Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
T he next day, as the glorious sunshine bounced off the distant snowcapped mountain and beamed in through my half-open curtain, two things happened. Both were not good.
The first one was that my fucking period started taking over my insides like an approaching Armageddon.
The second was another text message from Mother.
It had just five words . . .
Come home. I need you
Her text was ironic, given that when I had left home at the age of seventeen, not once did she ask me to come home.
Yet my guilt over choosing to stay in Europe rather than going to her side ate me up, like little, tiny mice, nibbling, nibbling at my fortitude. Not a day went by when I didn’t debate over my decision.
But then I’d think about the woman I was troubled over. My supposed mother who treated me like a stray cat and only fed me when she was feeding herself. I was always a thorn in her side and knew it from a very early age. The best thing that ever happened to her was me moving out with William. Now she wants me back.
Grrrr.
Rolling out of bed, my fanny flaps felt like surfboards as I waddled to the restroom. I showered and washed my hair, but my hope of coming out refreshed and ready for a day exploring Jungfrau obliterated the second I sat down to put my shoes on.
My uterus was having its very own heavyweight boxing match. Compared to some of the stories I’d heard over the years, my usual monthly cycle was comparatively uneventful.
Not this month. It was making up for sixteen years of playing nice.
At any moment, my uterus was going to break free and eject through my vagina. The pain was worse than my previous cycles.
Maybe my recent sexual activity had something to do with it?
It was a ridiculous connection. But despite the fact that I was about to turn thirty, and my body clock was supposedly ticking, I couldn’t attribute the unprecedented agony to any other cause.
My brain was scrambled, too, as I tried to predict how my day was going to play out.
Roman had convinced me that we should check out one of the hiking trails on the mountain today. But if my vagina swelled any more, they’d need to remove the doors on the cable car just to get me up the mountain. And if my torture continued, walking along the track, no matter how hot my company was, was the last thing I wanted on my agenda.
Trouble was, whilst I didn’t want Roman to think I was avoiding him, I sure as hell didn’t want to explain my misbehaving girly bits either.
I was fucked .
Forcing myself, I got up and told myself to get my sorry ass to breakfast. My throbbing vagina was the size of a football as I lugged it and me down the narrow stairs.
Entering the restaurant, it was like the entire nation had crammed into the room for the buffet breakfast. My smile probably looked more like a grimace as I wobbled my way around the tables, greeting everyone and confirming they’d had a good night.
By some of their glassy eyes and obvious hangovers, I’d say they had. According to the noise I heard in the middle of the bloody night, quite a few had stayed at the bar until it closed. I had no idea how they could even be here after that mammoth effort.
With thirty young tourists as hungry as rabid teenagers, breakfast was chaos in the tiny restaurant.
I spied Roman, and his face lit up and he waved me over. Walking like I’d ridden up the mountain on a horse, I weaved around my tourists toward him.
“Hey, Dais. I thought you were going to pike on me.” He patted the empty chair at his side.
“Pfft. Never.” I feigned shock as I eased myself gently onto the seat.
“It’s going to be great. I checked the weather—it’s a perfect day.”
My jaw dropped. “You checked the weather? You never check the weather.”
His grin grew to spectacular. “Ha-ha. Not for work. But always for play.”
Play? Hiking a mountain was not my idea of play. Then again, I’d never tried it. Nor did I really have a list of things I constituted as play, unless it was without clothes on, of course—then there were lots to play with. Not that I’d do that with Roman. Nope. Nu-huh.
Sharing a table, we ate breakfast. That meant a massive feast for him—eggs, bacon, pancakes—but as much as I tried to eat, given the amount of exercise I predicted I’d be doing today, my churning insides couldn’t handle any more than a slice of toast with honey.
“You okay?” Roman nodded at my plate.
“Yeah. Not hungry. Still digesting that cheese fondue from last night.” The meal we’d been served at dinner was a must-have specialty in Switzerland. Three melted cheeses mixed with wine and a few delicate spices was my idea of heaven on a plate.
Add in some specially home-baked herb and garlic bread with a crispy crust, and I’d only stopped eating when I had to undo the button on my jeans.
Maybe that was the real reason behind my stomachache.
Roman drained his coffee and plonked his cup down. “Okay, shall we get going?”
