AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I don’t work out.
Maybe it’s stress?
I live in a locked castle, with no real responsibilities.
Maybe it’s just a day late?
It’s three fucking weeks late.
Now, the reality of my behavior is looking me straight in the face.
Pregnant.
My breakfast of soda and crackers leaps into my throat, and I have no choice but to let it out in the, thankfully, lined garbage can beside me. I wipe my mouth with an art auction brochure, then, straightening up, I toss the paper into the black bag.
I walk into the auction room with confidence. This is my scene. I know how to act here and what is expected. I straighten my business-casual outfit for the fifth time, even though my black fitted top and black leaf-patterned blazer have stayed in place. My auction paddle shakes in my hand, proving to me I’m lying to myself about my confidence. I want one painting. Lot number ten. The only painting that is mine and missing from my gallery. Part of me wants to shove this in everyone’s face. I want to tell them,“Look! That’s mine, and it’s going to go for real money!”My family isn’t controlling this auction, and I don’t see any shady dealers in the crowd that would buy mine to clean some money. The other part just wants a glimpse of Demetri Sokolov again.
Taking my seat, I look around the room. I’m used to commanding these places, being the one in charge. This time, I’m in one of the chairs with a paddle, waiting for the bidding to commence. I don’t know which one is more stressful.
A few of the other invitees are familiar, all legit art collectors, their personal assistances, or art dealers. I’m anxious to “win” my painting. But what scares me more is the thought of no one else bidding on it. Both are equally frightening to me.
My leg shakes. My stomach wants to revolt again, even though it has nothing in it. I can’t even take a sip of water, knowing it’s going to come right back up.
An auction has never taken so long in my life. The paddle slips in my clammy hand, so I tighten my grip. My piece is the next one up.
The auctioneer announces the bidding price, and it’s low. My stomach drops as I wait for someone to up the bid, but not a single hand rises. My fingers dig into my knee, and I raise my paddle. The auctioneer’s voice is loud, announcing the first bid. I wait for the snickers, for the under-their-breath comments to follow.Yes, I’m buying my own damn painting. But there’s only more silence.
Another paddle rises then, and I blow out a breath—both relieved and angry. I wait, and another paddle goes up, so I lift mine.
Why can’t someone love me for me? Instead, I find myself surrounded by morally grey people, and that’s how I ended up here in the first place. After more bids, I raise my paddle again, and the guy who’s outbid me twice smiles my way, doing the same. I was happy where the price was two bids ago. It was in my normal range for art. But now… I lift the paddle again.
When I find out who the seller is, I’ll just inform them that this piece was stolen and that I will not be paying for it.
Finally, after going back and forth, the gavel drops, and I’m the new owner of my own painting.
My foot hasn’t stopped tapping. I want to leave the room and take my painting home right this instant. But like everyone else, I’m forced to wait. I’m not shipping it to the gallery. I’m taking it personally to make sure it’s not stolen from me again.
“Ms. Rossi,” I’m greeted once the auction is over. I’m sure he realizes I just bought my own damn painting by the knowing grin on his face. I would really love to slap it off.
“Who is the seller?” I ask.
“Funny you ask. They’re here tonight. Between you and me, they had second thoughts about selling the artwork. Apparently, it has sentimental value to them.”
I can’t tell if that’s a jab at me or not. Or if this guy really is stupid. I walk into the room where my painting is being held.
“I’ll be right back for payment,” he tells me, walking away.
This gallery could use some help with how they run their business. Leaving someone in a room by themselves with an item they have not actually paid for is one of their many mistakes tonight. I go to my painting, my fingers brushing down the canvas before picking it up, and I place it under my arm. It’s time to go.
Before I even turn around, there is a loud click at the door. I whip around, and Demetri stands in front of the now locked exit.
“This is mine. I’m not paying you a cent for something you stole.” I stand tall before him, not moving from my spot.
I hate that he’s looking sexy as hell. He strolls up to me with a calm confidence that doesn’t match my fake kind. I could blurt out two words to wipe it away and ruin his day.I’m pregnant.
A wave of dizziness has me swaying, and immediately his arm wraps around me. His strong cedar scent invades my senses as my reality hits me. I’m pregnant with a mafia boss’s baby. And not just any mafia boss, a Russian one, thePakhan. The heir to the Bratva throne is in my belly.
An arrogant chuckle leaves his lips. “I see I make you weak in the knees, Katrina.” His accent is thicker than I’ve heard it; he must normally try to hide it.
