Shark Bait

20. Nine carats

TWENTY

NINE CARATS

TROY

I wake up sweaty and wipe my face, neck, and between my breasts with a sheet before stretching out and reaching for Shark on the other side of the bed. I don’t find him, and as soon as I open my eyes, I know why he’s out and about.

The clock reads noon.

Holy crap, I slept for thirteen hours. Thirteen hours.

I’ve always loved sleeping, and if I didn’t get my eight hours of sleep a night, I was grumpy all day. But thirteen is too long even by my standards. The last time I slept for thirteen hours straight was the night of Levi’s birthday party when I gobbled seven Jell-O shots and two hash brownies.

Now, the thought of partying and eating brownies makes me nauseated, but back then, it was fun.

I rub my eyes, then roll onto my side before struggling to sit up and swing my legs over the bed. Gawd, I feel heavy. No longer a hippopotamus, but a full-sized whale today. It’s the noon heat, and waking up under covers in the middle of the day means I sweated. The swelling in my feet is gone, but I can tell my ankles are slightly swollen now. I’m glad my feet aren’t swollen too much, because I’d like to walk down the beach and maybe visit some local shops for clothing.

But that’ll have to wait till sundown, when temperatures cool off.

In the bathroom, I do my business, then find a packaged toothbrush. I open the packaging, apply toothpaste, and look up into the mirror as I brush my teeth.

There’s something on my finger.

I lean in, but my big belly prevents me from going too far.

Is that a rock on my finger? Quickly, I finish brushing my teeth and then wash my face, making sure my eyes are well-washed so they’re not deceiving me. I look down at my ring finger, where I confirm that, indeed, there’s a ring on it. And what a ring.

It’s a massive tear-drop-shaped diamond, the biggest I’ve ever seen, mounted on a thin golden band that makes the rock appear even bigger. What’s it doing on my finger?

I stretch out my hand before me. It’s pretty, to be sure, but it’s on my ring finger. Or maybe in Europe, it goes on a different finger? Whichever finger it is, I’m certain European women don’t just wake up with rings on. Right?

Is Shark asking me to marry him? Not only is this an odd way of proposing, it’s also too fast. I mean, we had sex and all, and I like him, but marriage is a big commitment. And what about my baby? I like Shark, but matrimony needs a serious conversation and thought.

It also requires a clear head, and mine is groggy.

I wish I could drink coffee, but I quit caffeine since it made me sick during the first trimester. I also think a lack of caffeine is better for the baby.

“We’re going to be okay,” I tell the baby as I rub my belly, the big ring on my hand reflecting the light. So pretty, but Shark owes me an explanation. I’ll ask him before I start freaking out over this gesture.

I go back into the bedroom and open the closet, looking for another one of Valerina’s dresses, and find only one item hanging inside a black travel bag. Unease makes me queasy as I unzip the bag.

Inside is a short white dress.

I breathe a sigh of relief because it’s not a wedding gown, but still, it is a white dress made of fine material I can’t name. When I pick it up, it’s heavy, which surprises me. I put it on and look in the mirror. I’m not sure what I see besides a pregnant woman. A bride?

Maybe I was wrong about Shark. Maybe he’s my new captor, because he sure as heck can’t let me go with what I know about him and Alessio. Oh, man. Thinking about this and what that means threatens to send me into another tailspin. Shark was right. I’m the river that flows in the present, and now there’s a dam in the way.

I pick up the shoe box on the floor under the dress and put it on the bed, then open the lid. Stepping back, I bite my lip at the sight of white cowgirl boots complete with rhinestones and red soles. There’s a pink bow on the side of each boot.

I turn one over to check the size, but they’re double-digit numbers I’m not familiar with. It looks big, maybe a size larger than what I wear. “Ha!” Wrong size. Can’t wear them, which means that’ll ruin his dressing-up kink or whatever the heck he’s playing at without telling me he’s playing.

Because I like the boots, I sit on the bed and slide my foot into the right one, then the left. They fit. Quite well, actually. My feet are swelling now, and Shark bought the right size. I gotta hand it to the man. These are some fine boots.

In case I’m dreaming, I click my heels like Dorothy in Oz. I’m not transported to Kansas or even Tennessee, but I suddenly realize that’s not a bad thing either.

