I’m getting desperate, and from the glint in his eyes, he knows it.
“You were expecting me to pay you what you paid?” he chortles. “Sorry, honey, that isn’t how this works. I pay you what I think it’s worth, and I’m sorry to tell you, it’s not very much. Take it or leave it.” His expression softens as I swipe the tears away from my eyes. He picks up another ring to inspect it. “What did you pay for this one?”
“$6000,” I say, my voice wavering. It’s the ring my father got me when I graduated high school. “
He shakes his head. “That’s just throwing money away. You could’ve gone anywhere else and paid a fraction of the cost.”
I suck in a breath, frustrated. I don’t need this hotshot giving me a lecture.
“But that … well, that might be worth something…”
My head snaps up. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I can't help myself. I follow his gaze, confused, because he’s staring at my ring. The one on my finger. It’s the last thing I have left of my mother and something I’d never consider selling. I cover it protectively and step back. There’s no way…
I couldn't, could I?
I swallow the lump in my throat. It's not like I have much choice. It's this, or I starve.
“How much?” I ask, swallowing past the lump forming in my throat.
He motions for me to give it to him, so I slide it from my finger and place it in his hand. My fingers shake as I pull back, but I force myself to keep looking at him as he examines it.
The guy actually looks impressed, something I didn't think was possible.
“This is a rare diamond,” he mumbles, more to himself than me.
“I know,” I say, unable to keep the cold edge out of my tone. “How much?” I repeat.
He studies it and then turns his attention back to me.
“How much do you need?”
I run some quick calculations in my head. I just need to know the next couple of months are covered, no matter what. Then I can figure out what I’m going to do.
“Seven grand,” I blurt out.
I’m expecting him to laugh in my face, but he nods. How quickly he is to agree makes me wonder if I should’ve asked for more. Oh well. It’s too late now.
“Okay,” he says.
He reaches for his checkbook.
“There is one condition,” I add, feeling brave. He lifts his eyebrows, waiting for me to continue. “You can’t sell it.”
“Excuse me?” he laughs. “Then why on earth would I buy it?”
“I mean, you need to give me time to buy it back,” I say quietly. “All I ask is for a few months.”
“Thirty days,” he finally offers. “After that, all bets are off. I can think of a few collectors who’ll be lining up to take this baby off my hands.”
I nod. “Fine. Thirty days. I promise you I will be back.”
He writes out the check and slides it across the counter to me. I pick it up and stare at it, guilt strangling me. I can’t believe I’m doing this, but I know I have no other choice.
“Are you going to stand here all night studying it, or are you going to get out of here?”
I jump at the sound of his voice, then glower as he chuckles. I bet he can’t wait to tell all his friends about this.
“I’ll be back for it,” I promise him.
“You don't want to know how many times I’ve heard that one.” He chuckles. “Everyone assures me they’ll be back, and then I never see them again.”
“Well, I’m different,” I state firmly.
“Uh huh.”
I clench my hands into fists and stalk over to the door.
“Forgetting something, darlin’?”
I turn back. My other jewelry is still spilled out over the counter. My face flushed, I stalk over and scoop it up. I shove it in my purse as I walk outside.
I wait until I’m safely around the corner before I stop. Breathing out, I lean against the brick wall of the building behind me and blink back tears. It will be okay. It has to be. But even I know this money isn’t going to last very long. I need to figure out something else, and fast. There’s only one thing left I can think of I haven’t already tried.
My grandmother.
***
“Can I help you?”
I sigh at the emotionless expression on the face of my grandmother’s maid, Fran. The lady has known me since I was born, yet every time I come over here, she greets me in the same way, like I’m a stranger knocking on the door, asking for donations. Or charity.
“Hey, Fran. Is my grandmother here?” I ask.
She stares at me for a moment, her expression blank, and then she nods.
“I’ll ask her if she will see you.”
“Oh cut the crap, Fran,” I say impatiently. “You know damn well she will.”
If only to rub it in my face how right she was about my father.
Grandmother is my mother’s mother, and she takes every opportunity she gets to make sure I know how much she disapproves of everything I stand for. She’d have loved the fact that Daddy got implicated for fraud. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she phoned it in.
Fran sighs, but opens the door wide enough to let me in. I look around as we walk through the foyer, my heels clicking against the polished floor. It’s so cold and clinical in here. Everything is so spotlessly clean that I feel like my presence is dirtying it. Even the stairwell banister is so shiny that I can see my reflection in it.
I glance up the sprawling staircase to the portrait of my mother, encased in a twenty-four-karat gold frame. A shiver races through me as I picture her ring back in the care of the pawn shop. I cover my hand instinctively, because the fact that it’s missing is just the kind of thing my grandmother will notice—especially considering she fought me tooth and nail for possession of it after my father gave it to me. It was a family heirloom from Mother’s side, and Father thought it was only right that it be passed down to me after Mother died. Grandmother, however, didn’t agree.
“Are you coming?”
