Diamonds are Forever: A Diamond Magnate Novel (Diamonds are Forever Trilogy Book 3)

by Charmaine Pauls

  Zoe places a hand on Damian’s arm. “I want this. I know how I arrived here didn’t put Maxime in your good books, but I also carry part of the blame. I’ve been wrong about many things, including not writing to you, but I’m going to be a better sister this time and be regular about staying in touch so you don’t have to worry.” She looks at me with a challenge in her eyes.

  Clever little sly girl. She knows I’ll keep any promise I make to her brother. Promises are not things I like to break, and there’s an unwritten code between men like us. I may not be signing a contract for Zoe, but it doesn’t mean the regular rules of said contracts don’t apply.

  “Of course, cherie.” I lean over to brush a finger over her wrist. “Anything you want.”

  Damian traces the caress like a rabid bitch about to pounce to protect her litter. “How did you find Zoe?” Smoothing down his tie, he adds in a taunting tone, “If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “She called me.”

  Zoe’s eyes flare, but Damian doesn’t notice because his eyes are trained on me like torpedo missiles. I know she hates lying, especially to her brother, but I can hardly tell him I’ve had his wife followed. Men like him are protective. He’ll rip me apart and feed me to the dogs begging downstairs in the street before sending Zoe home with me if that particular piece of information comes to light.

  “Is that right?” Damian asks, turning his attention back to his sister.

  Zoe blushes. It’s the lie, but it looks innocent enough when she says, “I tried to move on, really I did, but I was only lying to myself.”

  “You should’ve told me,” he says.

  She shrinks into herself. “I know you went to great lengths to get me a new identity and start a new life. Please don’t think I don’t appreciate it. It was a moment of weakness. I’m sorry.”

  His smile is warm. “Don’t be sorry for your happiness. That’s all that matters to me.”

  “Thank you.” She takes his hand. “I’ll never forget what you did for me.”

  I don’t think her tears are tears of joy. She’s playing her role brilliantly. A part of me feels like a bastard for putting her in this situation, but I accept the strange and unfamiliar attack of guilt like I accept the good feelings she gives me. It’s a package. I can’t have one without the other. What I do know is I’m never giving it up, which is why I draw Damian’s focus back to me before Zoe falls apart right in front of his eyes.

  “My apologies for the hasty departure, but I have business to take care of. You’re welcome to visit. I was hoping soon.”

  “No,” he says a tad too harshly. “Not soon.”

  Ah. His wife is too far into her pregnancy to be allowed to travel. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “I’d like to have a word with Maxime in private,” he says to Zoe.

  She shoots me a panicked look.

  “Of course.” I get up and straighten my jacket. Kissing the top of her head, I say, “I’ll be right back.”

  Damian leads me into a big office with glass walls and elephant statues. I admire him for building all of this up from scratch. Word is he used the fortune his wife inherited to buy back his stolen mine, but he earned his own riches by doing dirty work in jail and investing that money in the right places. Me, I was born with what I had. A man like him who came from nothing deserves my respect.

  He walks to the desk and leans against it, crossing his arms. The fact that he doesn’t invite me to sit is another clear message, one I accept not as an insult, but as the ire of a brother watching out for a sister.

  “So,” he takes me in with a narrowed gaze, “you’ve worked things out.”

  “Yes.” I go to the window. The view stretches out over skyscrapers to mine dumps that glitter yellow in the distance. “I’m eager to take Zoe home and start our new life.”

  “What I’d like to know,” he says to my back, “is why you came for her when she called.”

  I turn away from the dizzying height. “I came back for her because I can’t live without her.”

  His eyes have that lively light of someone who’s clever and insightful, someone who sums people up well and fast. “What made you realize that?”

  “Losing her.”

  From the way his gaze widens a fraction, I can see he understands this. This particular language, we share. It’s a language not consisting of sounds and syllables. Except for that faint recognition of understanding, he gives nothing else of his personal self away. His face is perfectly blank.

