Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
T hirty-seven hours later, I dragged my suitcase into a hotel in London that was within walking distance of the Vacation Dreamz office and booked in for two nights. I showered, and although I was exhausted, I grabbed my bag and returned downstairs.
Within minutes, I was walking across my previous employer’s parking lot.
I pushed open the door.
“Daisy?” Tracy stood and came around the desk. “What’re you doing here? Is your mother okay?” She wrapped her arms around me and we hugged.
“Mother’s fine.”
“Oh, that’s such a relief.”
“I’ve come to ask a favor. May I have Roman’s phone number please? When Bruce took my phone off me, I lost all my contacts and?—”
“I don’t think so.” Bruce barked so loud both Tracy and I jumped.
I turned to him, shooting daggers with my eyes. “Pardon? ”
“We don’t give out private information.” The smirk on his face was hideous. He swaggered toward me, triumphant. “Don’t you remember our discussion?” He raised his eyebrows.
I wanted to kick him in the balls. The rotten bastard was using my own argument against me. “Bruce? Come on.”
He let out a ghastly breath. “It’s policy now.”
It took everything not to slap the smirk right off his face. “You’re a real bastard. You know that, don’t you?”
Tracy gasped and I stormed from the office.
It wasn’t until I reached my hotel that I arrived at an alternative plan. In four days’ time, it would be the first of December—Roman’s first day of tour. And I’d be there to meet him face-to-face. That was even better than calling him.
Elation drifted through me so beautifully, it was like I was dancing in a giant poppy field. I just had to kill a few days without going crazy with anticipation.
I started the countdown by ordering a giant feast for breakfast, and while I was waiting for it to arrive, I called Zali.
“You’re alive. Thank God. I was beginning to think you’d killed the bitch yourself and you were in jail or something.”
“Sorry, babe. I’ve got so much to tell you. I hope you have time.”
“I’ve got nothing but time.”
For the next hour, I told her everything from finding the newspaper and diamond necklace to me packing up Mother’s trailer, organizing her funeral, and the police charging her with obstructing justice.
“They should charge her with child abuse. How the hell could she choose her fucked up idea of what a family is over your safety? ”
“I know. She’s fucking nuts. But there’s something else. The police have confirmed that Robert wasn’t my father.”
“What? How’d they do that? A blood test or something.”
“Nope, ready for this?”
“I think so.”
“He was in jail when Mother had that fucking orgy.”
“Whaaaat?”
“Yep, he was halfway through a seven-year prison sentence for armed robbery.”
“Holy fuck. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“Me neither.”
“So that’s good news, right?”
“I guess so. I’ll never know who my father is, but I don’t care.”
“Good on you. So . . . what’re you going to do now?”
I giggled. “Guess?”
She squealed. “What? What?”
“You’ve gotta guess.”
“You’re going after Roman.”
“Sure am.”
“Fuck yeah!” She screamed with excitement. “When?”
I told her about arriving in London and what Bruce had done.
“I hope you kicked it out of him.”
“I wanted to. But I’ve got a better plan. I’ll be there when Roman arrives for work on the first of December.”
“Oh my god, that’s gold. It’s going to be like one of those corny romance movies where you cross the parking lot toward each other, arms out, tears spilling down your faces. I can so picture it.”
“You watch too much TV.”
“It’s so exciting. I wish I could be there, babe. I’m so happy for you. ”
“Thank you.”
“What are you going to do for three days?”
“Sleep.”
“I bet. You must be totally fucked after what you’ve been through.”
“Yeah, and my body clock is all over the place. I don’t know what the bloody time is.”
“So, go to your room, pull the curtains, take a sleeping tablet or get stuck into the mini bar, and knock yourself out for the rest of the day.”
I huffed. “That sounds perfect.”
“Oh, but hey, you know what you should do before you see Roman?”
Here we go. “What?”
“You should buy yourself a new dress. Something that’ll blow his mind.”
“Hmm. I like that idea.” I glanced at my hands. “Maybe I’ll get my nails done.”
“Oh, and get yourself a Brazilian.”
“What?” I burst out laughing.
“Babe, you gotta try it. Drives men wild.”
“Oh, it does, does it?”
“Well, it used to way back when I was actually getting some.”
I couldn’t stop the grin on my face. “I don’t think Roman cares what my bush looks like.”
“That’s true. But you two are gonna be fucking like rabbits in no time.”
“I hope so. But anyway, it’s not about the sex.”
“I know, babe. I know. Mom! Mom put the fish down. Gotta go. Mom’s trying to drink the fish water again. Love ya.”