I can only imagine what my Daddy would do if I showed up knocked-up on his doorstep after I’ve been missing for over half a year. My folks shouldn’t ever find out what’s happened to me. I hope nobody ever does, and I pray to God, even now as I walk out of the bedroom and toward the main house, that my son never discovers how he came to be.

In the main house, I find an older woman working in the kitchen, while Leo, who is wearing a crisp white polo shirt and black slacks, rolls a toy truck across the kitchen island.

“Good morning.” I ruffle the boy’s hair. “Where can I find your aunt?” I was going to ask about Shark, but here I am, asking for Valerina.

The older woman, with dark brown eyes and matching hair pulled into a tight bun, looks up from the stove and speaks in Italian.

I shake my head. “No Italian. English?”

She points behind me toward the office, where I head next. Through the glass door, I see only Shark and Alessio. I knock on the door and enter when they look up from a computer screen.

They’re both wearing dressy clothes. For Alessio, I presume it’s normal, but Shark dresses in activewear more often than not, and now he’s wearing something different. A black button-up shirt and tailored black pants. Polished leather shoes too. His jaw is freshly shaved. Are those earrings? Large diamond studs flash in his ears, and since his sleeves are rolled up, I can see a thick gunmetal-gray bracelet next to an expensive-looking watch.

He looks nice. Real nice.

“Troy.” Alessio greets me with a glance at the clock on the wall. “I assume you slept well?”

“Like a baby.”

He starts to walk by me, but pauses to ask, “Can I get you a cup of coffee? We have American-brewed coffee if you want.”

“I’m fine.”

His smile reaches his eyes when he says, “You look lovely today.” Alessio’s cologne enters my nose. He smells incredible. Usually, cologne makes me nauseous, but not his. It’s masculine but also light.

“Thank you,” I say.

Alessio extends a hand, showing me into his office as he slips out and closes the door behind me. Shark leans against the front of the desk, hands clasped in front of him, gaze roaming my body.

I prop one hand on my hip and lift the one with the giant diamond ring on it. I wiggle my fingers in case he doesn’t notice what I’m showing him. I want to confront him. I do. But over the past months, I’ve been conditioned not to confront anyone or suffer the consequences. What the hell is this on my finger? I want to ask him, but the question can’t come out of my mouth. I struggle to say anything.

Frustrated with myself, I huff out a breath, wishing he would understand me and help me out. Gawd, this is…pitiful.

“You’re upset with me,” Shark says.

“Duh, Shark Daddy. I thought we had a deal. You let me stay with you while you launder my money, and then I go on my way and you go your way. Then last night, we got it on, and I thought maybe we’d date and see how it went. But you put a ring on my finger. Why?”

He walks up to me, but I step back. When he realizes I’m moving away, he retreats to lean against the desk again and slides his hands into his pockets. He jerks his head toward a leather case on the floor by the wooden statue of a brown bunny sitting up on its hind legs. “There’s two million in the case. Your money. All clean. All yours.”

I love the money, and I care about the money, but I also have a pressing issue. “Can I buy an explanation from you for that kind of money, or does that cost more than two million?”

He sighs and looks down at his shoes before pinning me with his brown eyes. “Sit down, Troy.”

I take a seat on the brown leather chair beside the bunny and the money. The library is behind me, the desk across on the left, and right across from me is the window overlooking the front yard, where Alessio and Valerina are talking. She appears animated, moving her arms as she talks. He’s running a hand through this hair. I think they’re arguing.

“Are they arguing about me?” I ask Shark.

“Likely.”

“What’s the problem?” Asking Shark what they’re arguing about might give me an explanation for what he and Alessio planned out this morning without telling me. And possibly without telling Valerina. I want to believe Valerina is out there arguing with Alessio on my behalf even though she just met me.

Because I sure would appreciate her arguing on my behalf.

“They’re arguing about our marriage,” Shark says.

Holy crap. I swallow. It’s true, then. I stare at my left hand. “It’s a beautiful ring.”

Shark crouches in front of me and takes my hands into his, which he then lays on my lap. “You’re not allowed to fold into yourself like this. You’re not allowed to accept the marriage as something that’s happening to you as if you’re a doll I put a ring on and dressed this morning. You are upset I put a ring on your finger and didn’t tell you about it. You’re mad I brought you here to marry you. You’re angry you’re not studying music in Nashville and composing songs on weekends like you planned. Above all, you’re mad because you know that when you marry me, you’ll never get to do any of that.”