  He pushes away from the desk. “How did you meet Zoe again?”

  I smile, because Zoe and I have rehearsed this on the way over. “You know how we met.”

  His expression hardens. “Indulge me.”

  “I had a meeting with Dalton. He mentioned your history, so I looked up your sister to hear her side of the story.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t believe Dalton.”

  Picking up a diamond-shaped paperweight, he weighs it in his palm. “Then why not speak out at the time?”

  “Would it have changed anything?”

  He puts the paperweight back on the desk. “No.”

  “At the time, you didn’t concern me. In any event, your time in jail seemed not to have been wasted. You studied. You made alliances.” I let the implied meaning hang. I know about his connections. I know he plays dirty when it suits him. We’re two peas in a pod really, or we used to be.

  “True.” Dipping his head, he studies me. “Conveniently, a relationship with my sister will benefit your business. As your family, you’re expecting me to honor our deal.”

  “I don’t care about the deal. I’m out of the family business. You can do as you like.”

  His eyes narrow with more understanding. “You gave it up for her.”

  “I did.” My self-inflicted punishment. I’d do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes.

  “Then how are you going to provide for her? How do you intend to keep her safe?”

  “By running a legitimate business. I’ll still be importing and distributing your stones, but I’ll acquire them through a middleman if that’s the route you choose to go.”

  “What about your family?”

  “How they run their business is up to them.”

  “Can you guarantee she’ll be safe?”

  “You and I, with the kind of lives we’ve lived, no one is ever one hundred percent safe, but you can rest assured I’ll die protecting her. She has a property in France. I took out life insurance. If anything happens to me, she’ll be well provided for. If she wishes, she can sell the property and come back to South Africa. Whatever she wants.”

  He nods. “I appreciate your frankness.”

  “I’ll bring her home to visit at least once a year. Of course you’re always welcome in France.”

  The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t think so.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” Knowing who we are, he won’t risk his family’s lives.

  “If she didn’t love you, Belshaw, I would’ve been sorely tempted to break your French bourgeois neck.”

  “Understandably. If I had a sister, I would’ve felt the same way.”

  “Glad we’re on the same page, because know this.” He advances to right in front of me. “If you ever fuck with her feelings again, you’ll die a slow and painful death.”

  “A fate I’ll accept as it’ll only be fair.”

  “Good.” He gets out of my personal space. “You better make sure she calls me. You don’t want me to come after you.”

  “She’ll call.” I walk to the door. “Seeing that you’re busy, I won’t take up more of your time.”

  “My sister’s personal life is hardly my business, but her wellbeing is my concern. You better do right by her.”

  I grip the handle. “I will.”

  “There’s no place for three people in a relationship, not with Zoe. That’s not who she is.”

  “I know. No triangles. I promise.”


  His nod is reluctant. He’s not happy to let her go, at least not with me, but she’s made her choice as far as he’s concerned.

  I’ve offered as much reassurance as I could. I close the door on his brooding face. My flower waits by the elevator, her bag clutched to her chest and her pretty face white. All mine.

  As far as I’m concerned, there is no choice.

  Chapter 9

  Zoe

  There isn’t much furniture to get rid of. I picked up a few essential pieces for next to nothing at second-hand stores. Damian offered to buy me what I needed or at least give me money, but I wanted to do this on my own. I wanted this new life to be all mine, earned and not given to me on a silver platter.

  Yet here I am again, watching helplessly as Maxime pays the transport company to drive my meager possessions to a charity store. Next, we drop the keys off at the rental agent. Maxime pays the rent for the two months’ notice I was supposed to give, and I ask that the deposit is paid into Damian’s account once the inspection of the unit has been done. I called in to work this morning to explain the situation. Since I don’t have a contract yet, there aren’t any legal issues about my hasty resignation.

  The little clothes I’ve brought with me are packed in the bag Maxime carries to his private plane. As I entered the country under my false identity, I’m leaving it under the same name. On paper, Zoe Hart has never left France.

