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Brad’s quickly out of my neck, his face a picture of incredulity. “What?”
“I said I’d do it.”
He laughs, not in humor, releasing me before quickly reclaiming me when I wobble. His face straightens. “It’s a hard no.”
“He won’t return Nolan.”
“He will for two hundred million.”
I baulk at him. “You’re paying him?” Two hundred million? “Wait. Does he know I’m not . . .” Did Anya tell anyone?
Brad shakes his head. “He doesn’t know, and he has Nolan, Pearl. I can’t risk pissing him off.”
“But Anya knew.”
Brad puts a finger over my lips. “Need to know,” he says quietly.
“Oh my God, Brad.” I blink, astounded, feeling incredibly wobbly again. “You can’t pay him that.” But what did I think was going to happen? My uncle would return Nolan, accept he wasn’t getting me, and that would be that? Of course I didn’t. But that’s an insane amount of money.
“Shhhh,” Brad hushes me, feeling at my face. “He’s never coming near you again.”
“My uncle doesn’t bargain, Brad. He makes his demands and people meet the demands or?—”
“Or, what?” he asks. “He kills them? Pearl, my love, you’re not in the English countryside anymore. You’re in Miami. You’re in The Brit’s mansion.” He takes my neck and massages gently. “You’re in my heart.” It may be a completely unfitting time to swoon, but it happens nonetheless. “You have to trust me.”
Trust him. My God. I nod halfheartedly—because what else can I do?—and let him smother me with kisses, fearful that he should be trusting my words. I know Bernard King. He shouldn’t be underestimated.
“He said he has a gift for you,” Brad says quietly. “Do you know what it is?”
I take in air. It could be only one thing. Something so precious to me. “My mother’s necklace.”
“A necklace?”
“My dad brought it for her when I was born. It’s a pearl surrounded by rubies.” I swallow. “Pearls for me, rubies for mother.”
“Her name was Ruby?”
I nod. “She said it would be mine one day. He took it after I buried her.”
“We’ll get it back,” Brad says, sounding sure, and definitely angry. “Come on, back to bed.”
Bed? I’m sick of being in bed. “Can’t I go downstairs for a while?” A tea and a cigarette sound dreamy right now.
“You’re too—” His body deflates when I give him a tired look. “Fine,” he relents. “Just for a little while.”
“Okay, Daddy,” I breathe, and then yelp when he squeezes my arse before he sits me on the bed and pulls some jeans on. I blink back my awe as he picks me up and carries me downstairs across his arms. “Let me walk a little bit,” I plead as he nears the bottom. I need to build up my strength, and Brad carrying me everywhere isn’t going to help, even if it feels nice.
When he reaches the bottom, he dips and places me on my feet gingerly, watching my face for discomfort, so I work hard not to show it. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I breathe, feeling his arm snake around my back. He walks me into the kitchen, and all of the chatter dies when everyone sees me. “Oh gosh, everyone is here,” I say over an awkward laugh, all attention pointing my way. Faces full of sympathy. Oh, I don’t like this. It was a mistake. They all know what’s happened to me. They all know who I am. I start to back up, feeling resistance from Brad. I look up at him. “That’s enough for one day,” I whisper.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, taking me toward the table. Fury jumps up and pulls out a chair. Then looks around the room, frowns, dashes off, and everyone watches him go, the big beast of a man moving fast. He appears a few moments later with a cushion from the TV room. Puts it on the chair. Pats it.
“I haven’t got piles, Fury,” I say, prompting a few snorts from the crowd that eases the atmosphere marginally. Brad helps me down to the chair next to Beau. She reaches for my hand and squeezes. Ella smiles weakly. Rose comes up behind me and hugs me gently around my shoulders. Esther places a cup of tea in my grasp and kisses my head before going back to the stove, dishing up a bowl and giving it to Tank. Danny flips me a wink. James nods mildly. Goldie, Ringo, and Otto all smile, more gently than their hard faces should allow. Even Zinnea and Quinton are here.
“All right, chick?” Mason asks.
I look to the corner of the room, where Mason is leaning against the counter, a beer in his hand. “All right.” I smile.
