Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)
“Damn.” Quincy wipes his brow. “That’s a damn shame. I like him.”
“Guys?” Valentina walks up to us. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Rhett says. “We just talked men stuff.”
“Shall we go find Kris and Charlie? Connor is hungry.”
“Yeah.” Quincy takes the bag of fruit from her. “Let’s go.”
As nonchalantly as I can, I walk away, focusing hard on not showing the slight limp that remained.
Don’t look back. Keep going.
Shit, I can’t do it. When I turn, Valentina stands quietly between the hand-dyed tablecloths, watching me.
20
Valentina
The breath is trapped between my ribs. I can’t draw in enough air to make my lungs work. There’s something about Gregor Malan. His face is not Gabriel’s and his walk is different, but he has a limp, albeit slight, and his build is the same. Everything about him screams Gabriel. If Gabriel himself didn’t tell me he couldn’t risk more plastic surgery, I would’ve bet my life the man who bumped into me is my husband. Either that or the angels had pity on me and sent me a lookalike to relieve the burning pain always present in my chest. Only, no substitute will ever do. If I can’t have Gabriel, I don’t want anyone. My love for him is too complete. Too perfect. I guess he finally broke me. Ruined me. For everyone but him. Yes, I’m damaged beyond repair, the broken toy destined for the garbage dump, but I’m his toy, and broken or not, he will take me back. As soon as I can find him.
“Everything all right?” Kris asks when we get back to her and Charlie.
My smile is automatic. “Fine.”
“We’ll put the stuff in the car,” Rhett says. “Come on, Charlie, give us a hand.”
The men walk off with our shopping and Connor, considerately leaving Kris and I alone.
“Out with it,” she says, pulling me down in the chair next to her. “I know that look.”
“What look?”
“You’re brooding.”
I clutch my hands together. “I just saw someone who reminded me a lot of Gabriel.”
Caution flickers in her gaze. “Val, don’t go looking for him in another man, because you’ll only end up disappointed. No two people are the same.”
“Exactly. I can’t be with anyone but him.”
She cups my hand. “It’s only been ten months. Give it time. Someone else will come along.”
“My mind feels screwed up. The things Gabriel did to me, I hated him for them, and now I crave the pain that brought me pleasure. What other man in his right mind will understand what I need?” I rub a finger over my amputated thumb. “My body is mutilated and my stomach scarred with the stretch marks of his baby. Don’t you see, Kris? I’m damaged in every possible way. No one else can ever want me. Gabriel was my monster, and he made me imperfect and broken in his image. We’re perfect for each other.”
“Don’t talk like this.” She pats my hand. “You fell in love with him. It’s natural for you to feel this strongly about him, even if what he did was wrong.”
“I didn’t fall in love with him. I’m addicted to him, but if––when––I find him, I’m planning on falling head over heels for him like I couldn’t the first time. This time, there’ll be no holding back.”
“Oh, Val.” Her look is concerned. “You need to see a psychologist who can prescribe antidepressants to help you cope. There’s no shame in relying on medication. You don’t have to get through this on strength and willpower alone.”
“I don’t need a doctor.” I push out my chin. “What I need is a date.”
“I thought you said you didn’t want anyone else.”
“I don’t.”
Her eyebrows pinch together. “I don’t understand.”
“I need a date with the man I met here.”
“No, no, no. You’re not going on a witch-hunt for a Gabriel incarnation. That’s just plain unhealthy.”
“Told you I’m damaged. There’s not a healthy thought left in my head.”
“I don’t know what you see when you look at yourself, but I see a beautiful, strong, generous, and loving woman, a woman who’ll unselfishly do anything for her brother and child.”
Quincy calls from across the field. “Val, let’s go.”
I give Kris a quick hug. “You’re a good friend. Have I told you how much I appreciate you?”
“All the time.”
Quincy comes jogging toward us. “I changed Connor’s diaper and gave him his bottle, but he’s starting to complain.”
“It’s his nap time. He must be tired.” I get to my feet. “Thanks for meeting us, Kris.”
“See you Saturday?”
“Sure. Come over for dinner and a board game in the week.”
Walking back to the car, my step is lighter than what it has been in ten months as a plan takes shape in my head.
Tracking Mr. Malan is easy. From what I can find on the internet, he runs a one-man, obscure insurance company specializing in high-valued gemstones. It’s a risky business, but with only a handful of topnotch clients such as De Beers and Anglo American he must be making a good living. According to his social media profile, he grew up in central South Africa, near Kimberley, which, on paper, explains his connection to the diamond industry. I have my doubts about the bland and straight-lined history mapped out on my computer screen. Mr. Malan obtained a business degree from the University of Bloemfontein, after which he ran a small jewelry manufacturing business that dissolved with the owner’s death, hence his new project. There’s only one way to find out if my suspicion is founded.