“Sure. Let me brush my teeth and grab a few things, and I’ll meet you in the lobby in . . .” I glanced at my watch. It was only just seven o’clock. “. . . ten minutes.”
It was going to take me forever just to drag my vagina up to my room.
Right on time, I lobbed down the steps and smiled at the sound of Roman’s hearty laughter. A group of girls giggled with him.
I turned the corner and my stomach dropped. The giggling girls were all dressed for exercise. From the way they were standing in a semicircle around him and looking up at him like he was Brad Pitt, my lovely hike with just me and Roman had morphed into a battle for his attention.
“Here she is.” Roman beamed at me.
I crossed the carpet, forcing my legs to walk normally and not like I had a watermelon between them. Shaking off my disappointment, I said, “Hey, guys, what’s happening? ”
“I asked them to come along with us. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not.” I flashed a smile that I hoped reflected my words.
“Great. Let’s get going.” Roman opened the door and the six women and I strolled out into the crisp mountain air.
Roman stepped up beside me, rubbing his hands against the cold. “So, have you done this before?”
“Nope. This will be my first time.”
“Oh, good. Then it will be another new thing we get to do together.”
When he smiled down at me with that little sister look that I’d come to love, my heart fluttered. I inhaled his cologne, and my mind swam with the gloriousness of it. I’d be happy to breathe him in all day.
Oh, God, Daisy. Stop.
I had enough problems just trying to walk.
At the top of the street, the eight of us climbed into the cable car and wedged into the seats, four on one side, four on the other. Roman sat opposite me, between Belinda and Laura.
I was surrounded by beauty. Every single one of the women was stunning. Maybe it was the crisp mountain air that gave them all flushed cheeks. Or the knitted beanies with fluffy pom-poms that projected cute and sexy at the same time.
Then again, it could be that all of them were young and vibrant and gorgeous tourists with their whole lives ahead of them.
And then there was Roman. Mr. Perfect, attracting all their attention like he was sitting there naked with a raging hard-on.
Fuck me.
I have lost my mind .
Between the women and Roman, the conversation bounced from one thing to the next and it was impossible not to get caught up in their excited banter. We talked about our favorite James Bond actor. Daniel Craig for all the ladies, Halle Berry for Roman.
As the cable car cruised higher up the mountain, I even forgot about my throbbing uterus for a while.
But, boy oh boy, once we’d stepped out, each step toward the plaque marking the beginning of the hiking track had my uterus reminding me that it was there, and it was not happy.
The six ladies strode ahead of us, leaving Roman and me to bring up the rear.
“Hey, are you okay?” Roman placed his hand on the small of my back.
“Yes. Yes. Why?”
“Oh, you seem a bit off. Is it because I asked them to join us?” He flicked his hand toward the women who were already nearing the first bend in the track.
“No. Of course not. I have a little stomachache. That’s all.”
A frown drilled across his brow. “Oh, do you want to stop?”
“No. No. I’ll be fine. This’ll be good for me.” I nodded at the mountain ranges around us, all topped with snow and looking every bit picture-postcard perfect.
“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind and I’ll return with you.” His eyes captured mine, making me believe he’d follow me to the end of the earth and back again just to ensure I was safe.
My heart swooned. “I will.”
If I was in a romance novel, Roman would’ve just added another page.
He tapped my shoulder and stepped on ahead, placing me in the ideal position to watch the bulge and flex of his nicely toned bottom .
With the rolling green fields below and the snowcapped surrounds, it was easy to imagine that we’d stepped onto the set of The Sound of Music .
I breathed in the crisp air and tried to be in the moment. A moment where my scenery was spectacular—the mountain ranges, the beautiful blue sky, and Roman’s sexy butt.
Despite my throbbing loins, I was enjoying myself. The trek wasn’t arduous as the incline was subtle and it was well marked, so I didn’t have to worry about losing any of the women.
Every once in a while, Roman would turn and smile at me, as if checking to see that I hadn’t tumbled off the cliff that was barely three feet to our right. I’d nod and smile, and although I told myself he was probably checking on all the women in our party, his actions made me feel like I could float on air.
Why did he have that power over me?
The power to make me feel special when clearly it wasn’t just me—he made everyone feel special.
A crazy thought rolled into me like a crashing wave.
