Page 58 of Shark Bait

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?”

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