Chapter 3

Armani

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating as she said, “Prove it.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Prove what?” My voice was steady, but I genuinely didn’t know what she was asking for.

“The money,” she said, her gaze flicking down toward my midsection. For a brief moment, I thought she was checking me out, but no—she was expecting to see a bulging wallet or something. Her eyes snapped back to mine. “Prove it.”

I felt a smile tug at the corners of my lips. Interesting. She wasn’t going to make this easy. Fair enough. I gave her a slight nod and reached into the inner pocket of my jacket. Slowly, deliberately, I pulled out my wallet. It was sleek, black leather—understated but unmistakably expensive. I counted out twenty crisp bills and nodded toward the booth she’d just vacated. “Shall we?” I asked, gesturing politely.

I wasn’t convinced this would lead anywhere. Honestly, the whole situation felt surreal. After years of searching for the right woman, was it possible she’d just walk into my life in a diner, of all places? And not only that—she’d already kissed me. My thoughts flicked back to the memory of her lips, soft and full. A wave of unease stirred in my chest. If she was the one, the perfect surrogate, why did I feel this pull toward her? It complicated everything.

“And all I have to do is answer questions?” she asked, her voice cautious as her eyes darted between me and the stack of cash in my hand. “Nothing… kinky, right?”

A laugh almost slipped out, and for a second, I was tempted to say something witty—something that, under different circumstances, would’ve had her in my bed before the hour was up. But I bit it back. This wasn’t about that. She wasn’t here for that, and if this worked out, she might be carrying my child in a few months. Our lives would be intertwined in ways I wasn’t sure I was ready to think about.

Instead of responding, I tilted my head and gestured toward the booth again. This time, she slid into the seat, still watching me with those wary eyes. I followed, settling into the seat across from her, keeping my movements calm and measured.

“What do you want to know?” she asked, her attention lingering on the cash, now stacked neatly on the table beside me.

I placed the money down, pinning it beneath a saltshaker for good measure. “Your name, to start.”

“Rena Foster.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes didn’t stop studying me, like she was trying to figure out my angle. “Is that it?”

A chuckle escaped me. “Ten minutes of your time. It’ll be painless, I promise.”

She tilted her head slightly. It was a simple gesture, but it drew my attention in ways I wished it didn’t. My body reacted instinctively, and I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to focus. If I weren’t so intent on finding the right woman for this arrangement, I might’ve invited her back to my hotel instead.

And if she didn’t pass this little “interview,” maybe I still would.

Her eyes narrowed again, like she could sense my train of thought. “This is some weird sex thing, isn’t it?”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “Not at all.” Although, in another life, I wouldn’t have minded if it was.

She didn’t look convinced but decided to let it go. “Okay. Then can we get on with it? I need to get to my bus.”

I leaned back in my seat, glancing toward the diner’s front door. “I’d be happy to give you a ride once we’re done. My car’s just outside.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she frowned. “Hm.” She studied me again, just as warily as before. “Where is that accent from? It’s not quite German. Not quite Austrian.” Her head tilted again, curiosity breaking through her guarded expression. “Montovia?”

My smile widened. Impressive. “You’ve heard of it?”

She nodded, though her expression remained guarded. “What is this about?”

“We’ll get to that,” I said, drumming my fingers lightly on the tabletop. “Now, your father’s illness… it was the result of an accident?”

Her face darkened, her sharp gaze locking onto me. “You know, it’s rude to eavesdrop…”

“Be that as it may,” I cut in, my tone firm but steady, “I’m in a position to help you.”

Her eyes flickered with something softer, though she still seemed hesitant. “Yes,” she admitted quietly, emotion threading through her voice. “He and my mother were in a car accident three years ago. She didn’t make it.” Her eyes glistened, but her tone hardened as she added, “He wishes he hadn’t.”

I studied her, noticing the way her eyes narrowed, suspicion clear as day. She shifted in her seat, the tension between us palpable. It wasn’t like I blamed her—anyone in her position would be on edge. Hell, I probably came off as some sort of lunatic.

