Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Roman parked the bus at the curb, and I shuffled the passengers out. After he drove away, I herded them into the queue for the nine o’clock Moulin Rouge show. They chatted amongst themselves, and I absorbed the exciting vibes around me. People were everywhere. Most would be tourists. I hadn’t met a Parisian yet who’d actually been to the burlesque theatre.
The doors opened, and we filed into the Grand Room. The title was appropriate; its decor was truly magnificent. Red-and-white-striped fabric draped across the ceiling, giving it an exotic tented effect. Rows and rows of long tables lined the room topped with white tablecloths, silver cutlery, and cute red lamps that cast an elegant glow.
The ma?tre d’ led us to our designated tables and within seconds, a waiter was at our side. Each of my guests ordered a drink, and when it came to my turn, I did something I’d never done at Moulin Rouge before. I ordered alcohol. Expensive French champagne, to be exact.
Look out, world. The new, fun Daisy Chayne has arrived .
The drinks were delivered. The lights lowered. The music started.
The show had it all. Enormous headdresses topped with giant colorful feathers that looked so heavy it was a wonder the petite dancers could stand. Minuscule costumes that miraculously remained in place despite the dancers’ high-energy and flexible moves. Glitz, glamour, muscle-bound men in elaborate costumes, dynamic music and nudity. The women paraded their well-toned bottoms in skimpy G-strings, and their pert breasts were on full display.
This was my thirtieth time at Moulin Rouge. I could do most of the routines myself. Except, my first high kick would result in a black eye; my second kick would take out a fellow dancer.
An hour and two champagnes later, I had to get out of there.
I leaned into Tiffany’s ear beside me.
“Hey Tiffany, I’ve got to go. I’ll meet you all outside after the show. Can you pass it on for me?”
“Sure. Are you okay?”
“Oh, yes. Yes. Just a little tummy trouble. Something I ate, I think.” That’d rolled off my tongue way too easily, and I cringed at my awful lie.
“Okay, Daisy. Let me know if I can help.”
The sincerity in Tiffany’s response made my stomach churn. During a gap in the songs, I made a dash for the door and crossed the plush carpet, head down, ignoring the scowling ushers. My mind snagged on my newfound ability to lie so easily. William had lied to me for years, and when I’d found out, the hurt nearly split me in two.
The door shut behind me, switching the music from the fast-paced beat of the burlesque show to the subtle tunes emanating from the twin bars flanking the entrance.
“Hey, Red. ”
I skidded to a halt and spun to the voice.
Roman waved at me from the bar. “Where’re you going in such a hurry?”
Shit. “Oh, ummm.”
He patted the stool at his side. “You leaving the show?”
Forcing my feet to move, I headed to him and wriggled onto the stool that was a fraction too high. That wasn’t unusual, though; I was just five foot four, so most bar stools were a challenge. “Yeah. I’ve seen it thirty times.”
“Thirty?” His eyebrows bounced upward. “What changed your mind this time?”
I shrugged and continuing my lies, I said, “Got a bit of a stomach ache. Thought I’d grab some fresh air.”
“Are you okay?” His hand covered my forearm with such tenderness that my guilt thudded into my stomach like a brick.
Oh, God. Everyone is so nice and I’m a lying bitch. “Yes. Yes. I’m fine. Just needed some air.”
He huffed. “I’m sure you’re not missing anything. After thirty times, you could probably be on stage with them.”
I chuckled. “Except I’d fall flat on my face.”
A smile wobbled across his lips. “But you’d bounce back up again.” His throaty laugh was so damn sexy.
Stop it, girl. He’s your bloody co-worker.
No more champagne for me.
At least now I knew that he had indeed noticed my breasts. Maybe Roman was normal after all.
Our eyes locked and the tiny flecks of gold around his honey irises twinkled like he was analyzing me, trying to read my brain. I hoped not. In the last twenty-four hours, I’d focused on more tits and dicks than I had in my lifetime. And then there was Pierre and that kiss. A hot flush flamed my neck and I swiveled on my stool, searching for an air vent. I grabbed a napkin from the small black box on the bar and fanned myself instead.
“May I buy you a drink?”
I waved my hand. “I’m fine, thank?—”
“Come on, Red. One drink won’t hurt.”
“Actually, I’ve already had two champagnes.”
“Really? Good for you. Then I’ll make it three.” Without further discussion, he caught the bartender’s attention and ordered a champagne for me and another light beer for himself.
“So, tell me,” he said, “how’d an Aussie wind up being a tour guide in Europe?”
I rolled my gaze to him. “You don’t want to hear that boring story.”
“Yes, I do. I bet it’s interesting.”
“Trust me, it’s not interesting. I left Australia and got lucky—that’s all.”
“Okay. But why’d you leave? There must be a reason.”
“Not really.” Lies upon lies. My churning stomach curled some more. “I just wanted a change.”
He huffed. “What about your family? Don’t they miss you?”
My drink arrived and I strangled the stem of the glass as I took a gulp. “Nope.”
His expression grew dark. “God. If my mamma didn’t talk to my sisters at least once a day, she’d break out into hives.”
I sipped my drink, contemplating the difference between our mothers. From the day I’d left my mother, the only time I’d heard from her was when she wanted money. In her warped mind, I owed her that money on account of her giving birth to me. Thank God I didn’t have to worry about her anymore since she didn’t have my new number.
Roman turned to me with an inquisitive gaze. Anxiety crawled up my back. Was he about to ask me something I wouldn’t want to answer? I had to think of something to say, and quickly.
“Tell me about your childhood.” He cocked his head. “Where’d you grow up?”
Shit. Too slow. I swigged another mouthful, hoping the abundant bubbles would give me strength. Twirling the glass in my fingers, I pondered a response. But the longer I paused, the more insurmountable my reply became. There were infinite reasons why I didn’t discuss my childhood.