I look up, startled, as Fran waits impatiently by the door leading out to the garden.
“I can see myself outside,” I assure her.
Before she can respond, I’m outside and walking over to where my grandmother is sitting in the gardens. She doesn’t look up as I approach, even though I know she can hear me coming. Instead, she pretends to be engrossed in watching the swans argue as they float around on her private lake.
When I reach her, I smile awkwardly, shifting back and forth on my feet as she picks up the handle of her teacup and delicately takes a sip before placing it back down. All my confidence flies out the window when I’m around my grandmother. She’s the only person in the world who makes me feels nervous and unsure.
“Valentina,” she finally acknowledges me. She glances over me, her eyebrows creasing disapprovingly.
“I prefer that my visitors are announced to me before presenting themselves, but since you're here…”
She nods toward the seat on the other side of the small, round porcelain table she’s sitting at. I sit, resting my shaking hands in my lap as I will myself to relax.
She’s my grandmother. It shouldn’t feel this forced and unnatural, but it does. It always has.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asks, her British accent ever present. Grandmother came to Savannah as a small child, her father a shipping merchant from the Old Country who brought their business and wealth to the states.
She doesn't wait for my answer; instead, she waves the maid over, who promptly pours me a cup. I thank her and lift it to my lips, if only to placate my grandmother. If I’m honest, I hate the taste of tea, but I know now is not the time to begin that argument.
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re looking well,” I offer.
She laughs. “I do not look well at all. I'm recovering from quite a nasty cold that I’m sure is going to be the death of me.”
We can only hope.
I bite
down on my tongue to dispel any chance of me saying that aloud.
“Anyhow, I’m sure you’re not here to discuss my health.” She peers at me over the thin wire of her reading glasses. “Would I be right in assuming you’re here for money?”
I give her an indigent look.
“I can’t just stop by and see how my grandmother is doing?” I ask.
“You can.” She looks at me pointedly. “But you don’t.”
I so badly want to point out that there's a reason I don't visit her more often, but the argument is moot. Why would I come here without a need when I'm made to feel as if I’m a nuisance? Troublesome, even. It’s no secret she doesn’t like my father, or that she blames me for my mother’s death. I bite back on my words, because confronting her will get me nowhere.
“I’m here because you’re the only family I have left.”
“You mean I’m the only one with money,” she corrects. “Is it a coincidence you’re here within days of your father being locked up?” She gives me a knowing nod. “I knew you wouldn’t last long. I always thought with the way you were raised that you were going to turn into a very self-absorbed young woman, and what do you know. I was right. I guess I can’t blame you for the wrongs of your father, though.”
It hasn’t stopped you before.
“Just forget it,” I say, getting to my feet. “I should’ve known coming here was a bad idea.”
“Oh, sit down, Valentina,” she says, with a roll of her eyes. “You always were one for the dramatics. I'll give you money. How much do you need?”
My ears prick up. Am I hearing her correctly? She’s going to give me the money? Is this the same woman who chastised me for lending Holly $500 to cover her textbooks during our first semester of college, after her tuition check was late? My grandmother had no sympathy, because, according to her, Holly should've planned for the worst. She never offers help without expecting something in return. That’s what worries me.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she scolds me. “It’s why you came here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I didn’t expect you to say yes,” I admit.
“Is it so bad that I want you to learn the value of money?” she huffs. “It doesn’t grow on trees you know. My father worked hard to build our family fortune, your grandfather and I working dutifully so to carry on his business until we sold it outright. You were never intended to be born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Valentina. Your mother was raised with morals and work ethics, which unfortunately were never graced upon you, seeing how your father left your upbringing to the nannies after your dear mother’s passing.”
I stifle a groan at her tone. I get it, I really do. Her fortune is hers and means a lot to our family, but I don’t need the third degree at the moment. I’ve beaten myself up enough.
“No, of course it isn’t,” I say.
She smiles at me. “Good. How much do you need?”
I shrug. I don’t even know how to answer that one. It’s not like I budget.
“We can work out the minor details later. There will be conditions, of course,” she adds.
And there it is.
“What conditions?” I ask carefully.
She sits back in her chair and studies me for a moment, her lips drawn into a thin line. I shift impatiently, wishing she’d just get to the point.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing outrageous,” she assures me. “I want you to give me a grandchild.”
I laugh. Only my grandmother would consider a child not to be an outrageous request.
“You want me to have a child, in exchange for your money?” I repeat slowly.
Is she kidding me? Wait, what am I saying? My grandmother wouldn’t know how to joke.
“That’s right, Valentina. You give me a grandchild, and I'll leave my fortune to you.” She shrugs, like it's that simple.
“Just like that?” I say. “Will there be other conditions?” I stammer.
“Of course there will be. I don't just want my grandchild coming into this world and into an unstable family environment. Look what that did to you,” she murmurs, lifting her eyebrows.
I swallow back my words and let her continue.
