Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the glare and groaning at the pounding in my head. My tongue was stiff and furry and tasted like rotten milk. I rolled it around my mouth, smacking my lips and trying to produce saliva, but it was useless. Blinking against the sunshine streaming through the open window, I scanned the room.
It was a couple of thumping heartbeats before I remembered where the hell I was. When I glanced down at the ruffles of red satin strangling my legs, all the sordid details from yesterday crashed through my brain like an avalanche. Everything from my lovely hot tub and the weird Count Frederik to my fucking crazy squishing of my naked breasts to Roman’s chest.
I wanted to die or vomit. Either was appropriate.
When I finally rolled to a sitting position, a wave of acid rolled in my stomach and shot up my esophagus. Clutching at the silky fabric around my legs, I raced to the bathroom, flipped the toilet lid, and hurled into the bowl. Over and over, I heaved .
A thumping headache started at the base of my neck and ended as an agonizing beat behind my eyelids.
It was an eternity before my stomach was completely empty and I could convince my body to get up from the floor. I dragged myself to the sink and looked into the mirror. My bloodshot eyes had me wanting to vomit all over again.
I heaved a massive sigh. “What have you done?”
Roman must’ve thought I’d lost my fucking mind.
I have lost my fucking mind.
My makeup perfection from last night had morphed into a bad Halloween joke. I groaned. I didn’t have makeup remover.
But that was the least of my problems.
I’ll never be able to look Roman in the eyes again.
I dragged my body to the antique dresser beside my bed, checked the time on my watch. It was nine-forty.
“Oh fuck!”
Our scheduled departure was ten minutes ago.
In a mammoth frenzy, I undressed, dashed to the bathroom and turned the shower faucet to full. During the excruciatingly long minutes waiting for the hot water to arrive, I replayed my boob squish with Roman over and over.
It was like a bad-taste meme on repeat.
Mountains of wobbling flesh shoved into his rock-hard abs . . . squish.
Followed by his bulging eyes.
Wobbling flesh. Squished boobs. Bulging eyes.
Only it wasn’t a meme—it was fucking real. Oh, God.
The urge to throw up again diminished when the hot water finally spluttered to life.
I jumped in, and as I scrubbed at the remnants of makeup, my stomach bucked and rolled from both my abundant alcohol consumption and my unadulterated horror over my behavior with Roman. No, not with Roman— toward Roman. It was obvious he hadn’t wanted a part of it.
Of me. Of my fucking ugly tits.
I drank the warm water, trying to expunge the vile taste from my tongue. My mind suddenly slammed to a memory that I’d fought hard to forget. But I couldn’t.
It was the first time I’d experienced a crippling hangover—the morning after William had told me he was gay. The night before, he’d made me sit on the sofa, and after pacing across the room a few times, he’d fallen to his knees at my feet.
With the distress in his eyes and his uncontrollable sobbing, I’d thought he was going to tell me he had a terminal illness or that he’d accidentally robbed a bank or something.
But as he’d poured out his hurtful secret with tears streaming down his face, I, being the stupid fucking na?ve idiot that I was, had actually felt so sorry for him that I’d hugged him to my chest and wished I could do or say something that would take away all his pain.
But eventually, he’d pulled back, and while wiping his bloodshot eyes, he’d thanked me for my understanding.
Thanked me! Like I’d forgiven him.
I didn’t fucking understand enough to forgive him. We’d been a couple. In love. Engaged to be married forever and eternity. Apparently not. A volatile burst of outrage had hit me like a Mack truck. I slapped his face. Hard. I’d yelled and screamed and thrown things at him and swore like I was tripping on a drug-induced high.
Then I’d drowned my heartache with a bottle of Jack and a bucket of chicken wings and had eventually passed out alone on my kitchen floor. The next day was Valentine’s Day. But instead of the romantic dinner I’d planned with him at the local Chinese restaurant, I’d had my own private apocalypse instead.
Vomiting and crying until I fell asleep.
It was nearly three days before I’d felt normal again.
Well, as normal as anyone could be when they found out their seven-year relationship had been a total fucking lie.
Ironically, that hadn’t even been the worst moment of my life.
Casting the rotten memories aside, I scrubbed my face with my hands and soap again. Aware that time was my enemy, I stepped from the shower and toweled off. A glance in the mirror had me gasping. I’d made it worse.
Hideous black smudges rimmed my eyes like I’d been pummeled to near death in a boxing bout. That was how I felt too. The whites of my eyes were a ghastly blend of pallid yellow and erratic red spider veins. I looked like I’d ingested a mind-altering drug that I was allergic to.
With wads of wet toilet paper, I scrubbed some more. By the time I gave up, I still looked like shit, and now my eyes weren’t just smudged with black mascara and bloodshot, but they were also red and puffy.
