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

by Charmaine Pauls

  “I’m sorry for the simple meal,” I say when I put the pasta and sauce on the table.

  Damian’s eyes soften as he looks at me. “You know I’m not fussy.”

  No. When we were growing up, we didn’t have that luxury. We were lucky to get anything other than a piece of buttered toast for dinner. I relax a bit. It’s easy to forget the wealthy, cultured man in the expensive suit is still my brother. We should never fail to remember where we come from.

  During the rest of the dinner I fall quiet as the guys talk business. Damian explains his vision of expanding his finished products, jewelry styled by his designer, to Europe, while Maxime agrees to provide a base for selling them as soon as the foundation of his business is sound again.

  When I propose fresh fruit for dessert, Damian checks his watch.

  “I’m afraid I have to get going,” he says.

  Shameful relief mixes with my sadness. “Already?”

  “My flight leaves in two hours.”

  “Coffee before you go?” Maxime asks.

  Damian gets to his feet. “I’ll get one at the airport.”

  Maxime follows suit. “I’ll drive you.”

  “It’s not necessary,” Damian says. “I can get a taxi.”

  “It’s no trouble.” Maxime heads to the door to get his jacket. “Besides, I know the safe roads.”

  My heart is heavy when I walk my brother to the door. Folding my arms around him, I hug him tight. “Give Lina and Josh a hug from me.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “I will.”

  “Please let me know the moment there’s news,” I say, staring up at him.

  His smile is tender. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.”

  “A baby.” I sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt.”

  “What about you? Getting broody?” Damian asks, but he’s looking at Maxime as he poses the question.

  “Soon,” Maxime says just as I reply, “No.”

  Damian gives me a curious look, a flicker of caution creeping back into his eyes.

  “Something we’re still to discuss,” Maxime says. “It seems I’m keener than my wife.”

  I recognize his iron will, but to any onlooker he must appear tender and caring.

  Damian relents, releasing me with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”

  “Thank you,” I say. Thanks for caring enough to check up on me.

  Damian’s expression turns stern. “Call me.”

  “I’ll make sure she does,” Maxime says. Taking my face between his hands, he kisses my forehead before retrieving his keys.

  The door closes on their backs, and then they’re gone. Suddenly, I’m alone in every sense, feeling it all the way to my soul. My hand automatically goes to my stomach, covering the emptiness I feel there that echoes in my chest.

  If Maxime is planning on tying me further to him with a baby, he’s got another think coming. There was a time I would’ve given him a child, a time I even craved a baby, but I was stupid then. I believed we were happy in our own way. We’re too unstable to be anything other than unhappy. We could never provide a healthy environment for a child.

  I clear the table and clean the kitchen, welcoming the tasks to keep my thoughts from drifting into sadness. When there’s nothing left to tidy, I have a shower and pull on a pair of comfy pajamas. I’m brushing out my hair in front of the mirror in the dressing room when Maxime gets back.

  Our gazes lock where he leans in the frame. He watches me with something that burns fiercely in his eyes, but he doesn’t express the sentiment in words.

  I put the brush away and get up. “Thank you for driving Damian.”

  He stares at me like he may eat me alive. “We’re family. It’s normal.”

  “I’m going to bed.” I squeeze past him. “I’m knackered.”

  He grips my wrist, holding me back while his gray gaze bores into mine. “That’s really what you want to do?”

  “Yes,” I lie.

  Slowly, he releases me.

  The minute I’m free, I flee. I walk to the bedroom like I don’t want to run, and crawl into bed under the covers while Maxime undresses in the dark. He wants me. I know he does, but for some reason, he doesn’t come to bed with his usual seduction skills. He slides into his side and lies quietly on his back, waiting. Waiting for something I don’t understand.

  Chapter 26

  Maxime

  Zoe isn’t taking the initiative. She’s not touching me.

  She doesn’t want me.

  Of course she doesn’t.

  Look at me.

  Look at my face. Look at who I am.

  What did I expect?

  I’m fucking devastated, and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand the feelings beating in my chest.

  I’m a fool.

  What else is there to say?

  On my way to work, I spot the nail sticking out of a plank on the pavement next to a construction site. I lift my foot high and put it down with enough force to drive the nail through the sole of my shoe and into the hollow of my foot.

  Fuuuuck. That hurts.

  For a moment, I’m nailed to the plank like Jesus to the cross, a rivulet of cold sweat running down my hot back.

  “Christ,” a workman calls out, making his way over to me. “Are you all right?”

  “Does it look like I’m fucking all right?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the pain that burns up my leg.

  “Jesus.” The man throws his hardhat on the ground and grabs my elbow. “Here, let me help you.”

  I allow him to pull the plank with the nail from my foot and shoe. The pain reverses, a new kind of fire setting in the minute the nail slips out of my flesh. Warm, sticky wetness coats my sock inside my shoe.

  “Man,” the guy says, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left the plank lying here. I was just dropping a bag of cement. I was going to move it in a sec, I swear, but you were on me so fast.”

  I test putting my weight on my foot. Mm. That’s going to take a while.

