Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
I lurched upright, blinking against the glare. Shit .
“Ahhh, sleeping beauty is awake.” Roman’s grin implied so much more than his words.
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth and smacked my lips together. Glancing out the window, I got my second shock in as many seconds. We were approaching Antibes. I’d slept for more than four hours. “Wow, I really zonked out.”
“Must have been all that exercise this morning.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “It was the champagne. I shouldn’t drink in the middle of the day.”
“Okay, if you say so.”
“I do say so.” I stood, grabbed the boxed macarons from the seat at my side, and headed up the aisle. Most passengers were fast asleep. I stopped at the ladies from the US.
“Can I tempt you with a macaron?” I held the multi-colored delicacies forward.
“Oh, yes please,” Angie said, and both her and Bronwyn helped themselves to one each.
“What did you think of Lyon?”
“It was lovely. I’m surprised I’ve never heard of it before,” Bronwyn said.
“You’re not alone,” I said. “I haven’t met many Americans who know of it.”
“That’d be right,” Bronwyn agreed. “Americans don’t tend to travel much.”
“True. I see more Australians than Americans.” Although the demographic breakup on this month’s tour was vastly different to that statistic. More than a quarter of the passengers were American. In all my tours, that was a first.
I continued up the aisle, chatting with each of the guests, and stopped before the men in the back row. “Hey guys, how’re you traveling?”
I offered the macarons and they each launched a hand into the box.
“What’re tonight’s plans?” Mike spoke with a mouthful of pink macaron.
Men are gross. “Tonight’s a free night. You can do whatever you want.”
“What do you suggest?” Mike’s stunning blue eyes captured me, and for a brief, stupid moment, I was convinced he liked what he saw.
I needed my head read. Guys like Mike weren’t interested in girls like me.
Dragging my gaze from Mike, I cleared my throat. “You guys will probably enjoy the casinos.”
“Shit yeah.” Anthony rubbed his hands as if rolling a pair of dice.
“There are a few casinos in Monaco, all offering something a little different. When I return to the front, I’ll explain the casino choices to everyone.” I glanced down at the seven remaining macarons. “Anyone want another one?”
All but Brett reached for another. Maybe with his wedding coming up, he felt the need to watch his weight. That was probably the only good thing about my body. For some reason, I’ve never had to worry about what I ate.
I strolled down the aisle and grabbed the microphone. “Okay, troublemakers, as you know, tonight is a free night. The rebels at the back were asking about the casinos.”
“Of course they were,” Tiffany said with a grin. Flicking her hair over her shoulder, she turned to glance at the back row, and Mike blew her a kiss. Tiffany was exactly the type of woman I could picture Mike with: sexy, blonde, tall, and a stunning hourglass figure. My prediction was that the two of them would hook up at some point during this tour.
I continued. “Monaco offers a few casino choices. The most iconic one is Monte Carlo. It was built in 1863, and the building is spectacular. If you’re interested, it’s the best place for celebrity spotting. But there’s a strict dress code. Men must wear jackets. You’ll need ID, and there’s also a ten-euros entry charge.”
“Fuck that.” Samson, the New Zealander, had a limited vocabulary.
“If that doesn’t appeal to you, Samson, there’s the Sun Casino. It’s an American-style casino with a much more casual atmosphere. No dress code or entry fee.”
“That’s more like it.” Samson grinned at Shamus, the Irishman at his side. I’d noticed that the two of them had been hanging out together since they’d met on the rooftop in Paris.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Why did I find making friends so hard?
I let loose a long, shaky breath and continued describing the other two casinos.
“Tomorrow, we leave at midday on the dot, so regardless of how bad your hangovers are, do not be late.” I aimed my glare at the boys in the back. I’d seen my share of Mikes who lost track of time in a casino and were still gambling at nine in the morning. The casinos were good at luring so-called lucky punters into a time warp with offers of free drinks, never-ending ‘winner’ jingles, and lighting that didn’t distinguish between day and night. “Mike, did you hear me?”
He palmed his chest. “Why you looking at me?”
Anthony clapped him on the back. “’Cause she’s got you figured out, dickhead.”
While I had their attention, I offered a few more interesting facts about Monaco.
When Roman drove into the hotel parking lot, I finished by reiterating tomorrow’s midday departure time and a threat that we’d leave anyone who missed it behind.
Of course, that was a lie. Like the army’s creed, we left no man behind. That little company policy had once cost me a full-day delay. But I’d never forget the gratitude from Rodger after I’d rescued him from jail. It was a good story though. Since then, every time we approached Rome, I always warned the tourists not to strip off and swim in the Trevi Fountain.
Thirty minutes later, the guests had disappeared to their rooms and Roman and I were the only ones left in the hotel lobby.
“So, Red, what are your plans for tonight?” His eyes gleamed.
I rolled my shoulders and huffed. “I think I’ll have an early?—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” He shook his head. “We need to capitalize on your new rebellious streak.”
“Oh, we do, do we?” I giggled.
