by Elodie Colt
Think. And do it fast.
I fold my hands underneath the desk so she doesn’t notice them curling into white-knuckled fists.
“The one and only,” I say. “It was my gift to Ella.”
Her eyes narrow into slits as she checks my face, analyzing my reaction with due diligence. I hold her stare, unblinking.
She slightly shakes her head. “So, you’ve found it? Who was the thief?”
My upper lip curls inward as my patience slowly dwindles, and I rise to my feet, communicating that this unpleasant meeting is over.
“In case I haven’t been clear enough, I’m going to repeat this one last time.” Slowly buttoning up my suit jacket, I stare her down. “You’re not part of my life anymore. What happens inside the walls of Crawford Crescent is none of your fucking business. You are my past, and Ella is my future. Do us both a favor and get that into your pretty little head.”
I watch her face contorting from shock to disbelief to finally outright indignation before she grabs her phone and launches to her feet. Sending me a last glower, she pivots on her heels and floats from the room. I keep my spine rod-straight and my face stone-hard until the door slams shut behind her and finally collapse into my chair.
What. The. Fuck.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I push out a deep breath in hopes of untangling the lump of turbulent thoughts in my head.
Okay, what are the facts? The alexandrite ring is in Ella’s possession, and it is, without a doubt, the alexandrite ring. I would recognize it from a mile away. I’ve never told her about it, so she couldn’t have known it once belonged to me and considering it went missing fifteen years ago, she hardly has anything to do with its disappearance. Apart from that, Vincent admitted he took the ring.
I sag back against the backrest, fumbling with the pendant around my neck. How the fuck did she get her hands on it? Could Aiko have manipulated the picture just to score her off? She can’t stand it that I’m with someone else now, someone who’s not playing in the world of the rich and famous. I saw the loathing in her eyes when she met Ella in the gallery, the mischievous glint at smelling the opportunity to wreak havoc. Hence why I pulled her aside to let her know that she would have a brush with me if she ever so much as breathed in Ella’s direction.
But no, the picture wasn’t a fake. You can’t fake that gem. Fact.
A stupid, revolting, utterly atrocious thought crosses my mind, and I steeple my hands in front of my nose, almost biting off my thumbnail. What if Vincent gave Ella the ring? What if Ella is the woman Vincent—my father—fell in love with all those years ago? She is Russian after all…
I scoff, shaking my head and letting it fall into my hands. No. Absolutely no. It’s not possible. I quickly do the math. Fifteen years ago, Ella was fourteen years young. A teenager. Vincent told me the woman’s name was Mar—surely a nickname but certainly not connected to the name ‘Ella’ or ‘Elenka.’
Dragging a hand through my hair, I grab my phone and call Vincent. If anyone can give me insight here, it’s him.
“Come on, pick up…” I mutter under my breath, but after a few rings, my call lands in his voicemail. He’s in Vegas, so what did I expect? “Fuck.”
Guess I have to confront Ella first and hear her take on things. Maybe I’m racking my brain for nothing, and there’s a simple, plausible explanation. Dammit, Vincent gave the ring away fifteen years ago. The woman could have sold it online, and Ella bought it, by a stupid chance. An outrageous irony that wouldn’t happen a second time on this planet, but all bets are off, right?
Pushing to my feet, I shut down my laptop. Lots of unopened stuff is waiting in my inbox, but not even an email from the president of the United States could divert my focus now which is pin-pointed on confronting Ella and the question about how the fuck I’m going to pull this off without shooting myself in the foot.
No matter how I’m going to approach this, I can’t skip the part about Aiko dropping by to show me a picture she’d secretly taken. Her first encounter with my ex was a disaster that ended in dirty, raw office sex. Not the worst ending for our first argument, but something tells me I won’t be that lucky again.
Ella Jenkins is a sex bomb. Dangerous, constantly ticking, and always seconds away from blowing up. I have yet to figure out which wires to cut to disarm her.
