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

by Charmaine Pauls

  I expect him to tell me Leclerc’s body washed up in the Seine or that the police are asking about my whereabouts, but I’m not prepared for his next words.

  “Alexis is dead.”

  My thoughts go still. I drag a finger through the dust on the windowsill. “What happened?”

  “Car bomb.” He exhales into the phone. “Early this morning, in front of his house.”

  My house. “Who did it?”

  “He made too many mistakes, man. I told you.”

  “Leonardo?”

  “Yes.” He hesitates. “I’m sorry, Max. Really, I am.”

  I dissect my feelings. There’s nothing. Then my mind starts working at a mile a minute. Alexis is no longer a threat. Leonardo gets what he’s always wanted. Marrying his sister to my brother paid off. Still, there’s nothing in my chest, no envy, no anger, and no quest for vengeance. I’m not sorry any longer for having given up my house, my position, and my family. That bomb would’ve been meant for me if Alexis hadn’t taken my place.

  “Your father is beside himself,” Jerome says.

  “I guess that’s Leonardo’s problem now.”

  My relief surprises me, not that my brother is dead, but that the consequences are no longer my concern. I’ve got bigger worries on my mind. Killing has always come easy for me. This thing I have to do is more difficult than anything I’ve done.

  “The funeral is tomorrow,” he says. “Your father doesn’t want to wait.”

  Manners dictate I thank him. “I appreciate the call.”

  “If you need anything—”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “Of course you don’t.”

  I hang up. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I stare at the passing cars. They’re silent thanks to the double windowpanes.

  “Maxime?”

  I turn. Zoe stands in the door with a towel wrapped around her body and her wet hair combed back.

  “Get dressed,” I say. “We’re leaving.”

  “What happened?”

  I go back to the room and close the door. “Alexis is dead.”

  Her pretty face pales, making the freckles on her nose stand out more. “How?”

  “Car bomb.” I take her bag and start packing the clothes she wore yesterday. “Leonardo.”

  “Oh, my God.” She stands like a pillar in the corner. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not.” I throw a clean pair of underwear at her. “Get a move on. We’ll get breakfast on the way.”

  “What now?” she asks, dropping the towel and stepping into the panties. Her hands shake slightly as she pulls the lace over her hips.

  I look away. I already want her too much. It makes what I must do all the harder.

  Chapter 37

  Zoe

  The funeral takes place on Monday. We sit at the back of the church during the memorial service, away from the rest of the family, and stay on the outskirts at the cemetery when the coffin is lowered into the ground. Izabella is dressed in a stylish black dress and hat, her face stoic. Raphael is a different story. His face is red and his gait unsteady. A blonde with fishnet stockings and pink heels clings to his arm.

  After the priest has said a few words and the mourners disperse, Raphael makes his way over to where we stand. The woman on his arm has a hard time keeping up with her heels sinking into the damp grass. She keeps on getting stuck, and eventually gives up and lets go of Raphael’s arm.

  He waves a finger at Maxime when he’s still a good distance away. “How dare you show up here? It should’ve been you.” He staggers to a halt in front of Maxime. “It should’ve been you in that car. I told you. I told you he was in trouble, and what did you do?”

  Maxime’s doesn’t react. He stands quietly, his face expressionless.

  Raphael turns on me. “Did you know he played you? Did you know he orchestrated the whole game of making you happy?”

  Coldness creeps over my skin.

  Maxime jumps forward, gripping a fistful of Raphael’s jacket lapel. “That’s enough.”

  “It was just a plan to make you want to stay,” Raphael says.

  Maxime’s eyes go hard like granite. Violence brews under his calm veneer, but I’m too shocked to intervene.

  Emile, Raphael’s brother, runs up and grabs Raphael’s arm. “Time to go.” He doesn’t look at me.

  The blonde has removed her shoes and arrives out of breath with them in her hand.

  “Take him,” Emile says to her.

  She hooks her arm through Raphael’s. “Come, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

  Emile takes his other arm. Together, they walk him to his car. What did Raphael mean? I hope to God it’s not what I think. I don’t have time to analyze it further, because my gaze falls on Leonardo who watches from a distance. When he catches Maxime’s eye, he nods, and then he takes his sister’s elbow and steers her away.

  “What was that about?” I ask, my stomach in knots. I’m petrified Leonardo will come after Maxime too.

  “We’re even,” Maxime says, not taking his eyes off Leonardo’s back. “I humiliated his sister. He killed my brother.”

  At least Alexis is no longer a threat. I cringe in shame for the thought. I’ve been around Maxime for too long. His blasé attitude toward life and its value is rubbing off on me.