Was I falling in love?
My brain skidded to a halt. Oh. My. Fucking. God.
What the hell was wrong with me?
Forcing my thoughts off their perilous overload, I convinced my body to keep moving by mentally listing why that was absolutely not even in the realms of possibility.
First and foremost, there was no such thing as love.
Second, I was like a little sister to him. A na?ve little sister who needed looking after, even though I was older.
That was another very important point. I was much older than him. I should be at that age where my affairs are sorted. My finances. My career. What country I was going to settle down in. Grrr. He wanted to dance and party all night long .
Roman and I were just friends. Good friends, I’d admit, but nothing more.
Besides, the two of us together? That was a joke. Mr. Hotter Than Hot and Miss Freakier Than a Freak?
Nope. Nada.
My uterus twisted like it’d been stabbed with a pitchfork, and I must’ve groaned or something because Roman spun to me with a look of concern that could soften even the hardest criminal. “You okay?”
I sucked in a deep breath. “Yep. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He tilted his head to the side, giving me that sisterly look. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m okay. Really.”
His intense gaze remained on me for just a fraction too long, igniting a flicker of something inside me that I couldn’t pinpoint—security maybe, or longing.
“Okay, but let me know if it gets too much.” When he dragged his eyes away, that flickering flame was going to be almost impossible to snuff out.
It was mid-afternoon when we finally returned to the chalet and leaving Roman and the ladies to celebrate ‘a successful climb’ as Roman had announced once we’d reached the cable car again, I dragged my sorry ass straight to my room.
I stripped out of my shoes and socks, unclipped my bra, and eased my aching body onto the bed. Curling onto my side, I tugged my knees up, desperate for a position to alleviate the pain.
“Hey, Dais, are you okay?” Despite being outside my door, Roman’s voice oozed compassion.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
“May I come in? ”
The vise around my uterus clenched so tight I groaned.
When the door cracked open, I cursed myself for not locking it.
Roman poked his head through the gap, and the worry in his expression amplified the kindness of him being there. “Sorry, but I needed to check you’re okay?”
Cringing, I shook my head. “Just an upset tummy. That’s all.”
He shut the door and sidled up to the bed. “Did you eat something bad?”
“No, nothing like that.”
He touched my forehead, and I just about wept at the comfort in his touch. “You don’t have a fever.”
That surprised me because I felt like a furnace had set up camp in my belly. “I’ll be okay. I just need some rest.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand on my thigh. “Right, here’s what I’m going to do. I’ll make sure everyone is okay downstairs, then I’m going to bring you up something small to eat?—”
“I’m fine?—”
“Shush.” He patted my leg, and although he offered a small smile, I didn’t miss the turmoil on his face. “You haven’t been yourself all day. I can see the pain in your eyes.”
My uterus responded with a cramp that could trigger an avalanche. Wincing at the agony, another groan tumbled from my throat. I cursed my body for the millionth time.
“Oh, jeez.” He rubbed my thigh. “Have you had any painkillers?”
I shook my head.
“I’ll track some down.”
I thought a bottle of tequila would do the trick—forty percent alcohol should be enough to dull the throb. And numb myself enough to stop my misinterpretations of Roman’s actions .
“While I’m downstairs, have a hot shower and get into something comfortable.”
“I am comfortable.”
“Get into your pajamas then.”
I groaned.
“That’s an order.”
“Hey.” I dropped my lower lip in an exaggerated sad face. “When did you get so bossy?”
“When I became your wingman. Now do as you’re told. I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, and you don’t want me to catch you in the shower, do you?”
Hmmm, well . . . maybe. Especially if he hopped in with me and rubbed my back like he was doing now.
Stop it, Daisy.
I reluctantly grumbled an okay.
Roman leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “See you soon.”
Once he’d shut the door behind him, I rolled out of bed. Just standing had the throbbing between my legs hitting supersonic proportions. My old woman moniker was appropriate as I waddled hunched over to the bathroom, stripped off, and stepped into the shower. The warm cascade did very little to ease my cramping and the long, hot shower I’d envisaged diminished to a quick five-minute wash.
When I tugged on my cotton, elastic-waisted shorts and the ABBA T-shirt that served as my nightshirt, I cursed myself for not thinking to update my bedroom attire when I purchased my new lingerie. Embarrassment engulfed me as I imagined Roman’s reaction to my frumpy pajamas. Then again, he probably wouldn’t care.
