Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
A fter my crazy sexual release with Frederik, every time I was near Roman, and even when I wasn’t, my guilt strangled me like a barbed-wire chastity belt.
Yet even as I tried to rationalize it, and Zali slapped me with her words of wisdom, I couldn’t get it to stick in my thick brain that I had no reason to be guilty.
Roman and I were not together.
We had not pledged our love to each other.
He wasn’t tied to me, and I certainly wasn’t tied to him in any way.
I had not cheated.
Yet I still felt like a slut.
From Thorsteinn Castle, Roman drove us to a cute little town in Germany’s Black Forest called Baden-Baden. During the six-hour drive, Roman remained quiet nearly the entire way. I did too. It was like both of us were living in our own nightmarish bubbles.
I hated that I still had no idea what his problem was.
As Roman turned off the highway and into the main street of our next destination, I grabbed the microphone. “Okay, folks. Wakey, wakey.”
As usual, most of them had slept the entire way. Not that I blamed them. Many would have been up past midnight at the castle banquet. And we’d had an early start this morning. I waited for most of them to stir before I said, “Welcome to Baden-Baden.”
“Ever since the nineteenth century, Baden-Baden has been attracting tourists to this spa town in the south-western corner of the Black Forest. Does anyone know why it’s called the Black Forest?”
“Because it’s black,” Mitchel, one of the New Zealanders, yelled from the back row.
“Not exactly,” I replied. “The forest is so dense that sunlight has trouble getting through the foliage. The Romans called it Silva Nigra which means black, or dark and murky forest. At the time it was considered impenetrable, and therefore scary. It’s no wonder several of the Grimm brothers’ fairy tales come from this region.
“Anyway . . .” I shifted in my seat, affording me a better view of Roman. He was the picture of concentration as he guided the bus into the packed parking area. “You are free to stretch your legs here for one hour. There are loads of cute shops selling everything from cuckoo clocks to souvenirs, to black forest cake. We’ll see you back on the bus at three o’clock.” I knew exactly what I was going to do for the hour. I was heading for that cake and a bloody big chunk of it too.
The troops offloaded, and with sorrow hanging in my heart, Roman and Lydia walked one way talking about checking out the cuckoo clocks, I marched the other.
The coffee shop I headed for was at the end of the street, and if I was lucky, I’d be able to snag one of the tables that overlooked the Oos River.
At the counter, I ordered a double-shot cappuccino and the signature dish—a slice of the rich, Black Forest cake loaded with plump cherries—and requested a double dollop of cream.
Adele, the middle-aged woman behind the counter, promised to bring my order out soon, and I went in search of a secluded seat.
Stepping onto the balcony, it was a nice surprise to note very few people were still dining. So, lucky me, I was able to grab a chair in a prime position overlooking the fast-flowing water, with sufficient shade from an enormous tree with equally enormous branches hovering above me that I didn’t have to worry about getting sunburnt.
The delightful trickling sound as the water tumbled over rocks did little to settle my tumbling brain. It just wouldn’t shut down.
By the time my cake arrived, I was about to chew my own arm off, and I attacked it like I hadn’t eaten for a week. It was moist, rich, and delicious. Three qualities in a cake that would usually have me in heaven. Not today.
Today, I was in hell.
What I’d done with Frederik was so wrong. My guilt was eating me up.
And that was also wrong.
I’d nearly finished my cake by the time my coffee arrived.
“Thank you, Adele.” I smiled up at the woman who I’d learned long ago had been serving in this tiny café since she was fourteen years old—some thirty-two years ago. I couldn’t even imagine being in the same country for that long, let alone the same job. Yet Adele seemed happy.
I wasn’t sure I’d know what happiness was even if it slapped me in the face.
Last month, I’d thought I was happy. I’d thought it was my newfound sexual freedom that’d instigated that. But it turned out that was an illusion. The only thing that made me happy was Roman.
And I couldn’t have him.
The sooner I left Europe, the better it would be for both of us.
In the meantime, I’ll keep my distance. That was the best I could do.
With that decision made, I drained my coffee and stood. It was time to head back to work.
Strolling toward the bus, I passed a tacky souvenir shop and something in the window caught my eye—a snow globe. Recalling Roman’s smile as he talked about his mother’s collection of globes, even though she’d never been out of Italy, I stepped inside.