  “You need a tetanus shot,” the man says. “The nail doesn’t look rusted, but—”

  “I know.” I jerk away, freeing myself from his hand that’s back on my elbow.

  “Are you going to sue?” he asks, squinting at me as he scratches his head.

  “No.”

  His face relaxes. “Look man, for what’s it’s worth, I’m really sorry. Better watch where you’re going next time.”

  I shift my laptop bag to my other shoulder to relieve the pressure on my foot and get into the man’s space. “You better watch where you leave your material.”

  When he cringes away from me, I take satisfaction from his fear. He’s my size, but he senses the darkness in me. It’s a darkness that doesn’t fight fairly.

  The power shift feeds my soul. Abated, I turn away from him and limp on my way. With every step I take, I recall how Zoe looked when she stepped into a shard of glass and cut her heel.

  Her wound has long since healed.

  Mine is just beginning.

  Chapter 27

  Zoe

  The very next day, I find a female gynecologist in town through an internet search and make an appointment for a birth control shot. That same night, Maxime comes home with an injured foot. He pulls off a blood-soaked sock to reveal a ghastly wound. The nail that went through his shoe penetrated his foot so deeply the point pushed through the skin at the top. He’s lucky the bleeding stopped so quickly. When I urge him to see Dr. Olivier, he brushes my concerns away, telling me he’s injected himself with a tetanus shot at the office.

  “Maxime,” I say, kneeling next to him in the bathroom where he’s bathing his foot in a tub of Betadine. “You better go see the doctor.”

  His gaze tightens on me even as his lips tilt with a slight smile. “Worried?”

  “Of course I am.” I point at his foot. “That looks really bad.”

  “Why?” he asks, his eyes not leaving mine as he roll
s his pants up to the knee.

  I sit back on my haunches. “Why what?”

  “Why are you concerned?”

  I blink. “It’s normal.”

  He rests an arm on one knee, leaning closer to me. “Is it?”

  Confusion rages inside my chest. Doesn’t he get it? Aghast, I say, “It’s called compassion.”

  “Ah.” He sits back, creating distance between us. “In other words, your concern isn’t because you care.”

  About me.

  He doesn’t say it, but we both know it’s what he means.

  “What do you expect me to say?” I whisper.

  “Nothing.” His voice sounds harsher despite the fact that he speaks in a softer tone. “I expect nothing.”

  I motion to his injury. “Shall I—”

  “Leave.” He gives me a flat look. “You should leave before I ask you to touch me in a way that has nothing to do with treating my wound.”

  I gape at him. “You can’t seriously be thinking about sex right now.”

  “If I give you a choice between pulling down your panties under that skirt and straddling my cock or walking through the door, what will you choose?”

  Taken aback, I continue to stare at the rough contours of his face. The old me would’ve never left anyone with such an injury, but living with Maxime has hardened me. The sight of blood still makes me queasy, but I’m also growing desensitized to it.

  “That’s what I thought,” he says. “You put up a good show for your brother.”

  Anger replaces my concern. Straightening, I ball my fists. “What did you expect? Do you think I want you and my brother to go to war? Who will survive, huh? Tell me who’ll win.”

  He continues to stare at me with his cool gaze. “I’d say it’s fifty-fifty.”

  “Exactly.” I look down at him with all the loathing I’m capable of mustering from my soul. “I’m not risking my brother. He did nothing to deserve it.”

  “Go, then, pretty little flower.” His smile turns mocking. “Run.”

  I don’t let him tell me twice. I turn my back on him and leave while I can, slamming the door on my way out. On the other side, I lean against the wood to drag in a few deep breaths and settle my trembling heart.

  This new road we’re heading down, I have no idea where it’s going.

  Maxime acts aloof in the day that follows, but I have something else on my mind. Luckily, I only have to wait two days for my doctor’s appointment. The gynecologist was willing to squeeze me in between patients. I don’t tell Maxime about the scheduled visit. I go during the day when he’s at work, knowing no one is following me like before. Maxime will still be able to track my whereabouts via my phone, but he got used to me moving around freely in town to do grocery shopping and window-shopping for supplies. As long as I don’t run, he’s no longer checking up on me.

  I’m not going to seek physical affection from Maxime. On the contrary, I’d rather avoid it. However, I do breathe easier knowing pregnancy won’t be a risk.

  With my health taken care of, I throw myself back into work. For two weeks, nothing happens. I get a few likes on my social media accounts, but no one calls about the dress. With no money to buy more fabric, I spend the time making sketches and playing housewife. Welcoming the distance Maxime has put between us, I use the space to cram my head full of new design ideas.

  During the third week, I finally get a call about the dress, but my spirit sinks when I hear the woman’s Texan accent.

  “I love the style, and it’s exactly what I need for a charity lunch event,” she says after a long introduction of telling me about the challenges of finding fashionable clothes for her slim figure and small breasts, “but I’d love a fitting before I make a decision.”

  “You do realize I’m in the south of France, right?” I could mail the dress to her, but if she needs adjustments mailing it backward and forward can turn out to be expensive and lengthy.