Shaking off the foolishness, I crawled back to bed and tugged the sheet up under my chin.
I was riding out another nauseating cramp when Roman knocked once and pushed the door open. He led his entrance with a bottle of champagne.
My pain slipped to the background of my mind as I pushed higher on my pillow. “Oh, yay.”
“I thought that would cheer you up.” His grin lit my room as he placed the bottle on my side table, along with an ice bucket containing two champagne glasses. “Back in a sec.” He went outside and returned seconds later with a tray topped with two steaming bowls, a basket of bread, cutlery, and napkins. “Now I know you have to be hungry, ’cause you haven’t eaten all day. So, I don’t want to hear otherwise.”
The smell alone had my stomach growling. My last meal had been the slice of toast with honey I’d half-eaten at breakfast. “That smells yummy.”
“Good. It’s my Pappa al Pomodoro .”
My jaw fell open. “You cooked?”
“ Sì , I cooked. Why does that shock you?”
“Sorry, I know you can cook. It’s just . . .” I blinked at him. “You did that for me?”
“Of course.” He shifted a bowl from the tray to the table and glanced at me. “That’s what friends are for.”
I had a feeling he wanted to say more, so I waited. But as a frown rippled his forehead, he turned back to the meals. “I know you like a little spice, but I toned it down a bit, just in case it upset your stomach even more. Are you feeling better?” The sincerity in his eyes had my heart swelling.
“Yes, you always make me feel better. And champagne.” But it was something else in his eyes that made me pause. Compassion. Loyalty. Sisterly love. Whenever I was in his company, I felt different. Complete. Like he made my world whole. No man had ever made me feel like that.
Again, his gaze lingered on me just a touch too long, giving me the impression he wanted to ask a burning question. His expression indicated it was something troubling. Yet he held back.
“What?” I clenched my jaw, ignoring the sucker punch in my gut.
“Nothing.”
“Hmmm. You know how you always say that I can tell you anything?”
He nodded with a wry smile. “You can. Anything.”
“Well, the same goes for you, Roman. You can talk to me about anything.”
His smile morphed into a frown. “I do. Always.”
“Okay . . . in that case, just a moment ago, when you were putting those dishes out, I could tell there was something you wanted to tell me. But you resisted.”
He shook his head and returned his attention to removing the cork from the champagne.
“Come on. You always make me tell you my secrets.”
He looked at me, really, truly looked at me, and at first, I thought he was stalling, but the intensity in his gaze told me he was preparing to say something that had my insides clenching.
I cocked my head. “Come on. Tell me.”
“It’s just . . . I’m really proud of you.”
“What?” I blinked at him. “Why?”
“’Cause I could tell that was really hard for you today, yet you pushed on.”
“I had a great time.”
He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Maybe. But I know you only did it to please me. Si ?”
My shoulders slumped. “Not just you, Roman. I’m running out of days in Europe. I need to make every day count.”
Pouring our drinks, a complicated expression wobbled across his face. “I can’t believe you have to leave. I enjoy doing things with you.”
My jaw fell open and if it were possible, my tongue would’ve hit the floor. But the butterflies in my stomach did the most delightful dance. The way he’d said those lovely words, with a deep throaty tone laced with sincerity, had me believing him. I curled a loose hair behind my ear and wincing, dragged my knees up higher. “You’re sweet.”
“I mean it, Daisy. You’re fun even when you are sick.”
Every single trouble in my world vanished with his compliment. His gaze flitted between my eyes and my lips. Could he be interested in me? Roman always made me feel special, and his praise took me to a whole new world, but was I more than just a pretend little sister who needed some brotherly love?
Chewing on my bottom lip, I studied my handsome nurse as he set the tiny table and folded the napkins under the cutlery. His hands were perfect. Not too big and overgrown with hairs like some of the Italian men I’d met, and not too small and effeminate like William’s had been.
The unwelcome image of William’s hands was obliterated when Roman tasted the soup. His eyes rolled back with obvious delight and the way his tongue licked the spoon had my mind bouncing to something he could do with that tongue that would make all my pain go away.
Gah. I have seriously lost the plot.