“Any other family members?” I asked, keeping my tone calm, measured.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glued to mine like she was trying to read between the lines. “I have a brother,” she said slowly. Then, with a sharper edge, “What is this about?”

I ignored the question for now, pressing forward. “Any mental health problems?”

Her response was quick, laced with sarcasm. “Other than him being an asshole? No.”

I let out a faint chuckle despite myself, nodding to acknowledge her humor, but I wasn’t about to be derailed. “Any cancer or genetic issues in your family?”

Her brows furrowed, and she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Did your mother have any difficulties with her pregnancies?” My gaze stayed on her, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.

“No,” she said, her voice firmer now. “This is weird,” she added, blinking a few times. “Why—”

“And what about you?” I cut in, leaning forward slightly, the weight of the moment pressing between us. “Any pregnancies?”

Her eyes widened, and I could feel the disbelief rolling off her. “No!” she snapped, a mix of indignation and shock in her tone. “I knew this was a weird sex thing—”

“It’s not at all, I promise,” I said quickly, holding up my hands in reassurance. “I know how it sounds, but it’s not like that.”

Her jaw tightened as she looked at me, unease written all over her face. “This is really… weird,” she muttered, shaking her head. Then her eyes darted toward the stack of money on the table. Before I could react, her hand shot out toward it.

I reached out instinctively, my hand covering hers. The moment our skin touched, a spark shot through me—a rush of warmth that I hadn’t expected. It startled me, almost as much as it seemed to surprise her. For a second, her gaze locked on mine, searching for something, though I wasn’t sure what.

“A few more things,” I said softly, not letting my voice waver.

She pulled her hand back, her movements slow, deliberate. “Well, make it quick,” she said, her tone edged with defiance. “I need to get to work. You have no idea what my boss is going to do when I show up late.”

“What is it you do for work?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay steady.

Her eyes narrowed again, like she was daring me to judge her. “I’m a librarian. And yes, it’s harder than you think. I pretty much have to know a lot about a lot of things. I—”

“I have no doubt you’re quite intelligent,” I interrupted, offering her a small, genuine smile. And I meant it. The fact that she’d placed my Montovian accent earlier had been impressive. Most people couldn’t even place the country on a map.

She snorted softly, her skepticism obvious. “Hm. So, what’s this all about? You’re asking me health questions, genetic questions… It’s almost as though you’re shopping for a—” Her voice faltered, her eyes widening as realization hit. “Forget it.”

She bolted up from her seat before I could say a word, clutching her belongings and making a beeline for the door. I swore under my breath, grabbing the stack of bills and sliding out of the booth to follow her.

“You forgot something!” I called after her, my voice cutting through the ambient noise of the street as she stormed into the cool evening air.

She spun around, her eyes blazing with anger. She snatched the bills from my hand, shoving them into her pocket. “You’ve got some nerve, you know that?”

“Why would you say that?” I asked, shaking my head. “I offered you quite a sum of money, only to answer my questions—”

“You think I’m going to… what? Donate my eggs to you and your partner? Forget it,” she snapped, taking a step back.

The implication hit me, and I quickly corrected her. “Me and my…?” I sighed, exasperated. “No, no. I don’t have a partner. I just need—”

“Ohh, you and your wife then,” she cut in, her gaze flicking to my left hand and back to my face. “I don’t have time for this.” She turned sharply, heading toward the bus stop.

“But you need the money. For your father,” I called after her, quickening my steps to catch up. “It could be a mutually beneficial proposition.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, turning to face me with an incredulous look. “You’re going to give me a million dollars. For my eggs,” she scoffed, her tone dripping with disbelief.

“No, not for your eggs,” I said, desperation creeping into my voice.

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she looked at me. “No?”

“A million dollars—or whatever the final cost of your father’s treatment,” I said, my words deliberate. “To bear my child. My son.”