Hence, why I spend the next three hours sitting on my sofa and staring at the floor, hatching a plan to deal with my feisty, temperamental girl, and avoid any possible complications. I grip my hands together, trying to think of how to kick off this conversation without going like a bull at a gate.
Or you could just say nothing and keep that damn ring in the past.
The ring is gone. The mystery is solved. Why rake over old coals?
I shake my head, dragging my fingers down my cheeks. No, I need to know. After all, we’re talking about a ring in the high five-figure range. It’s my right to demand answers, my right to confront her about things that bug or upset me. Where would that leave us if I drew in my horns every time out of fear of pissing her off?
The doorbell rings, and I take a second to gather my composure before I push to my feet to let Ella into the building. Two minutes later, she appears on my doorstep in her usual jeans-jacket-and-helmet-clamped-underneath-her-arm attire.
“Hey, beautiful,” I purr and greet her with a kiss.
“Hey,” she says, but the smile she’s gracing me appears a little forced.
Oh-oh. Not a good sign.
I step back to let her pass but not without sneaking a glance down at her hand. There’s no ring on her finger, so I assume she wore it yesterday in memory of her mother’s birthday.
We start the evening with red wine and some chit-chat about work while I secretly analyze her overall mood. She seems to be in good spirits, but judging from the pensive expression unfurling on her face from time to time, something is eating her. I decide to address the issue straight on and get it out of the way first.
“Is everything alright?” I ask when we cuddle on the sofa. “You seem a little distant.”
Heaving a sigh, she removes her head from my shoulder and tugs her feet underneath her thighs. “I ran into your ex yesterday.”
And now comes the tricky part because there’s nothing else I can say other than, “Yeah, I know.”
Her head whirls to me, a frown on her features.
“She dropped by today,” I add with a smack of my lips.
Ella straightens, squinting at me. “You’re seeing her quite often, I’ve noticed.” Her tone is nonchalant, but I don’t miss the underlying accusation.
“Sanzhar Sharipova hired her as his senior curator. I don’t like it, but until his museums are good to open for business, I’m afraid I can’t avoid running into her from time to time.”
She grimaces. “My life is complicated enough, Nathan. I don’t need a scorned ex-wife on top.”
Her tone suggests that Aiko threw fuel into the flames, and I hate that she has the power to intimidate her. “What did she say to you?”
She drums her fingers onto her wine glass. “That you would have fucked her in your office if she hadn’t stopped you.”
I utter a derisive laugh, angrily shaking my head. “Unbelievable… Fuck, Ella, don’t let her get to you.”
“Easier said than done. She’s rich, gorgeous, and a woman you once vowed to love for eternity.”
With a growl, I pounce on her and nail her to the sofa. She gasps when I grab her face.
“There’s only one woman I will love for all eternity, and that’s the one who conquered my heart before I’d even seen her face.”
My vigorous words make her flinch back an inch, and I realize I might have sounded a little too possessive. Not the best tactic for someone who is desperately trying to get free from a stalker whose obsession rivals mine.
Releasing her with a sigh, I sit back up to give her space. “Listen, there’s something I need to ask you, but you have to promise me not to throw
a tantrum, okay?”
Her dark look tells me I better spit it out or else, and I scratch my stubble before I ask tentatively, “It might seem to be a weird question, but… do you have an alexandrite ring in your possession?”
Her eyebrows squish together as she shoots me a wary glance. “You’re right, that is a weird question. Maybe explain first where that’s coming from?”
That’s exactly what I wanted to avoid.
“Okay, here’s the thing…” I lick my lips. “Aiko showed me a picture today, one of an alexandrite ring on your finger.”
Ella’s mouth pops open in disbelief.
And just like that, you’ve lit the fuse.
“What the fuck?”
“Just let me explain, okay?” I lift my hands in a don’t-go-mad gesture. “You asked me why the last nook in my office was empty. There was an alexandrite ring in there, the same one you had on your finger yesterday. It went missing many years ago, and Vincent—”
She slams her glass onto her table and shoots to her feet, her cheeks beet-red.