He’s right. I am upset about all those things. Yet, I shrug. “What’s anger got to do with it when it’s of no use to me? What happened happened. Regrets won’t change any of it.”

“But you can still feel something about it all. Don’t capitulate on me. At least not about the ring. Even if it’ll make everything much easier for both of us.” He pauses, then goes on. “I meant to propose to you. Even though I know you’d have said no, I meant to propose.”

I frown. “But?”

“But Allesio ordered different rings and in different sizes. While you slept, I picked the three I liked most and tried them on your finger for sizing. It was seven in the morning and I figured I’d get a correct measurement, not to mention I wanted the perfect fit. I wanted to see it on your hand so I could pick the right one.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You sleep so sweetly. I couldn’t.”

“Awww. Well, what happened?”

“When I slid this one on”—he taps the diamond—“it fit perfectly, and as I was about to remove it to try the other two, I got an important phone call. I stepped outside, and it turned out it was an urgent problem I had to take care of that took two hours. When I returned, I couldn’t get the ring off your finger.”

“Why not?”

“I think your finger swelled.”

I try to remove the ring, and he’s right, it’s not coming off. “This is kind of funny. Trapped by the four-carat diamond.”

Shark clears his throat. “It’s a nine carat. Nine, not four.”

“Nine. Wow, I’ve never seen a bigger diamond.”

Shark chuckles. “Me either.”

I bite my lip, wondering how much he paid for this ring. I don’t have a phone or anything to google with, but I remember I can ask Shark anything. Besides, he’d tell me. I don’t think he’d mind if I asked either. “How much did you pay for this?”

He makes a face. “Too much.”

I laugh at his pained expression. “Are we talking forty or fifty thousand?”

Shark side-eyes me. “Not in that range, no.”

“Oh, that’s probably too much. Twenty? That seems a lot for a ring.” I don’t know anything about diamonds besides thinking that they’re pretty.

“I can buy a beachfront property in North Carolina for the price of that ring.”

“Well, butter my biscuit. That’s just plain crazy!” I lift the ring and wiggle my fingers in his face. “Beachfront property on my hand.”

“That’s right, and since you can’t take it off…” He lets the rest hang unspoken between us.

“I guess I’ll keep it then.” I swallow. This is crazy. So crazy. What is happening to me?

“Troy.” Shark moves from crouching to kneeling.

OMG, HE IS PROPOSING. What…what am I going to say? Did I say yes when I decided I’m keeping the ring? Did I? Do I?

“I still want to ask you to marry me as a man would ask his woman. If you refuse, I will honor your rejection, even if I can’t honor it officially.”

“What do you mean?”

Shark’s brown eyes appear sincere as he squeezes my hand. “It means we must marry. You must become my wife, or I can’t protect you. But if you don’t want me, we’ll have separate rooms. I’m not going force you into bed or to do anything you don’t want to with me.”

“I know you won’t, silly.”

Heels click over the foyer, and Valerina barges inside the office. She takes one look at the kneeling Shark and huffs. “Sorry to interrupt, but Troy has an ultrasound appointment this afternoon.” She extends a hand toward me.

Alessio’s at her heels. “Walk away, Valerina.”

“Come on, Troy. We’re leaving.”

Shark’s still kneeling and is in my way as I try to get up.

Valerina stomps her foot. “Get away from her!”

Shark backs away. Alessio does too. Once I’m up, Valerina drags me out of the house and toward an obsidian carriage decorated with white flowers, clearly intended for a bride on the way to her wedding. White ribbons are woven into the horses’ manes.

The coachman helps us into the carriage, and off we go.

“Fucking fucker.” Valerina glances at me apologetically. “Sorry. I dislike cursing, but he’s an unyielding asshole.”

“Yes,” I agree, not knowing which man she’s referring to.

“I’m talking about my brother.”

“Alessio’s scary.”

“He’s making Shark marry you.”

Oh. Oh, that sucks. I look down at my ring, now feeling even worse. Shark doesn’t really want to marry me, which is why he used the word “officially.” He’s not going to force me, but he also won’t force himself either. Just because we have great chemistry and had a night of healthy sex, it doesn’t mean we should marry.

Of course not. Why would anyone want to marry an already knocked-up girl?