PAULINA ROSTAKOVA’S ADVENTURES
JULY 27
4:42 a.m.
San Francisco, California, hotel room
I can’t sleep. Stupid body not being able to get rest when it needs it. Yesterday was . . . hoo, baby. I can’t remember a worse day in a long time. But I’m foreshadowing again. Let’s go back to the beginning of the “hoo, baby” bit, which was yesterday morning.
“Did you hear?” Melody asked when I rolled out of my room in Salt Lake City (which didn’t get used, thanks to Dixon being the Irresistible Mr. Sexy Pants), deposited my luggage with the crew, and with the great big wads of veil in hand toddled out to the Thomas Flyer. Melody paused and added, “That’s a very pretty dress.”
“Thank you.” I did a pirouette to make the sky blue skirt, which was heavily pleated, swirl out. A coat cut in what the wa