  “That’s not a problem. I’m due in Cannes for the film festival in a couple of weeks. My flight lands in Marseille. We can meet before I shoot through to Cannes.”

  I sit up straighter. “You’re going to the festival?”

  “I’m a nominee,” she says in an almost embarrassed tone and then adds shyly, “Vera Day.”

  I’ve been out of touch with the news and outside world for so long I have no idea what’s going on in the entertainment world. I’m typing her name into the search field of the browser on my laptop even as I ask, “Do you already have a dress for the festival?” Ambition and desperation make me bold. Normally, I’d never have been so forward.

  “Of course.” She laughs. “It’s a Valentino number, and I forked out a fortune for it.”

  My heart starts beating faster when numerous pages come up under my search. “I bet I can create something a lot more original and fresher for you.”

  I skim over the information. Vera Day starred in a recent contemporary war drama that’s been nominated for a Golden Palm award for the best director, best screenplay, and best actress. I scroll through the photos. Willowy and gracious with an enchanting smile, she’s a portrait of humble innocence and self-assured feminism. Idolized by millions, the blond beauty is the perfect spokesperson for a clothing brand.

  “Look,” she says, “my agent is probably going to steamroller over my choice of an outfit for the charity event anyway, but whatever the outcome, I’d love to own this piece. It’s just…” She pauses.

  “You?”

  “Yes,” she says with a sigh. “Perfectly.”

  “Right, then. Let’s schedule a fitting. I can make adjustments and have it ready for you before you head back home. How does that sound?”

  “Great.” She squeals. “Thank you so much.”

  “And,” I take a deep breath, “I’d really like to present you with a dress for the festival.”

  “I feel like you get me and what I want, but I can’t justify forking out another big amount when I’ve already—”

  “You don’t have to buy the dress. I’m only asking that you wear it and if a reporter is interested mention the brand. You can return it after the event. No cost.”

  “You want advertising?”

  “Yes.” It’s my turn to add shyly, “I’m just starting out.”

  She sighs. “Now it’s going to be hard for me to turn you down. I’ve started out not so long ago, so I know how hard it is.”

  My hope surges. “You don’t have to promise anything. Just try on the dress and see what you think.”

  “I suppose there’s no harm in that.”

  We set a date and time, and I take her private email address in case we need to communicate before our appointment. After I congratulate her and wish her luck with the nomination, we say goodbye.

  The minute I hang up, I start doing research, downloading every photograph of Vera Day I can get my hands on. In no time, I have a fairly good idea of her figure and style. I go through the list of designers who fashion reporters reckon will pop up at the festival and make sure I’m up to date with their latest trends.

  For the first time in months, I feel like I’m living again and not just existing when I put pencils to paper and start sketching a dress. Until the dress I made is sold, that’s to say if Vera Day decides to buy it, I don’t have money for the fabric of a gala dress. However, this opportunity is too big to let it slip through my fingers. I’ll just have to push my credit card into the red and explain to Maxime later.

  Chapter 28

  Maxime

  “This is unexpected,” Dr. Delphine Bisset says when she lets me into her office. Her smile is sly. “You even made an appointment.”

  “Tell me again a psychopath can’t be considerate,” I say, taking the sofa facing Delphine’s usual chair.

  “How are things going with the young lady?” she asks when she’s seated.

  I stretch my arm along the back of the sofa. “Complicated.”

  “Mm. What are we discussing today?”

&n
bsp; “She’s changing.”

  She tilts her head, regarding me with that smile still in place. “That’s a problem?”

  “Yes.”

  “People change. They grow.”

  I consider that. “I’m not sure you can call this growth.”

  “Let’s take this a few steps back.” She smoothes down her skirt. “Do you see yourself in a long-term relationship with this woman?”

  “She’s my wife.” I let my mind wrap around the word, savoring the permanence of the meaning.

  Delphine raises a brow. “Definitely long-term then. When did this happen?”

  “Not so long ago.”

  Her eyes narrow at my vagueness. “Max.” Her voice is chiding, but her look turns wary. “Did you manipulate her into marrying you?”

  I straighten my tie. “Let’s just say I didn’t ask.”

  “Oh, Max.” Her shoulders slump. “That’s not the way to do it. Haven’t we made any progress?”

  “You’re not supposed to judge me.”

  “I’m not judgmental, but it’s my duty to point out you lack a moral compass.”

  “It’s done. Can we stay on the subject?” I check my watch. “In thirty minutes you’re kicking me out.”

  “What am I going to do with you?” she exclaims.

  I give her a pointed look. “We were talking about my wife.”

  She straightens in her seat. “You said your wife is changing. Change isn’t necessarily negative. Change is necessary for growth.”

  “As I said, I don’t think this is growth.”

  “Tell me about these changes.”

  “She used to be a romantic. Now she’s almost cynical.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Her style, for starters. Before, she’d wear frilly things. Feminine things.”

  She taps a finger on her knee. “What does she wear now?”

  “The kind of clothes my mother would wear.”