I needed a double shot of coffee. And a new brain.
A knock on the door made me clutch my hands over my boobs like an idiot.
“ Buongiorno , Daisy, are you awake? It’s me, Roman.”
Faarrrk. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m coming. I’ll be out soon.”
“Okay. We are all onboard the bus.”
“Yep, coming.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I pulled on the first clothes I got my hands on: khaki green chinos and a blue-and-white-striped shirt, and as much as it appalled me, I tugged on my ruby Del Rey sneakers without socks. I shoved the rest of my gear into my case, and upon seeing the red satin dress in a crumpled heap on the floor, I gathered it up and laid the period costume out on the bed. Hopefully Nina would forgive me for not returning it to the laundry room.
After one last glance around, I grabbed my case, pulled open the door, and ran straight into Roman’s chest. “Jesus, what’re you doing?” I blinked at him.
“Waiting for you.” His grin was ridiculous.
“Well, I’m here now.”
He reached around and plucked my case handle from my hand. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Yep. All good.” Though my pounding head was a million miles from fine or good. “Sorry I’m late.” I spun around and trotted off ahead of him.
“I was only asking because you were very, ummm, happy last night.”
Ignoring the agony in my brain, I strode down the stairs, a woman on a mission. “It was a great night.”
“ Si , it was.”
I picked up my pace at the bottom of the stairs and dashed for the exit.
“Especially at the end.”
Oh, God. I halted and spun to him. Roman stopped an inch from slamming into me. “Look, I’m sorry about that.”
“I am not.” A mischievous grin curled on his lips.
My head pounded, my eyes burned, and my chest heaved from all that striding, yet I was painfully aware of the excited little butterflies dancing in my stomach. Which was totally fucking absurd.
Roman was not interested in me.
I was four years older than him. Four! I was an old woman in his eyes.
My newfound libido was screwing up twenty-nine years of wisdom. Without any idea what to say I just rolled my eyes, spun back around, and dashed for the exit .
My sprint for the bus was met with stares from the passengers on board, and I tried to ignore them as I aimed for the door. For some inexplicable reason, I paused at the steps and glanced up to the top windows of the keep, and there, half hidden in the shadows, was Count Frederik. He raised his hand and blew me a kiss. My jaw dropped. What the hell?
Flustered barely even described what I was feeling as I turned from him and climbed aboard the bus.
After clearing my throat, I reached for the microphone and knelt on my chair to face the tour group. “Good morning, everyone. I trust you enjoyed your stay at Thorsteinn Castle?”
My question was answered with a boisterous cheer that shot straight through my tortured eyes and into my pounding brain like it had been blasted from a canon. I sucked in a wobbly breath, clutched the seat, and prayed my mind and mouth kept it together.
Roman climbed into the driver’s seat, and within seconds we left the central courtyard, rolled over the drawbridge, and began heading down the mountain. In an attempt to avoid chatting with Roman, I intended to inform the guests about our next destination. But with each winding turn in the downhill run, I grew more and more queasy. Clutching the seat back, I sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to settle my stomach.
This isn’t good.
Turning to the front, I hooked up the microphone and slipped onto the seat. My eyes were having trouble focusing on the road but closing them was worse. My stomach did a flip, and I must’ve groaned or something because Roman spun to me.
“Hey, you okay?”
I nodded and attempted a smile, but it wasn’t easy while I was gasping for air.
“You need me to pull over?”
I shook my head, then quickly nodded as a blaze of acid raced through my belly. Roman yanked the steering wheel, skidded to a halt and pressed the button to open the door. I jumped out and barely made it off the step before I hurled.
A soft palm on my back confirmed Roman had joined me. Flicking my hand, I tried to shoo him away.
“Okay, take it easy.” He rubbed my back and spoke in soft tones that only made it worse.
Embarrassment engulfed me like a tsunami, and I was tempted to run and jump off the cliff that was barely ten feet away.
Fortunately, I’d already cleared my stomach, and my situation was over within seconds. I stood, wiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
“Better?” The concern drilled into his honey eyes had me fighting a quiver in my chin.
I nodded. “I guess so.”
“Come on. Let’s see if we can find you some food.”
I huffed. “And coffee.”
“ Si , caffè and food.”
“Strong coffee. A double shot.”
“Got it—large double-shot caffè coming up, with food. Come on.” He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to my seat. Before he sat, he grabbed the microphone. “Sorry about that, everyone. Daisy sometimes gets travel sickness on the way down this hill.”
He hooked up the microphone, jumped into his seat, and when he turned to me, he winked, offering the most reassuring smile ever.
His kindness made my heart cry.
I turned to the window and tried to replace visions of my boob-squish incident with Roman with more pleasant images like a perfect cappuccino or a blueberry and white chocolate friand.
I also prayed that Roman would forgive me for my despicable behavior.