I chuckled. “Love you too. ”
An hour later, after a long hot bath where I’d read thirty pages of a new romance novel and drank a cup of chamomile tea—and resisted the mini bar—I crawled into bed.
As I pictured running toward Roman in a pretty flowing dress and his eyes lighting up as I jumped into his arms, I allowed sleep to drag me into another glorious world.
Choosing a dress to wear when I greeted Roman was like trying to choose a prom dress. Or worse—my wedding dress. Not that I had firsthand knowledge of either.
On top of that, was the unpredictable London December weather.
Day after day, I strolled from shop to shop, suffering through incessant Christmas jingles. I finally settled on three dresses that covered all possible contingencies—including if, by some miracle, it was a sunny day. I got my nails done, bought new boots, and even trimmed my bush. Which, in reality, was a total waste of time. Because within minutes of seeing Roman again, I’d have to wave him off as he went on the next twenty-day tour.
Not once since I’d arrived in London had I considered that rotten fact.
Maybe he’d quit and the two of us would stroll off, hand in hand, into the distance together. I giggled at that silly thought. I really should branch away from romance books.
Nah.
I bounded out of bed at five o’clock on the first of December and tugged the curtains open. It was still pitch-black. Of course it was. The sun wouldn’t hit the city streets for another three hours. But at least it wasn’t raining.
In record time, I showered and dressed and went down to the restaurant for a coffee and light breakfast. But my greedy eyes had a different plan and I ate way more than I needed. Maybe I was a nervous eater or something because I devoured every single thing on my plate, including the double serve of scrambled eggs.
By the time I waddled back up to my room, I was seriously worried that I wouldn’t fit into my new dress.
I still had an hour to kill, so I took my time applying makeup and doing my hair in a way that pulled some of it back into a pretty little clip I’d bought yesterday.
Stepping into my navy wrap dress, I pushed my arms into the long sleeves and tied the belt around my waist. With my knee-high black boots and dangly gold earrings on, I stood in front of the mirror. My heart fluttered at how good I looked.
This was the perfect outfit to greet Roman in. The boots were sexy. The dress accentuated all my curves, and my jewelry tied the outfit together with a bit of spunk.
With a spring in my step, I rode the elevator down to the lobby and strode out into a glorious London sunrise. It was a weather miracle.
Now I just needed another miracle—Roman to be happy to see me.
I could barely breathe as I turned the corner and spied my bus parked in the Vacation Dreamz parking lot. Several backpackers were standing around their bulging suitcases. A woman with a clipboard was with them. Her uniform suggested she was probably my replacement.
My heart was a giant drum, its rapid beat matching my pace as I walked toward the group. The luggage hold was up, and I slowed my steps, ready to watch Roman’s stunning butt as he backed out of there.
But when I saw that butt, my heart thudded to a stop. It was not perfectly rounded or perfectly toned. It wasn’t any kind of perfect. It was flabby and large. No way was that Roman. When the man was fully out, the sun reflected off his balding scalp.
Forcing my feet to get moving again, I approached the pretty young staff member. “Hi. I’m Daisy.”
“Hi, Daisy. I’m Isabella. Nice to meet you.” She turned her attention to the clipboard, obviously assuming I was a passenger.
“Oh, sorry. I’m not with the group.”
“Oh. You’re not?”
“No, I, ahhh . . . I used to do your job. I was actually here to see Roman.”
“Roman? He resigned the other day.”
“Resigned?” My gut flipped. Of all the scenarios I’d played through my head, this was not one of them. “Do you know why?”
“No. But Bruce is so pissed at him.” She nodded toward the man I’d seen climb out of the luggage hold. “Bruce had to call on his brother to take this tour.”
Maybe that explained why Bruce was so angry with me.
But fucking hell. He could’ve at least told me Roman had resigned.
I’d hit a dead end.
The notion slapped me with such brutality a hive of bees exploded in my stomach. I had to get out of there. I needed to think. Offering a lopsided smile to the tour guide, I said, “Okay. Thank you. Good luck with the tour.” I turned on my heel and raced away like my ass was on fire.
But the second I was out of Vacation Dreamz parking lot, my legs became Jell-O. Walking was impossible. Thinking was excruciating.
Somehow, I made it back to my hotel.
I sat on the bed, staring at my pretty pink fingernails.
I’d lost him .
I’d flown eight thousand miles chasing love, and once again it was gone.
Now I had no home. No job. No family. No reason to get up every day. And no Roman.
On top of that, I had no idea what I was going to do next.
When I rang Zali, even she was lost for words.