  Damian, Lina, and Josh come to the Lanseria airport to say goodbye. It’s a difficult farewell, but I do it for the people I love. I do it to keep them safe—Lina, the baby, Josh, Damian, and yes, even Maxime. There’s no doubt Damian would start a war if he finds out the truth.

  Lina takes my hands and steers me a short distance away from the men. “Is this really what you want, Zoe?” she whispers.

  “Yes.” I try to say it with a smile and conviction. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for being here for me when I needed a friend.”

  She pulls me into a hug. “I’m always here for you. Damian and I both are.” Holding me at a distance, her eyes turn imploring. “You can always come back if it doesn’t work out like you hope. Don’t you forget that.”

  I smile through my tears, knowing it’s an impossible notion. There’ll be no coming back ever again. This time, Maxime is keeping me for good. He’s not going to let me slip through his fingers twice.

  Maxime puts a consoling arm around my shoulders, the act tender as he leads me away from the people who mean everything to me. With every step, my heart breaks a little more, and by the time we’re stepping on board, the tears flow freely. No matter how hard I try, I can’t hold them in.

  Handing our bags to a steward, Maxime takes my shoulders and propels me to a double seat. “It’ll get better.” He sits and pulls me into his lap. “You have to give it time.”

  Time. Time didn’t help the first time round. I doubt there’s any remedy. I wiggle off his lap and shift to the far corner of the seat. His jaw clenches, but he lets me.

  I decline the champagne and food he offers. Sometime during the night, he lowers the seatback and covers my body with a blanket. It should be impossible to sleep, but after the restless night I spent tossing and turning next to Maxime, I eventually doze off.

  It’s early morning when he wakes me for the landing. He calls a valet service, and a driver brings his car from a private parking garage nearby. I’m numb when he drives us home, irrationally expecting the sights to have changed like when Russell took me back to South Africa, but everything looks disturbingly the same.

  Instead of driving us to his house in Cassis, he heads for town and parks in the underground parking of the building where he bought me an apartment. The Mini Cooper he gave me is parked in its place. Of course. Life flows back into my body as the blood heats in my veins. His wife is at home. This is me. This is the home of his mistress.

  I get out before he can come around the car, and slam the door. He stares darkly after me as I walk to the dingy elevator instead of the stairs, leaving him to get the bags. I test my code. It still works. Getting in, I push the button for the fourth floor. Maxime catches the door just before it closes.

  We ride up in silence. I pause when the doors open. There’s no one on the landing, no guard in front of the apartment. Maybe Maxime is too certain I won’t run again. He knows I won’t risk the people I love.

  He goes ahead and unlocks the door. The smell of grilled cheese and onions hangs in the air. A quiche is cooling on the island counter.

  “I asked Francine to prepare something,” he says. “It’s leek and onion. You like that, right?”

  The mention of her name makes me go rigid. I don’t want her here, not in this space too, but I say nothing.

  He locks the door and carries our bags to the bedroom. I look around. The sewing machine Maxime bought for me, the one I left in the cellar of his old house, stands on the desk of the upstairs study. Everything else is just like I left it. The champagne glasses I rinsed before running are still standing in the drip tray. He hasn’t eaten here since I’ve left. Why would he? He would’ve been staying at the big house, enjoying the honeymoon. The thought hurts. Unable to stomach it, I walk to the French doors and peer outside.

  The wind has blown the greenhouse door open. I must’ve not closed it properly. One of the pot plants has blown over. The terracotta pot lies in pieces on the ground, the delicate white orchid dying on the heap of dark soil. Unlocking the door, I go out into the cold wind and scoop what I can salvage of the sand in an empty pot before carefully replanting the flower. It’s still alive, but I’m not sure it will survive the shock.

  The greenhouse smells of damp soil, and the floor is wet. Drops of water shine on the leaves. I look up. An overhead irrigation system has been installed. At least the plants didn’t die of thirst in my absence. Whoever did the work must’ve forgotten to latch the door.