Who’d have thought there were so many ways to make a snow globe? The options were abundant. After taking way too long to make a decision, which required tipping nearly every one of them upside-down to see how the ‘snow’ spilled over the miniature scene, I headed to the counter to pay for it.
As I awaited service from the very large woman whose enormous boobs bounced on the counter while she worked, I studied the cuckoo clocks lining the walls. There would be as many handcrafted original clocks here as there were Chinese knockoffs. Little plastic birds popped out of the hundred or so clocks at random intervals, bleating a ghastly cuckoo noise that went non-stop.
If I ended up in a job like this after I left Europe, I’d be the one who was cuckoo.
When the staff member finally called me forward, she took forever to wrap the box in brown paper and handed it to me with a grunt. Feeling sorry for her, I slipped a twenty-euro tip across the counter before I strode out the door.
Back at the bus, I sat in my seat and counted each of my passengers as they returned on board. Out the front windscreen, I spied Roman halfway along the street. As always, my Roman radar was on point. He was smiling. Lydia, of course, was at his side and the two of them strolled along like newlyweds.
I couldn’t believe how close they’d become in such a short amount of time.
Then again, I’d thought he and I were that close too.
Roman was just like that—easy to get on with and good at making everyone happy.
Mr. Perfect.
Lydia climbed aboard first, ignoring me as she slipped into the aisle to head to her seat.
Roman and I shared a smile as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Where did you go? One minute you were with us, and then you were gone. I tried to find you.”
“Oh, you did?”
“Yeah. So, where were you?”
“Oh um . . .” I dug into my backpack and handed him the gift. “I bought you something.”
With a smile curling through his beard, he cocked his head. “Thank you.”
“You should open it before you thank me.”
He tore the paper away and raised the lid on the box. “A snow globe.” He flipped it up and back again and with the sun streaming through the blue liquid inside, following the tiny flakes as they fluttered down was mesmerizing.
Roman turned to me, our gazes met, and something so magical crossed between us that my heart nearly stopped. A frown drilled across his forehead, darkening his eyes like I hadn’t seen before. His expression morphed into something I couldn’t determine, and my breath caught at the intensity in his honey eyes.
Roman swallowed, loud .
I blinked at him, and the look on his face had me believing I’d done something terribly wrong. “Is it . . . ahhh . . . is it okay?”
He stood so suddenly, I lurched back. As he climbed out of his seat, I scrambled to work out what was wrong.
Roman cupped his warm hands on my cheeks and when he lowered his lips to my forehead and kissed me, I just about melted with relief.
“It’s really beautiful.” His words were thick like he was choked with emotion.
“Oh, phew. I thought for a minute there you were going to peg it at me.”
He gave me a crooked smile. “It was a surprise, that’s all. Mamma will love it.”
My racing pulse began to simmer as I nodded. “I’m glad you like it.”
Roman placed the snow globe on the center console, and with the sun beaming into the miniature scene, he shut the door, started the engine, and began driving us out of the parking lot.
It was a couple of beats before I stood and grabbed the microphone. “I trust you had your fill of crazy clocks and rich cakes.”
Most of them nodded.
“Good. We’re heading to our hotel next. But this afternoon, there are a couple of optional activities for you to choose from if you wish. You can either soak up some of this lovely sunshine in the famous salt thermal pools.” This was the option I normally chose. “Or you can get your adrenalin pumping by doing some zip-lining with me.”
Roman’s gaze flew to me; his bulging eyes confirmed his shock. His reaction was justified. Last month, he’d practically begged me to do the zip-lining.
But I’d weaseled my way out of it with a couple of lame excuses. The truth was, the idea of dangling by a single wire as I shot between two giant trees at a million miles an hour was not my idea of fun.
But there were two reasons why I’d changed my mind today.
One was that ticking clock. It was getting louder every day.
The other was keeping my mind active. It was my only antidote to my uncontrollable thoughts. And scaring the pants off myself while whizzing through the forest was the perfect solution.
I hoped.
Roman pulled the bus into our parking space at the hotel and after everyone was out, had grabbed their luggage, and headed off to their rooms, he sidled up next to me, rubbing his hands together with that boyish exuberance I’d come to love. “I’m so glad you’re coming zip-lining. You’re going to love it.”