“We’ve got plenty of time before the group comes out.” His stunning eyes were a tease.
My heart fluttered and my girly bits zinged. Dammit. We are just co-workers. Nothing more. Calm down, Sista. Besides, Roman was way younger than me. And in a different league.
“Come on. Tell me.”
“Okaaayyyy.” I took another large sip. “Man, you’re bossy.”
Smirking, he rubbed his chin. “I’m not bossy. Just curious.”
Fighting the urge to fake nausea and dash for the restroom, I stared at the dancing bubbles in my champagne, wishing I could dive in and swim in all that loveliness.
He pushed my glass closer to me. “Come on. You’re stalling.”
I clutched the stem and heaved a sigh. “I don’t know where to start,” I grumbled.
“Okay then. I’ll ask the questions; you answer.”
Damn it! How did I let this happen? No more champagne, Daisy.
“Where were you born?”
“In Australia. Cairns, to be exact. Do you know it?”
“Is it near Sydney?”
“No. About a thousand miles north of there. ”
“Is it like the Gold Coast? Golden beaches and amazing nightlife?”
By the look in his eyes, glitzy nightclubs obviously appealed to him. “I don’t remember it. I was born there but we moved around a lot.”
He leaned back, clutching his beer. “How much is a lot?”
“I went to nineteen schools in twelve years.”
He whistled. “That is a lot. That must’ve been hard.”
I shrugged. “Didn’t know any different.”
“Your parents still together?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I haven’t seen my father since I was fourteen.”
“Shit.” He sucked air through his teeth. “What an asshole.”
I shrugged. Asshole was just the beginning of derogatory adjectives suitable for my father.
“So, did your mamma remarry?”
I tugged at an annoying curl near my eye. “Jeez, you’re nosey.”
“What? That’s not nosey. Wait till I start asking about your boyfriends.”
I shot him a glare that, by the way he jerked back, must’ve been a little over the top.
“Oooh, that hit a nerve. Now I’m really curious.”
“Not going there.” I clamped my jaw.
“Oh, come on. How bad can it be?”
I gulped my drink, and my mind flashed to an image of William. His gorgeous blond hair that he’d styled to perfection every day. His crystal blue eyes that could look right into my soul. His arms that, when wrapped around me, would make all my troubles go away.
Roman placed his hand on my forearm, lurching me back to the present. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”
The warmth of his skin and compassion in his expression surprised me. I stared at his cherry popsicle lips. They drew me in with a raw magnetism that I both loved and hated. If I hadn’t seen his behavior with the other women on our tour, I’d think he was flirting with me. Roman knew exactly how to engage with females. Then again, with four older sisters, he had plenty of practice.
He gently squeezed my arm. “What was his name?”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“We have another nineteen days together. Makes sense that we get to know each other. You can ask me anything.”
“Okay then. Tell me about your girlfriends.”
He huffed. “Not girlfriends. Girlfriend. Uno , just one.”
My brows shot up. “One?”
“ Si . My hometown is small. I was lucky there was even one.” He shrugged. “Caterina was always the girl for me. Then she wasn’t.”
The sadness in his eyes was so sudden my heart melted. “What happened?”
He clutched his beer as if praying for strength. “We were together fifteen years.”
“Fifteen! Bloody hell. How old are you?”
He chuckled. “I’m twenty-five. She was my neighbor. We were just always together.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged. “She had a fling with a tourist. The guy was married. Knocked me for a six. I thought I knew her, but . . .”
“You can never really know someone.”
He blinked at me. “ Si . Yes, you can.”
“No. It’s impossible.”
He tilted his head sideways, studying me. “He hurt you that bad, huh?”
“Who?”
“The man who stole your heart.”
Stole my heart. That was exactly what William had done. I twirled the stem of my glass. “Yeah. You could say that. ”
“What was his name?”
My chest squeezed. Even saying his name hurt. “William.”
“Okay, it’s your turn. How’d you meet William? Why did you break up?”
Oh, God. I took a large gulp of my drink, praying for liquid courage.
“You are stalling.”
“All right.” I waggled my head. “Bossy boots,” I mumbled. Inhaling a breath, I readied to tell a story that I hadn’t voiced since I’d shared it with Azalia during one very long pissy night on the cruise ship. “I met William at school.” I gave Roman a cheeky smile. “There, now you know.”
“Very funny. If you’re not careful, I will ask you my twenty questions.”
The champagne must be going to my head because Roman’s mischievous grin was totally cute, and my heart thumped a little bit faster. I cleared my throat. “Twenty questions?”
“Yeah, it is a trick I use to get people chatting. Ask a pile of questions and they don’t even know they’re talking.” He wriggled his eyebrows. “Trust me, you don’t want question five.”
“What’s question five?”
A playful smile curled on his lips. “You don’t want to know. Now come on, stop stalling.”
I knew how well the twenty questions theory worked. I’d been doing it myself since my school years. If I wasn’t careful, I’d be revealing all sorts of private stuff. I was not going to fall for that old trick. No way. Nuh-uh. No more champagne for me.
Pushing my glass away, I cleared my throat. “We met in senior year of school. In the library. He was looking at science books. I was looking for a good novel to read.”
“So, he was a disadattato . ”
“ Disadattato ?” I frowned, unable to translate.
“Oh. . . a geek.”
“What’s wrong with that?” I’d better not tell him about my love of reading and researching history.
“ Niente .” He flicked his hand. “Carry on.”
Pushing my glass farther away, I tried to formulate a response. The intensity in Roman’s eyes scared the hell out of me.
I had a terrible feeling Roman was going to wrangle every rotten secret out of me.