  When I get back inside, Maxime waits in the lounge. Taking in his emotionless expression, I swallow.

  “Come here,” he says with an even voice.

  I’m not going to let him touch me like that. His gaze tracks my movements as I slip around him.

  “Damn you, Zoe,” he says, coming after me with big steps.

  I escape to the room, hoping to reach it so I can lock myself in before he follows me inside, but when I get to the door I stop so suddenly he slams into my back.

  The air is knocked from my lungs not only by the collision, but also by the sight in front of me. I stare at the dress hanging from the curtain rail in front of the window, illuminated by the soft early morning light.

  A white dress with a wide skirt and an embroidered bodice.

  A wedding dress.

  A bouquet of white roses tied with a pink ribbon lies on the bed. Two velvet boxes are neatly arranged next to the flowers, a square one that holds the diamond choker necklace and a smaller one with the earrings he gave me in Venice. On the floor at the foot end of the bed stands a pair of white Cinderella shoes. The room smells of roses, and I already know I’ll find petals and candles in the bathroom.

  My throat closes up. It doesn’t make sense. Spinning around, I look at Maxime’s left hand where his wedding band should be. Why is that finger bare? Why has it escaped my attention until now? Laying a hand on my neck, I take a step back. Many men don’t wear rings. It doesn’t mean anything. The dress does. The dress and everything else.

  “What’s going on?” I ask in a hoarse voice.

  He backs me up into the room. “I would’ve explained if you’d given me a chance.”

  “Explain what?” The back of my knees hit the bed.

  “Stay,” he says, walking out of the room.

  I obey not because I want to but because I’m stunned into a state of immobility, frozen to the spot.

  A moment later, he returns with a slice of quiche served on a plate. He sets it with napkin and fork on the nightstand.

  “Explain what, Maxime?” I ask with a dry mouth.

  “Eat something, dye yo
ur hair, have a warm bath, and put on the dress.”

  “Put on the dress why?” I ask, hysteria creeping up on me.

  He only looks at me, looks and looks and looks until I want to scream.

  My voice rises in volume. “Tell me.”

  He just stands there, mechanical like a robot, infuriatingly calm. “You know why.”

  Banging my fists on his chest, I cry, “Tell me, damn you.” My mind begs for an explanation. “Say it.”

  He catches my wrists in a painful grip. His calm slips, and ice glazes the gray of his eyes. “We’re getting married.”

  I sink down onto the bed, my wrists still captured in his hands. “You are married.”

  “I called it off. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  No. I didn’t want to cheat. I didn’t want to be the mistress of a married man, but I don’t want to be his wife. Not like this. My breath catches. “I don’t understand.”

  “I gave it all up for you, Zoe.”

  His words are like lava being dripped over my head. My face grows hot, the heat rolling out over my body to the tips of my toes. “What did you do, Maxime?”

  “I paid a price.”

  He paid a price. He didn’t marry Izabella. “The contract…”

  “My father made a new deal. Alexis stood in for me.”

  Alexis married Izabella?

  “No cheating,” he says through tight lips, lowering his head to mine. “No one else but you. I’m all yours. No more hands-off excuses, Zoe. Tonight, I’m taking what’s mine.” He lets me go with a shove.

  I can only stare at him in dread. He can’t be serious. Yet his face says otherwise. His angry steps as he retreats tell me just how serious he is. So does the key that turns in the lock after he’s slammed the door shut.

  At the sound, I come to my senses. Jumping up, I run to the door and pull on the handle. Locked. I twist around and lean on the wood, sweat breaking out over my brow.

  A marriage is forever.

  A marriage is for love.

  How far will he take his games? How much more betrayal can he manage? Hasn’t he broken me enough? Anger rises from the hollowness in my stomach to the empty cavity of my chest. The rage swells through me like a wave. It steals my senses and blurs my sight until all I see is that damning white dress through a veil of red.