“ Si . Let’s go to the casino. We will have drinks, lose some money.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”
Despite my numerous visits to Monaco, I’d never been to the most famous casino. The dress code had always been my problem. My suitcase full of sensible clothing did not cut it. But time was ticking. “All right, but only if it’s the Monte Carlo.”
“Of course. Only the best.” His grin was spectacular. “Meet here at seven-thirty?”
I checked my watch. That was only an hour away. If I was going to perform a wardrobe miracle, I needed more time. “I’ve got a few things to do first. How about I meet you at the casino at, say . . . nine?”
He squinted. “Don’t go standing me up, Red.”
“I won’t.” At least, I hoped I wouldn’t. Me and dress shopping were not friends. “I’ll text you when I’m there.”
We headed up the elevator together and when the doors dinged open at my floor, he said, “Don’t forget your ID.”
I grabbed my suitcase handle, ready to exit. “You know I don’t forget anything.”
“Then there’ll be no excuses.” His expression was a curious mix of hope and doubt, giving me the impression he didn’t expect me to show up.
“See you there at nine.” The doors closed and as I hustled to my room, I declared that I wasn’t just going to show up; I was going to show Roman a side of me he would never expect. Me dressed up to the max. As long as I can find a dress to fit me, that is.
I needed to get moving. After tossing my case onto the bed, I plucked my toiletries bag out and dove into the shower. I did the whole treatment—washed my hair, shaved my legs and under my arms, and I even trimmed my hedge to a neat triangle. That was something I hadn’t done in years.
I stepped from the shower, and as I ran a wide-tooth comb through my wet curls, wonderful images of Luca pranced around my brain. His naked body was something I’d be able to picture for the rest of my life. He was a masterpiece. But even better had been watching his eyes travel over my flesh. His expression: parted lips, wide pupils, complete reverence—that was something I’d never forget.
Eyes didn’t lie. Luca’s gaze confirmed he liked what he saw.
Stepping back from the basin, I flicked my hair over my shoulders and examined my reflection in the mirror. All I saw were breasts that were a thousand times out of proportion with the rest of my body. How on earth I got tits like this was a mystery.
Other than my parents, I’d never met any other relatives. So, I couldn’t even investigate if my melons were a throwback from a great-auntie or grandmother. Or maybe the gene came from my father’s side of the family. That, I’d never know.
I threw on jeans and a blouse, socks and sneakers, grabbed my backpack, and headed out. Flagging down a taxi, I directed him toward Fontvieille, the affordable shopping center I’d taken my tourists to many times. Twelve minutes later, I stopped outside a dress shop and my jaw dropped. The mannequin in the window was wearing the exact same dress I’d tried on in Paris. Was this destiny?
I strode into the shop, found it on the rack, and my eyes lit up. The price tag was just ninety-nine euros. I fetched my size and strode to the counter.
“You want to try it on?”
“No, thank you.”
She blinked at me. “Oh, our return policy?—”
“I won’t be returning it.”
“Okay then.” The concern on her face dropped and was replaced with a smile that radiated.
I matched her smile. I’d thought my dress shopping plans were destined for disaster.
Things were looking up. Time to find shoes.
There were no less than twenty-three shoe stores in Fontvieille. It took me four shops before I found a pair I was even willing to try on. The Brett Madden Carrson sandal had a block heel that was more my style, sturdy and practical. They fitted well and, to my surprise, they were comfortable. All I had to do was choose between black suede and nude.
Deciding It would be a more versatile color, I chose the nude.
I glanced at my watch. I’d completed my mission in record time and still had nearly two hours before I was due to meet Roman. I made a beeline for the exit but stopped at the sight of a hair salon with a big gold Oscar you obviously look after it. ”
“Oh.” I blinked at her, confused. “Thank you.” If she was being sarcastic, she concealed it very well. The only hair products I used were shampoo and conditioner, and even those were the cheapest ones I could find.
With a giant glob of clear liquid squished through my hair, she made a side part and manipulated the bulk of my hair into a loose braid that started at my left temple and finished below my right ear. It was obvious she loved her job; she ooh ed and aah ed through the whole process.
The braid kept the curls in check, and the hair that remained loose below the braid sat on my right shoulder and looked like intricate curls rather than my usual frizzy mess. With my jaw ajar, and my eyes hardly able to believe the result, I turned from side to side, admiring what Isabella had done. “Wow! That looks amazing.”
“You like it?” Beaming, she held a mirror so I could see the back.
“It’s fabulous.”
“I hope you’re going somewhere special tonight.”
“Yes, actually. I’m going to the Monte Carlo casino.”
She gasped and her delicate hand touched her chest. “Oh, I’d love to go there one day. Say, would you like me to do your makeup?”
I’d never had anyone do my makeup before, but after the miracle she’d performed on my hair, I agreed.
She spun me around, so I faced away from the mirror. That made me nervous.
Isabella was as delicate as she was assertive, applying liquids and powders with a variety of brushes. Mascara was applied three times, making my lashes feel heavy.