I puffed my cheeks out. “I hope so.”
“You will. I’ll make sure.” He placed his hand on my lower back and guided me toward the elevator.
Half an hour later, the zip-lining tour company picked us up from reception in a minibus and drove us deep into the forest. Within minutes of our arrival, I was being fitted for my safety harness in the briefing room along with Roman, Lydia, and seven other passengers from our group.
Our two tour guides were Victor, a young man with hyperactive energy and a touch of body odor that added to my distraction, and Carmen, a beautiful young German with the most muscular arms I’d ever seen on a woman.
Before I had time to dwell on what the fuck I was doing, I was climbing a giant ladder that’d been implanted into a tree that was over one hundred and fifty feet high and as wide as our bus was long .
I was tethered to a rail that ran parallel to the ladder, and at regular intervals, I was required to unclip my carabiner and re-hook it onto the next section. Should I fall, this tiny contraption was designed to save my life . . . apparently.
The higher I climbed, the more I had to force my gaze onto each metal rung and not onto the forest floor that now seemed like it was ten miles down.
Above me, Carmen was leading the way, followed by Lydia, then me. We were the only women in the group, and it was one of the few times where ‘ladies first’ did not appeal.
But the guides were insistent and when Lydia stepped up with her perfect grin and volunteered, I reluctantly slotted in behind her.
My only saving grace was that Roman was below me. If I fell, Roman’s head would go right up my ass. Ewww. That was a visual I could have done without.
I glanced up and got a bird’s-eye view of Lydia’s perfectly toned bottom.
If Roman glanced up, he’d get a bird’s-eye view of my bony ass which was everything Lydia’s was not. He’d totally lucked out.
I couldn’t move upward until Lydia had reached the next checkpoint, and she was taking her sweet time. Each step seemed to be in slow motion. Given that exercise and I were like anchovies and custard—they did not go together—I thought that I’d be the one slowing everyone down.
Nope. I’m a machine. Go me!
At one point, where she seemed to be taking forever to unhook her clip and reattach it again, I glanced out at a neighboring tree. It was equally as high as the one we were climbing.
A bird’s nest seemed to be miraculously clinging to the rough bark on one of the thick branches. For a long moment, I thought it was empty, but when a bird with rust-colored feathers swooped in and landed on the branch, a dozen tiny beaks popped up with their mouths wide open, chirping wildly, begging to be fed.
It was a glimpse at nature that I rarely got to witness. And it was such a delight that I forgot I was hanging about fifty feet above the ground.
Watching the babies being fed by the momma bird gave me a ridiculous feeling it was a sign. Maybe the universe was telling me that no matter what happens, life would go on.
Yeah, until you fall off your perch.
Casting that untimely thought aside, I glanced up. Lydia had moved on. I unclipped my hook and carried on climbing upward.
My knees and fingers were trembling by the time we reached our platform which was barely a third of the way up the giant tree.
Carmen unhooked me from one bar, attached me to the one that encompassed our little landing platform, and then instructed me to move back.
I glanced at Lydia. She was very pale, her lips almost blue.
Hanging onto the rail, I inched over to her. “Are you okay?”
Her ponytail bobbed onto her shoulder as she nodded. “Yes. Yes. I’m fine.”
She looked anything but fine. At least it wasn’t me looking like a startled chipmunk. Climbing the towering trees was supposed to be my living nightmare. But it wasn’t. In fact, my heart was thumping with the thrill of it.
Stepping out of my comfort zone was fast becoming my favorite thing.
Standing next to Lydia, we both watched the ladder—no doubt waiting for the same thing. Roman.
It was worth waiting for. He positively beamed as his eyes flashed from me to Lydia. But his smile dropped, and his gaze remained on Lydia as Carmen unclipped him from one tether and secured him to the next.
He strode to Lydia, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Hey, are you okay?”
Her eyes were so wide it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of her head. Her arms were folded across her chest. Yet she nodded and forced a thin smile. “Sì, sto bene.”
She was lying. She was far from fine. But maybe, just like me, she felt the need to impress him.
Roman brought out the best in me.
It did the opposite to Lydia—she looked like she was going to shit her pants. I hoped not.
We were a long way from a restroom.