“Prove to me that you’ve settled down,” she orders. “Find yourself a decent man, get engaged, get married and produce a child.” She studies my reaction. “Show me that you’ve gotten your act together. I want to believe that your father's influence hasn't ruined your life forever.”
I stare at her, still in shock.
“How does that help me right now?” I finally ask.
She shakes her head. “That's the problem with kids today. You’re always thinking in the now. What about your future, Valentina?”
I stand. Why did I even bother coming to her for help? I should’ve expected something like this.
“Thank you for the offer,” I say stiffly. “But I’ll figure out something else.”
“When you come to your senses, the offer still stands,” she calls out after me. “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you soon.”
Not if I have anything to say about it.
***
No sooner than I climb into my car, my phone rings. I glance down, almost relieved when I see Holly’s name. She lives for stories about my grandmother, so I know she’s going to love this.
“Where are you?” she asks.
“Oh you know,”—I grin—“just visiting my grandmother.”
Holly giggles. “Things must be bad then.”
“You don't know the half of it.” I sigh.
“So, did the old witch offer to help?”
“Nope,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Well, okay, she did, but not in the way that I'm willing to accept.”
“Do I want to know?”
“You always want to know,” I tease.
She giggles. “There’s some truth in that. So, what happened?”
I sigh. “She offered me her entire fortune,” I say brightly.
“And, uh, that's a bad thing?” Holly asks.
“You haven’t heard the conditions yet,” I say in a wry tone.
Holly groans. “There's always something with that grandmother of yours.”
“Oh, trust me. This one takes the cake,” I assure her. “She’ll give me all the money I need if I give her a grandchild.”
“No way,” Holly gasps. “Actually, that's kind of not as bad as I was expecting it to be. I mean, it’s bad, but lots of single mothers manage to raise kids. Why not you?”
“Firstly, I'm not having a kid because my grandmother tells me to,” I retort testily. “Second, there are more conditions. It’s not just a kid she wants, it's the whole package. A husband, the perfect house and a picket fucking fence. This is her way of making sure I’m settled.”
“Wow, I can't believe she would go that far.”
“Oh, I can,” I mutter. “Going to see her was a waste of time. I mean, where the heck am I supposed to find a guy who’ll agree to that anyway?” I rant and shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “Not that it matters, because I'm not doing it.”
“Hey, it’s too bad you can't stand my brother,” Holly sniggers. “I'm pretty sure he’d say yes. God knows he could use the cash.”
“Hudson?” I screw my nose up at the thought.
“Have I got any other brothers?”
Too bad she doesn’t.
“It would be a cute baby at least,” I concede.
“Wait a minute, are you saying my brother is cute?” she accuses.
“Of course not,” I scoff, my cheeks heating up. “I was just saying he isn’t completely unfortunate looking.”
“I’ll be sure to pass that on.” Holly giggles.
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss.
The gates to my grandmother’s house begin to open, which means someone is leaving. I don’t want to risk running into her right now, so I buckle myself in and start the car.
“Hols, I’ll call you later, okay?”
“S
ure. And V? Don’t stress. There’s always an answer.”
I snort as I toss my phone on the seat next to me.
Don’t stress?
Easy for her to say. It’s all I’ve done since this whole mess started.
I head toward my apartment, my grandmother’s offer playing over in my head on repeat. She makes it sound so easy. Find a husband, have a kid, settle down and all my money troubles are gone. It’s the finding a husband bit I’m struggling with the most. I know it’s a lot of money, but what guy is going to agree to a lifelong commitment like having a kid?
Well, aside from Hudson. Holly said it herself he was a good choice. Sure, she was only kidding, but he might just be desperate enough to agree to do this with me.
Pulling over to the side of the road, I pick up my phone. It only takes a few minutes of Facebook stalking before I stumble across his business page. I study a photo of him standing out the front of a half constructed house—that’s just around the corner from where I am now. He’s dressed in worn jeans and a shirt so tight that it clings to his muscles. I swallow as I study his face. That perfectly chiseled jaw and those warm brown eyes that feel like they’re staring deep into your soul…
I could certainly do a lot worse than Hudson.
My heart races as I click the car into drive. What have I got to lose from driving over there and asking him if he’ll do this?
The worst he can do is say no.
CHAPTER SIX
Hudson
“For God’s sake,” I growl when another person pounds on the door of my trailer. “How many times do I have to tell you that I'm busy? Come back later.”
I’ve been hiding in here most of the day, trying to figure out how to make the little cash I have left stretch. I’m in way over my head, so the last thing I want right now is to make useless small talk with someone about shit that really doesn’t matter. The handle begins to turn anyway, so I get to my feet, my fists clenched in frustration as I ready myself to hurl abuse at whoever walks through that door.
The last person I expect to see is Valentina.
Her long honey blonde curls cascade down her back in perfect rhythm to the swing of her well-proportioned hips. The dark, silky dress she’s wearing showcases her curves perfectly. So perfectly that for a second, I forget about my anger and frustrations and just enjoy the view in front of me.
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