Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

She pulls away, clasping her hands behind her back. “I’ll be seventeen in a month. You don’t think it’s a bit late to start a new family?”

“It’s not a new family, princess. We’re all family.”

“She’s not my family, and she’ll never be!”

With a sob, she runs from the room. I’m torn between going after her and giving her space. I decide on the latter. I guess that went as well as it could. In time, she’ll come around.

Sylvia leans her hip against the doorframe and swirls the liquor in her glass. “Congratulations, Gabriel. I hope you’re happy.”

She watches me with contempt as I cross the floor, a look not unfamiliar to me. It’s the same one she gave me in bed, right before I touched her.

Craning her neck up at me, she continues, “I suppose dinner is off. I don’t know about Carly, but if she feels like I do, she’s lost her appetite.”

“I understand.”

She flattens her body in the frame for me to pass. As I go for my jacket, I’m acutely aware of my limp and the way her eyes burn on my back.

“Goodnight, Sylvia. I’ll call Carly tomorrow.”

The ice clinks in her glass. “You do that.”

I see myself out and drive the short distance home. I like to tell myself Sylvia bought a house close to ours for Carly’s sake, but it’s always been the prestige of the neighborhood. Like Magda, Sylvia comes from a long line of descendants where money is everything and cast is determined by birth. The house staff doesn’t mix with the proprietors. In her eyes Valentina will always be the servant. Up until today, I never realized how many of Sylvia’s values are embedded in Carly.

When I get home, I find Valentina on her knees in our bathroom with her head over the toilet.

Rushing to her side, I wipe the hair from her face. “Damn, Valentina. Are you all right?”

A feeble wave of her hand is supposed to send me away. “Just morning sickness.” Her body convulses, but her stomach must be empty, because nothing comes out.

Concern burns in my gut. “I thought this was only supposed to happen in the morning.”

She takes two steadying breaths. “All times of the day.” Her laugh is weak, but not without humor. “This baby doesn’t like pasta.”

I wipe my hand over her clammy forehead. “What did you eat?”

“Fettuccini with cèpe mushrooms. I had lunch with Kris at Roma’s.” She turns around and slumps against the toilet. Her face is pasty white and dark rings mar her perfect eyes. “About that…” A stern look invades those bleary eyes. “What are you doing sending Kris all that stuff?”

I bent down and lift her into my arms. Even at four months pregnant she weighs nothing. The worry weighs heavier on my shoulders. She looks exhausted. From the way her body is reacting, I poisoned her with my seed. I let her down on the rug and start to pull the dress over her head. Obediently, she lifts her arms.

“I asked you a question, Gabriel.”

I unhook the clasp of her bra and push the straps down her arms. “She’s your friend.”

“Is that your motivation for spending a fortune on her practice?”

The panties follow next, but her boots prevent me from removing the stockings. “The way things were going, her practice wasn’t going to survive much longer.”

“If I stay, Kris gets a revamped practice, and if I leave, she’s dead.”

“Yes.”

My answer is harsh, but she needs to understand the lengths I will go to. The knowledge that she’s here against her will is a bitter pill to swallow, but I will gobble down flames, fire, and toxic waste if that’s what I have to do.

I crouch down to unzip her boots. “Why bring it up? Are you planning on leaving?”

“No.”

Right answer. “Then let Kris enjoy the gift and stop worrying about it. Except for the nauseating pasta, how was your lunch date?”

Her expression brightens. “Good. I missed Kris. She’s a good person, you know.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

I remove her boots and then the stockings, allowing my fingers to linger longer than necessary.

“You’re back early.” Her look is thoughtful. “How did Carly take the news?”

“Not well, but she’ll come round.”

“Oh, no, Gabriel. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It is. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant––”

My gut twists with guilt. “I don’t want to hear you talk like this.”

If I were going to come clean, now would be the time, but my decision is made. She opens her mouth, but I still her with a finger on her lips. No more talk of our inside-out, right-in-every-wrong-kind-of-way relationship. No more talk, at least not for the rest of tonight, not while her naked body is right in front of me. Going down on my knees, I cup her hips and pull her toward me. She gives two tiny steps, but the momentum makes her stumble into me. I press my lips against her abdomen and hold them there until her gasp startles me.