Page 74 of Shark’s Rise

“Oh, God, yes. She’s even teaching herself about all the Abstract stuff. I think she may be a robot or something. How can one person be that good at so many things?”

“That’s still not an answer to my question.”

“I know.”

More working my lips together. At this rate, I was going to rub off all the flesh. Not a good thing when I was hoping for more soul-searing kisses from the man tonight.

“It’s…well, it’s Rio,” I finally confessed.

“What about her?” he queried.

“Ever since we told them we were expecting, there’s been this extra bit of tension with her…” I stroked the crease of his thumb and forefinger with the pad of mine. “I don’t know if I imagine it or if it’s really there.”

“Yeah. You said you sensed that before.” He used his free hand to push some hair off of my forehead. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

I pushed out a soft sigh. “I don’t know if now’s the right time.” The sound became a full moan when he leaned back, pulled one of my feet into his lap, and began rubbing in all the right places. “I mean, she’s barely had a chance to even see Sean lately, with all the party prep on top of maintaining day-to-day operations…” Despite the nirvana of his treatment to my swollen arches and toes, I grimaced. “I’m really feeling like I’m not pulling my weight on things—and that’s even before this little dude came along for the ride.” As I stroked my stomach, I went on. “I keep thinking that between Dori and me, we should be able to accomplish the equivalent of one person, but it’s clear Rio’s still doing mostly everything. And I feel terrible.”

“Okay…this one is easy.” Sebastian paused his hand, ensuring he’d get my full attention for his assessment. “This is your guilty conscience talking, baby—but you have to let it go.” His stare was dark as midnight and solid as granite. “To be clear, I’m insisting on it.”

“Hmmm.” I made a play for cute and coy, in hopes of filing down some of his newly sprouted ire. “You’re kind of hot when you get insistent.”

“And you’re not changing the subject by way of my cock,” he volleyed. “This is for your health and our baby’s. You promised when you bid that contract that you wouldn’t overwork yourself. You gave me your word, Abbigail.”

“And I haven’t been.” I raised both hands. “I promise, Sebastian.”

“All right. I’m just reminding you.”

And that was that. The decree had been issued. The matter was clear. This wasn’t a topic I’d be able to talk out with Sebastian. No matter what I said, he would beat the same drum of resistance. But I wasn’t about to leave Rio hanging in the wind. Every word she spoke this afternoon was right. We’d worked too damn hard to achieve this success.

I was just going to have to work through this problem myself. To alleviate my own guilt and get the job done.

It was that simple.

The next couple of weeks went by in a blur. We’d seen the doctor again, and our little Kaisan was still checking out great. The baby was growing right on track, and my due date held steady. We scheduled our birthing class with a private birthing coach who would come to the house with the option of a small group class with two or three other couples in one of our homes as well. Sebastian compromised on the class concept for me, initially not wanting to do it at all.

When I explained I was feeling the need to have the comradery of other expectant mothers in the same situation around me right now, he understood a little better. Thank God for his countless pregnancy books, because apparently this nesting and need for tribal support were mentioned in several of them.

The big party night finally arrived, and I had worked more hours that week alone than I had in the past two months combined. Or at least my body felt as though I had. I knew I was pushing myself to the limit, and despite Dori’s constant nagging, even she couldn’t deny the amount of work that needed to get done was insurmountable unless we all pitched in. At that point, we were fully committed to making the shindig a raging success, and things needed to be done in a specific order and everything with absolute attention to detail. Abstract Catering’s reputation was on the line, and we had the potential of landing so much future business from this singular event.

Swollen feet, an aching back, and a nauseated stomach all combined to make me as miserable as I had been in Twentynine Palms.

Dori paced in the ladies’ room while I swiped a second coat of concealer under my eyes, trying to hide the dark circles. The cover stick, along with everything else in my makeup bag, had become a good friend these last few days—filed under the heading of “How to hide exhaustion from a man who knows every mole on your body.”

“Hey, Dori?” I queried. “Can you zip this? Or at least try to.” I turned my back to Dori so she could secure my maternity cocktail dress. Until I’d had to shop for this party, I didn’t even know they had formalwear at maternity stores. “If this thing doesn’t fit, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I swear, this kid’s popping out more and more every time I look in the mirror.”

For the fifth time this hour alone, my assistant asked, “Are you absolutely sure you are okay? You look pale, Abbi.”

I huffed and confronted her gaze via the mirror. Her expression hadn’t altered much; she’d been transparent about her concern since we’d begun the day, back at six a.m. In the twelve hours since, she’d insisted I put my feet up at least once an hour, but as go time for the party neared, I’d started to ignore her.

Like right now.

As soon as she opened her mouth and drew breath to speak, I cut her off with a determined gaze and a high-set chin, both delivered via the mirror. “Dori, we’re going to plow through this, damn it. Afterward, I promise I’ll lie down until my due date.”

She folded her arms. Clearly, she wasn’t buying my front. I would’ve fought back with a defiant glare, if only the middle of my body didn’t pick that exact moment to erupt in sharp pain. I gasped just as violently before bending forward and grabbing the counter for balance.

“Abbi, please!” Dori gripped me from behind like she’d become a human tong and I was a burning mini quiche. “Just sit down for longer than five minutes! Let us do the rest!”

The girl didn’t know that this quiche was getting pissed off. “Sweetie,” I gritted out. “Let. Me. Go.”