When she finally spun me back to the mirror. I gasped. “Oh my. Wow! My freckles are gone.”
My skin looked ivory. Flawless. The layers of green eyeshadow were subtle, yet they enhanced my green irises incredibly. Pierre’s comment about a woman hiding beneath a makeup fa?ade echoed into my mind. Was I hiding the real me? Yes. But I couldn’t deny I liked what I saw.
When I finally stopped ogling and stood, Isabella opened her arms and wrapped me in an embrace. It was pleasant and unexpected yet seemed genuine. It was one of the things I missed the most about William. His hugs were special, like the two of us were as one, solving all the problems of the world. Boy, did he have me fooled.
Slapping that thought away, I squeezed Isabella to my breasts. “Thank you.”
“You look beautiful. I hope you have an amazing night.”
“I will.”
I left the salon feeling like a new woman. I had a skip in my step and for some inexplicable reason, I felt taller. I couldn’t wait to see Roman’s reaction when he saw me.
What was I thinking? By the time I saw Roman at the casino, he’d probably be surrounded by beautiful women, drooling for his attention. I’d be barely a blip on his radar.
Now I really hope I get his attention.
Jesus, I have totally lost the plot.
Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder highlighted another problem. My backpack was the pride and joy of my accessory collection. But it wouldn’t do for tonight. Not with my sexy new dress and stylish shoes. I needed a cute handbag to carry my passport and cash.
There were nearly as many accessory stores as there were shoe stores in Fontvieille. I went into the first shop I came across. My dress was black with a long gold zipper down the front and my shoes were nude. With that combination, I had absolutely no clue as to what color my bag should be.
The young girl at the counter was picking at her fingernails. “Excuse me, can you help me please?”
As she arrived at my side, her potent perfume just about bowled me over. Stepping back, I showed her my dress and shoes. “I’d like to buy a bag, but I’m not sure what color I should choose.”
“Oh, easy.” She directed me to a gold clutch on the side wall and thrust it forward like she’d found the holy grail.
“Gold?” Her suggested clutch featured sleek filigree stripes, a simple latch, and a gold chain for the strap. It was elegant. Fancy. Like nothing I’d ever owned.
Was I going too far over the top?
I was. But couldn’t find anything wrong with that either.
I must’ve been completely off guard today because not only did the over-scented girl talk me into the clutch, but by the time I’d left the store, I also had my first collection of costume jewelry, an elegant pair of gold dangling earrings, and a filigree gold bangle that I could bend to the shape of my wrist.
The first piece of jewelry I ever owned came from Mother. For my tenth birthday, she’d insisted I have my ears pierced. “Hitting the double digits,” she’d said. “Time to dress like a woman.” The tiny heart studs she’d bought for me were beautiful, but every time she reminded me of just how much the earrings had cost her, I disliked them just that little bit more.
At the taxi rank, I jumped into the back seat of the first available car and gave the driver my hotel address. My new cuff bangle shimmered at the top of one of the bags. I pulled off the price tag and hooked it over my wrist. I loved how it molded to my skin, fitting perfectly.
Admiring the smooth gold against my pale skin, my mind skipped to the second piece of jewelry I’d ever owned . . . my engagement ring. William’s proposal was probably the most unromantic in the history of proposals. We were shopping for work shoes for him, and I’d paused to look in the window of a jewelry shop .
I blinked at my bangle, studying the tiny leaf pattern.
For some reason, I couldn’t remember what had happened next. I searched my mind, trying to piece it together. One minute, we were looking in the window—next minute, I had the cheapest diamond ring the shop offered on my wedding finger.
I stopped fiddling with the bangle. My heart thundered in my chest. With dread inching up my back, I clawed through a decade of memory.
Oh my god. I had zero recollection of William actually asking me to marry him.
We didn’t have a party. And there was no grand announcement to his parents.
My chest squeezed. All this time, I’d twisted our engagement into something that’d happened only in my mind. William hadn’t proposed. He’d never specifically said those four precious words: ‘Will you marry me?’
The brutal reality struck like a thousand stinging wasps. Could this be true?
He’d put the ring on my wedding finger, for God’s sake. But it was me who’d called it an engagement ring right from the moment I’d kissed his cheek in the jewelry store and thanked him.
He knew how I felt. He had to have.
I tried to swallow. The pit of my stomach burned.
I’d been living one huge lie. We both did. Lies on top of lies.
The taxi’s foul odors of stale cigarette and dirty vinyl closed in, smothering me.
The day William had obliterated our beautiful seven-year relationship by reducing it to one massive lie, I’d yanked the ring off and thrown it at him. He’d plucked it from the vinyl floor and slipped it into his pocket. I never saw it again.
Nausea curled around my stomach like an evil ghost. That was what William was—an evil ghost. Haunting me with memories that twisted and turned and came back completely different.
I didn’t want to think of him anymore. I hated him.
My fingers trembled. I couldn’t breathe.
It was the first time I’d thought of him like that.
With hatred.