Sun God Seeks...surrogate? Read Online Free PDF Page A

grant.”
    Her eyes filled with tears. “But, how?”
    “It’s one of these trust fund charities. Sorry I didn’t say anything last night when I found out, but you were asleep. Didn’t want to wake you.”
    She hugged me with as much energy as her weak body could muster. “I love you, Penelope. You truly are an angel.” She pulled away. “I almost forgot! It’s your birthday. Now we have two things to celebrate.”
    Ugh. I hated celebrating my birthday. It was one of my many quirks. Something about getting older made me feel…old. And now that I had to see Cimil again, I felt even less like celebrating.
    She left the room and returned with a small box. “I hope you like it.”
    “Oh my God, how did you find the energy to buy me something?” Sometimes it truly is the thought that counts.
    I unwrapped the shiny red paper covering the box. Inside was a small silver ring with tiny black cabochons.
    “Do you like it? I got it from an antique shop. The woman said it would bring you good luck.”
    It was lovely. “I’ll wear it forever.”
     
     

CHAPTER 4
     
     
    At a quarter to nine that same morning, I found myself pacing the sidewalk across from Cimil’s house with giant spoon in hand, ready to chow down on a heaping helping of crow. My mother’s health was well worth a few kicks to the ego, but I still needed to go in with a game plan.
    I’d agreed to listen. Just…listen. Five hundred thousand dollars.
    I blew out a quick breath and watched the steam billow from my lips. The air outside had to be in the teens, but it could have been one hundred and eight for all I knew; my body, riddled with adrenaline, felt like it was on fire. Maybe because I felt like an animal about to be caged.
    Yes, here’s the yummy carrot, bunny. Jump! Jump!
    No. You agreed to listen, to consider their proposal in exchange for a boatload of money your mother desperately needs. Nothing more. There is no obligation to share your eggs.
    Not that my eggs would mind. Little traitors. They were already creating decoupage memorial plates in her brother’s honor.
    In any case, the chances of Cimil saying anything to convince me were slim to…never, ever, ever. I mean, who in their right mind would consider this sort of scheme, aside from those weird people who show up on the cover of the National Enquirer between articles entitled I Was Carjacked by a Yeti and Aliens Are Living in My Shampoo Bottle.
    I took a quick sip of my extra-strong coffee taking comfort in its fortifying bitterness.
    See. You could never say yes to Cimil. You’d have to quit coffee if you had a baby.
    I stared at my constant companion for the last year. Coffee and I had done things. Been places. My bud.I ran my finger lovingly down the side of the paper cup. No, I could never give you up.
    But that dream…You can’t deny that there’s a subliminal somethin’-somethin’ going on.
    My mind quickly replayed the imaginary conversation. What did it mean?
    Not everything is a battle of absolutes …
    Were they somewhere in between? Areas of gray?
    What’s your gray, Penelope?
    I bit my lower lip and took a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee.
    “You know, Penelope,” said a deep male voice to my side, startling me from my personal force majeure. “Sometimes it’s best to treat fate like a Band-Aid.”
    The man who’d answered the door the evening before stood next to me. Only this time he wore a black turtleneck (not a baby) and a full-length leather jacket.
    His breath was thick as smoke when he said, “I am Andrus.”
    He held out his leather-clad hand, and I immediately wondered if the gloves were meant to mask the creepy bite marks rather than shield his fingers from the formidable cold. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who got chilly.
    He gave me the once over while we shook hands. “You’re going to catch a cold standing out here in that,” he pointed out.
    I’d worn my jeans and faux–fur lined boots with a white sweater. My parka was tied