the hidden safe. I’m probably wasting my time if Roman designed this closet. He’s the smartest man I have ever met.

Just yesterday, I learned that aluminum and steel block GPS signals, as on planes and ships. To keep from being tracked, I should have wrapped aluminum foil around the ring to block the signal, but who knew?

Papa knew, no doubt. That’s probably why he rarely let me out of his sight and checked up on me all the time, dropping in on my school study groups to see if I was there. Had he done it to control me, or was it because he didn’t trust Andrian? It would be nice to know.

I give up on the closet, pour myself another cup of coffee, and stand at the windows. Gazing at the view, I realize the coastline has changed and looks nothing like the French Riviera. We must’ve sailed through the night. Gone are the palatial estates and hundred-meter yachts. Instead, I’m looking at a rural coastline dotted with terracotta-colored tiled roofs. The water is a vibrant blue you only see in posters of Italy. Wait, are we off the coast of Italy?

Italy! I put down my cup and do a naked happy dance. It’s time to get dressed and find Roman.

Being alone is overrated. I’m not the type of person who enjoys solitude. I’ve had a lifetime of it. I can’t wait to see if we are in another country. This is like getting a gift for Christmas. Only better.

22

DASHA

Istand at the railing, gazing at the shoreline. The marble Duomo is centuries old, a marked contrast to our sleek modern vessel. If I had a camera, I would capture the juxtaposition of the old world meeting the new.

I look for Roman but don’t find him. My heart sinks like coins tossed in a wishing well. I don’t see Alex, either. What are they up to? Delicious smells are coming from the breakfast area, so I follow my nose.

Irina is already there, looking badass in a swimsuit that leaves little to the imagination. Sunglasses shield her eyes from the bright sun reflecting off the placid water. She encapsulates a modern-day woman.

Damn. Will I ever feel like I fit in?

I’m overdressed. I wish I’d get the memo on activities for the day, so I don’t stand out like an American tourist. I like Irina and wonder if she’ll ever share anything about her personal life. If she’s used to the billionaire lifestyle, I’m sure there are tales to tell. I’d dearly love to pick her brain for information about Roman.

---