Page 93 of Sinful Promise

“Oh, we will, all right, and on your credit card,” Irina banters.

“It would be my pleasure. You’ll have two guards with you today. We’ll meet here this afternoon and review tomorrow night’s final plan.”

“Great, boss.” Irina salutes him with a chuckle.

“I like the way you say that,” Roman teases as he saunters off to meet up with his brothers.

“What is a gala?” I ask. “I’ve heard the word, and I know it’s a fancy affair, but why do people do it?”

“To work business deals, parade the family jewels on their women…and the ones in their pants.” Francesca’s flippant reply stuns me.

“Relax, it’s a fancy name for a fancy party,” Irina calmly states. “However, I need to get supplies for tomorrow, and you, Dasha, will need to sit for me when we return so I can make a mold of your face.” She slips her arm through mine.

“A mold?”

“Yes, so I will look exactly like you. But first, we’re going to have our hair done. Mine’s a mess from the water. And we have to buy dresses for tomorrow night. You and Roman need to make an impression so that everyone will remember you being there.”

“I don’t know if I can do that,” I reply, walking with them.

“Do what, exactly?” Francesca looks concerned. Her eyebrows draw together.

“You will make an impression.” Irina’s pretty eyes narrow on mine. “You are Roman’s cover. Now go grab a purse for that black credit card and meet us in the kitchen in ten. We have work to do.”

She claps her hands twice, and I’m surprised I don’t jump out of my form-fitting sportswear. I’m tense, too tense.

I wonder how everyone goes about life as normal, knowing we might all be dead tomorrow. Am I the only one who’s obsessed with living?

I walk to the bedroom upstairs but go the wrong way and have to double back. Shit. I’m trying to remember a familiar centerpiece in a hallway when I overhear two women talking.

“He seems to like her more than that model. His eyes light up when he sees her. I wish I were so lucky to have a man fall for me like that.”

“True, but will she be good to us if she lives here?”

“We get a paycheck either way.”

“I guess. I like our annual bonuses.”

I’m guilty of eavesdropping. I retrace my steps, finding the way to the bedroom. Is it possible Roman loves me because he’s always getting laid? Why would he want someone who has nothing when the women he normally dates have money and success?

I walk into the bedroom closet and find it filled with clothes, just like the one on the yacht. I select an outfit more suitable for shopping, quickly changing into jeans, a fitted top, and my new sneakers. I’ve never had clothes tailored to my large boobs before, and whoever picked out my wardrobe has impeccable taste. I can’t go wrong with the choices in front of me. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. My hair is unruly. I zip into the ensuite, brush it, and pile it on top of my head like Francesca’s last night, sans scarf.

I flip through a drawer and use a makeup brush to apply bronzer to add a healthy glow to my face. The sea air and sun have accentuated my high cheekbones, and my green eyes sparkle against my tanned skin. I’m beginning to like how I look.

I glance around and find a different purse, and hide the one that contains my sneakers in a drawer so they don’t get thrown out. I’m sure the staff here operates around the clock as well.

I meet Irina and Francesca in the kitchen and notice they have changed, too.

“Let’s do this,” Irina announces, and two men in suits open the doors for us, speaking into coms in their ears.

“Is it always like this?” I ask.

“The men with us? I can protect myself, but it’s nice to have extra eyes on the ground, especially in times like these,” Irina says as we climb into a large SUV with dark-tinted windows. “I’m undercover and change my appearance on a regular basis for jobs.”

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“Sure, but I’m an adrenaline junkie. Which reminds me, I need to make a call so the drugs will arrive in time for tomorrow.”

She lifts her phone and speaks in French.

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