“You think I stole it?” she hisses, stemming her hands onto her hips.
And the bomb is about to blow up.
“I didn’t say that,” I say, trying to maintain a calm, collected tone. “I just want to know where you got the ring from.”
She just scoffs, grabbing her hair with fists. “Why? Because it’s missing from the sixth nook, is that it? Because of the stupid number six?”
I stand up, too, just in case she’s about to throw something at me. “No. I just—”
“Why don’t you start answering my questions for once, huh?” she cuts in, turning full-mode confrontational with fury blazing in her eyes. “How did you find me? What did you do to hunt me down?”
And now the shock wave comes.
I just shake my head, dragging my tongue over my lip. What the fuck am I supposed to say without making this worse?
She steps up to me, seething. “How far did you really go, Nathan?”
That’s when my control snaps, all the composure that took me hours to gather flying out the next window.
“I hired a private investigator, okay?” I throw at her. “When I found out that Sokolov was still in the picture, I went mad. I didn’t know what else to do because I had no fucking clue where you were!”
The color drains from her face, her features going slack.
“He told me you moved in with your sister,” I go on because I’m on a roll now. “He told me that you changed your identity and took the next flight to the states after your mother died. That your real name was Elenka Jendarov which reminds me…” Clenching my jaw, I lean in until our noses almost touch. “Did you ever intend on telling me? After all these months of hiding in the dark, of wrapping yourself in layers of secrets, did you ever intend on telling me your real name?”
That’s when her face becomes stone, the corners of her mouth turning down as a deeply pained look cascades over her features.
“You… you hired a spy?” she whispers through trembling lips. “You hired a fucking spy?”
Before I can open my mouth to say something, her hand comes flying through the air. The slap cracks my head to the side, but the sting exploding on my jaw barely registers as I stand there, stunned. The only thing I hear is the blood rushing from my ears down into my taunt arms as I slowly turn my head back, war brewing in both our eyes. For a moment, we don’t move, staring each other down. My jaw clenches so hard, my cheeks start to cramp.
How dare she? How can she still not understand that everything I did, I did to protect her? To keep her out of harm’s way so she can live a happy life? How can she still not get it into her stubborn, little head that everything I did, I did because the thought of losing her was just unbearable?
She breaks through my reverie first, taking a step back to gain distance. The disappointment swirling in her eyes spikes my blood pleasure to the point I want to scream my lungs out, and before I lose all sense of good and bad, I pivot on my heels and clear out.
The door slams shut behind me. My hands curl into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms as I gun for the elevator, panting like mad. I end up in the gym, eager to throw some punches when I notice Nick doing some sit-ups in front of the huge mirror.
He halts mid-move when I aim for the next punching bag and drive a fist into it with an almighty growl.
“Whoa, what’s up with you, bro?” Scrambling up from the floor, he dabs his forehead with a towel. “Let me guess… You came to feel your girl’s Russian temper?”
I just glower at him as he edges closer.
“And she left a nice handprint on your cheek,” he adds with a grumble and an amused smirk.
“The alexandrite ring…” I mutter. “It’s in her possession.”
Nick frowns at me. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw a picture. The alexandrite ring Vincent took all those years ago… Ella has it.”
His frown only deepens. “But… how?”
“That’s what I wanted to find out, and that’s how it ended,” I snap, pointing to my burning cheek.
Nick tosses his towel onto the floor. “Okay, just for the record… The ring that went missing fifteen years ago, the one Vincent said he took himself and gave another woman, is now in your girl’s hands?”
“Yep.”
“And you saw it?”
“Aiko ran into Ella and took a picture of her hand.”
Nick snorts, laughing it off. “You’re really letting your ex put a wedge between you two?”
“I know that ring, Nick,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “I know that fucking ring better than any other jewel in my gallery. It. Is. The. Ring.”