I needed to stop this craziness before I did something totally stupid like try to kiss him again. The boxing match in my abdomen came to my rescue, providing the ideal, albeit painful distraction. Curling forward, I sucked air in through my teeth in a lame attempt to combat the pain.
“Oh, jeez, Daisy. Do you want me to find a doctor?”
The concern in his expression had me feeling awful for not being truthful. I huffed out a sigh. “I’m not exactly sick.” I dragged my eyes away. “It’s ummm . . . it’s just that time of the month.”
“Oh. Well, in that case . . .” He slapped his hands together. “. . . I should have added more spice to my Pappa al Pomodoro.”
“Maybe.” I huffed and chuckled at the same time, grateful to shift the conversation in a direction that didn’t have me thinking of the medicinal benefits of his tongue. “And bought two bottles of bubbles.”
“That can be arranged.” Laughing, he strolled toward the bed. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”
Clutching his hand, I rolled my legs over the side of the bed and stood. The pain in my insides had me bending over and waddling to the table like some of the elderly women I’d seen walking the cobblestoned streets of Italy’s ancient, fortified towns.
Roman pulled a chair out, helped me to sit, and adjusted the plate in front of me.
I’d tasted this dish a few times in my travels, but none looked as thick or as luscious as this one. I leaned over the bowl and inhaled. My mouth salivated at the heavenly scent. “This smells delicious.”
He sat opposite and collected his spoon. His eyes danced from mine to the bowl and his brows inched up. “Taste it.”
Roman was waiting for my reaction to his cooking, and I felt like it was some kind of test. I spooned a mouthful onto my tongue. The flavor was incredible. Pappa al Pomodoro was a Tuscan bread soup. The secret to this recipe was very ripe tomatoes, day-old Tuscan bread, and subtle spices. Roman’s version was perfect. “Oh, wow. This is incredible.”
His smile radiated through his dark beard.
I ate some more and meant every appreciative moan I made. “It’s so good.” Dabbing the napkin to my lips, I reached for my champagne.
“I’m glad you like it. It’s Mamma’s recipe. ”
“You’re so lucky. My parents never taught me anything about cooking.” My gut cramped so hard; I pictured my rotten mother with a voodoo doll of me that she was shoving needles into.
Roman reached over and placed his hand over mine. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’ve never seen you like this before.” The tenderness in his touch nearly brought me to tears.
“No, I’ve never been this bad. Not sure what’s going on.”
“I know exactly what you need.”
My mind flashed to us getting naked and him spooning me until all the pain went away. The visual shocked and delighted me with equal intensity. I cleared my throat. “What?”
“A distraction.”
The dazzle in his eyes had me clutching the stem of my glass, ready to gulp down some liquid courage. “Like what?”
“Well . . . you’ve never told me about growing up or your family. I’d love to hear about them. Now seems like the perfect opportunity.”
“Oh, jeez.” Bloody hell. His idea of distraction and mine were a billion miles apart. I gulped down the delicate bubbles, praying for a miracle. “You don’t want to hear about that.”
“ Sì . I do.” He opened his hands as if inviting me in. “You know all about my family, yet you never talk about yours.”
“And there’s a good reason for that.”
He frowned at me like I had a toothpick in my eye. “Come on. How bad can it be?”
Scooping up more of his delicious soup, I pondered how to put it lightly that bad barely began to describe my childhood. Huffing, I rolled my eyes. “It’s boring for starters.”
“I bet it’s not.” He refilled my glass.
“We’re going to need another bottle.”
“That can also be arranged. ”
I groaned, not from my stupid period pains this time. The last thing I wanted to do was poison our delicious meal with stories from my messed-up childhood.
But Roman wouldn’t give in. I was his captive. The more we ate, the more he pleaded. Dipping the soft bread into the rich soup, I watched it absorb the luscious red liquid and wished he’d change the subject. But at the same time, I wasn’t that terrified about telling him. I was more annoyed that it would ruin this perfect meal.
It surprised me that I was okay to tell him more about my childhood. It was like I was always destined to have this moment, and I was almost relieved that it had finally arrived. Roman had a gift for divulging secrets, yet I couldn’t believe I was about to reveal one of my biggest.
I heaved a huge sigh and with it went the last barrier of my resistance.