Page 101 of All The Pretty Little Lies

The tension in the room ratchets up a notch, and I feel Talon's fingers tighten slightly on my neck. "Perhaps," he says, his tone noncommittal. "But let's not get ahead of ourselves, Natasha. We have business to discuss first, don't we?"

"Of course, darling. Business before pleasure, as they say." I steal a glance as she raises her wine glass in a mock toast. "To fruitful negotiations."

Talon raises his glass, the deep ruby liquid catching the candlelight as he mirrors Natasha's toast. "To fruitful negotiations," he echoes, his voice smooth as velvet. The crystal glasses clink together, the sound ringing out in the intimate space of the private dining room.

"Now then," Talon begins, setting down the decanter with a soft clink. His fingers absently stroke the back of my neck as he speaks, a gesture that could be seen as possessive or comforting,depending on the observer. "I believe we have some matters to discuss regarding your clients' interests."

"Ah yes, the breeding clause. I must say, Charles, your interest has certainly piqued their curiosity." Her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're quite intrigued by your enthusiasm for this particular asset."

I feel Talon's fingers tighten slightly on my neck, a barely perceptible tension that only I can detect. His voice, however, remains perfectly controlled. "And have they considered my offer?"

I hear Natasha takes another sip of wine, drawing out the moment. The silence stretches between them, filled only by the muted strains of classical music filtering in from the main restaurant.

"They are open to negotiation," she finally says, her words carefully measured. "However, they do have one small stipulation before we can discuss numbers."

Talon's hand stills on my neck, fidgeting with the lace collar around my neck. "Oh?" he prompts, his tone neutral but with an underlying current of interest.

Natasha sets down her wine glass, her manicured nails tapping a soft rhythm against the stem. "They wish to harvest her eggs again," she states. "Upon successful creation of viable embryos, their insurance policy, so to speak, they would be willing to enter into more concrete negotiations."

Talon brings his wine glass to his lips, taking a measured sip before responding. His face remains impassive, but I can feel the tension coiled in his body, like a spring ready to unwind.

"I see," he says, his voice smooth as polished marble. "And what exactly would this procedure entail?"

"Nothing too invasive, I assure you," she purrs, her Russian accent thickening slightly. "We have a discreet clinic thatwe've used for similar procedures in the past. State-of-the-art facilities, top-notch medical staff."

I steal another glance as she pauses, reaching for an oyster. With practiced elegance, she brings it to her lips, tipping the shell and letting the briny morsel slide into her mouth. I watch as she savors it, her eyes closing briefly in pleasure.

"Of course," she continues after swallowing, "we understand the value of privacy in these matters. We have a doctor on staff who would be more than willing to make house calls for the necessary hormone injections."

Talon's hand moves from my neck to my hair, his fingers threading through the strands. "Hormone injections?" he prompts, his tone casual but probing.

"Yes, to stimulate egg production," she explains, swirling the ruby liquid gently. "It's a standard part of the process. The injections would be administered over a period of about two weeks, followed by the retrieval procedure itself."

I feel Talon's fingers tighten slightly in my hair. His voice, however, remains perfectly controlled. "And the retrieval? What does that involve?"

"It's a minor outpatient procedure," Natasha assures him, her tone almost bored, as if discussing something as mundane as a dental cleaning. "Performed under light sedation. The eggs are harvested transvaginally using an ultrasound-guided needle. The whole process takes less than an hour." The thought of being put under again sets my fear and anxiety on edge.

I’m safe. Talon would never allow her to take me. I remind myself of that over and over again until my mind finally relaxes. Talon must notice as his fingers loosen their grip in my hair.

She takes another sip of wine, her green eyes never leaving Talon's face. "Of course, there would need to be a period of abstinence before and after the procedure. We wouldn't want to compromise the quality of the harvest, after all."

I can almost feel Talon's mind working, processing this information and calculating our next move. His thumb traces small circles on my scalp, a soothing gesture that grounds me amidst the clinical discussion of my body.

"And this abstinence period," Talon inquires, his tone casual, "how long are we talking about?"

"Typically, we recommend abstaining for at least a week before the egg retrieval and two weeks after," she replies. "We understand the inconvenience this might pose. Rest assured, the price would reflect that.

The server appears silently at their side, replacing the empty oyster platter with the next course. The rich, heady aroma of seared foie gras fills the air, mingling with the lingering scent of the sea and the complex bouquet of the wine.

Talon's fingers trail down to the nape of my neck, his touch sending a shiver down my spine.

"We could begin the hormone treatments within the week," she says. "The entire process, from start to finish, would take approximately three to four weeks."

Talon's hand moves to my shoulder, his touch both possessive and reassuring. "I see," he murmurs, his tone thoughtful. "And what guarantees do we have regarding her safety and well-being throughout this process?"

A flash of something, surprise, perhaps, or respect, flickers across Natasha's face before her mask of cool professionalism slips back into place. "We take the utmost care with all our assets, Charles.”

I notice a slight tremor in his hand, barely perceptible to anyone who didn't know him as well as I do. His foot begins to bounce slowly beneath the table, the vibration traveling through the floor to where I kneel.

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