Forehead crumpled, his eyes flicker between mine. “Okay, I believe you. And I take it Ella didn’t want to tell you where she’s got it from?”
“No.”
“Then ask Dad.”
“Already tried, he’s not picking up,” I say, shaking my head. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”
“No, but he should return within the next few days.”
I nod in defeat, and Nick steps up to me to clap my shoulder.
“Forget that ring for now, okay? You had your first fight with Ella. Big deal. But don’t let this ruin your relationship. You’ve gone to the end of the world for her. Don’t throw it all away just because of a shiny stone that someone took fifteen years ago.”
“You’re right,” I mutter, cooling off a little. “Thanks, man.”
Vexed, I make my way back to my apartment, hoping that I can settle things with Ella. I deserved that slap, if not more. I’m a hypocrite. Accused her of keeping secrets while I’ve been keeping just as many. On top of that, my bitch of an ex-wife is getting off on rocking the boat.
And the alexandrite ring? She doesn’t know shit about the story behind it—a story that I should have told her first, now that I’m thinking of it.
“Idiot…” I mutter to myself as I exit the elevator, my head full of explanations and apologies that I hope I can get out in the right order.
The elevator doors open, and with a last breath for courage, I slip back into my apartment.
An apartment that’s empty.
Ella is gone.
She ran from me… Again.
17
Ella
People do the craziest things in the name of love.
Spending ridiculous amounts of money just to make the other happy. Getting tattoos with names on their forearms that they regret years later. Flying to an idyllic island for the perfect proposal. Blowing their brains out when shit hits the fan. Or…
Hiring a fucking spy.
Prospect Park Lake is too sunny and loud for my sour mood today. Dogs barking wherever you go, toddlers screaming non-stop, and kids bobbing their capped heads to rap songs blasting from their phones. A photographer is taking pictures of a groom and his bride posing underneath a huge Japanese Pagoda tree, a bunch of wedding guests cheering them on. I quick
ly duck so as not to photo-bomb their pretty memories with my grim face—a face that gets even grumpier when my mind plays tricks on me again, conjuring images of me with a white veil.
My phone buzzes inside my jeans pocket, but I ignore it. I’ve had hundreds of calls on repeat ever since I fled Nathan’s apartment without so much as a goodbye. I didn’t answer any of them. After everything he confessed last night, he probably hired another guy to keep tabs on me and knows exactly where I am, so what’s the point?
I drag my feet over the arched bridge, my gaze on the dirty tips of my Converse. How could he do this to me? How could he pay a stranger to watch me night and day, knowing I’ve been running from a stalker for years? After everything he knew about me, about how much I valued my privacy, how could he?
And the cherry on top—he thinks I stole a ring from his fucking office!
I kick a pebble with my shoe, throwing up dust. Sure, I could have set things from the beginning and told him that Mom gave me the ring, but for whatever reason, I had that itch to take offensive. I mean, why should I justify myself? How come he lost faith in me so quickly? He hasn’t even seen the ring. His rodent of an ex-wife secretly took a blurry picture, and instead of kicking her damn ass, he’s letting her charm the pants off him.
Why the fuck is the ring so important to him, anyway? Seeing his gallery, he owns more rings than all goldsmiths on the East coast combined, some even way up in the six-figure range. Mom’s alexandrite ring—no matter how rare—wouldn’t be worth a printed price tag in his eyes, let alone an exclusive spot in his fancy art niche that boasts more diamonds than the world’s biggest mine in Russia.
He doesn’t trust you, that’s why.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I yank it out with a grunt, ready to smash it against a tree when the caller ID flashes back at me. Nick Crawford? Ugh, it’s probably Nathan thinking he can outsmart me by using his brother’s phone, and it’s pissing me off to no end.
Jutting out my chin, I take the call.
“You know, there was a time when my asshole of a stalker called me fifty times a day, too.” My voice is too placid for the fury steaming out of my ears. “You think it’s wise to follow suit?”