  Taking my hand, he leads me to his car.

  “Why did you come?” I ask as he gets my door.

  “Blood is thicker than water.”

  I get in and fasten my safety belt.

  Hadrienne, Noelle, and Sylvie stand a short distance away, waiting for Emile who’s telling the blonde to drive Raphael’s car while Raphael protests for all the graveyard to hear. Noelle glares and says something to Hadrienne, who turns around to look at me. I can only guess what the hostile stares are about. If not for me, Maxime would never have left his position. He was always a much better mafia boss than Alexis. Maybe then Alexis would still be alive. He would’ve been alive and at war with his brother. I don’t think Alexis would’ve ever let it go. The conversation we had the day he walked into the apartment when Maxime carelessly left the door open runs through my head. He’d said I was supposed to marry him before Maxime decided to claim me as mistress. He was as bitter about that as he was jealous of Maxime’s power.

  Maxime gets in and starts the engine. He glances in the direction of the women who turn away as if he’s a contagious disease they may catch by sight.

  “They were staring,” he says, shooting me a glance. “You don’t deserve that.”

  I lean back into the comfort of the soft leather seat. “I don’t care. Let them look.”

  When I meet Sylvie’s gaze as we pass, she averts her eyes.

  Hugging myself, I ask, “What did your father mean?”

  “He’s not my father.”

  I’m not letting him dismiss the question that easily. “What did Raphael mean?”

  “Nothing.” He steers the car into the traffic.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “You’re a piece of fucking work, Maxime Belshaw.”

  He pulls onto the curb and kills the engine. Anger dances in his cold eyes when he looks at me. “Don’t insult me. Next time, I won’t let it go.”

  “Then don’t insult me with more of your lies.” My hands are shaking, but my voice is strong. “Did you make me fall in love with you on purpose?”

  He rests his forehead on the steering wheel. “You don’t want to go there. Trust me.”

  The blow I’ve been waiting for during all the months he’s kept his word and didn’t tell me a lie hits me full in the face. The fact that I expected it doesn’t make it easier. I fall apart. How many times have I excused him for letting me fall in love with him, telling myself I did it all by myself? I want to laugh. Of course it was a well-orchestrated scheme. Does Maxime ever do anything without meticulous planning?

  My tone is as flat as his eyes. “How did you do it?”

  He lifts his head. “Zoe, please—”

&nb
sp; “I want to know, Maxime.”

  He tips back his head and leans it on the headrest. “I figured out what you wanted.”

  The hurt slices deeper, twisting into the little that’s left of my heart. What kills me, though, is that it was nothing but a psychological game to him.

  “Give me an example,” I say, needing to hurt myself more with the truth. I need to weed him out of my system for once and for all, and he’s just given me the weapon.

  He closes his eyes. Suddenly sounding tired, he says, “Don’t do this.”

  I slam a fist on the dashboard. “Tell me!”

  He lifts his eyelids and turns his face to look at me with the dead gray of his eyes. “You wanted a fairytale. I gave it to you.”

  When he took me to Venice, he stole my fantasy. Now I know why. It wasn’t only to give me a twisted version of my dream when he fucked me, but ultimately to make sure I stayed by also slowly but surely stealing my love. My eyes are dry, but I’m shriveling up inside. Everything, even this, was a lie. I open the door. “All this time, I blamed myself for being so stupid to fall in love with you.”

  “Close the door,” he says through tight lips.

  “It was the only thing I still believed was real. My bad.” Getting out, I slam the door.

  He jumps out when I start walking down the road.

  “Zoe, come back.”

  I lift the strap of my handbag higher on my shoulder and walk faster. He grabs my arm when he catches up with me, but I jerk free.

  “Don’t touch me.”

  “Get back in the car.” His jaw bunches. “Please.”

  “Go to hell.”

  I storm up the road, ashamed of my childish tantrum and unable to stop. He made a fool of me. He made me love him as a part of his sick plan, and I played the role of the needy, naïve girl perfectly. I guess I deserve this pain.

  He doesn’t come after me again, and I don’t hear the engine of his car start up either. I cross the street, turn left, and walk three blocks to a bus stop where I catch one to the boutique. The boutique is closed due to the funeral, but I can’t go home.

  At the boutique, I leave the closed sign and lock the door behind me, thankful for the quiet solitude. I go upstairs and lie down on the couch. The hours tick by as I try to think, but my thoughts are turning in circles. I recall our history from the day Maxime turned up in Johannesburg to the moment I ran. The design school, Sylvie who I thought was my friend, the fact that Maxime’s family planned to marry me to Alexis, everything Maxime has ever lied about turns in my head, all the people who have died, until I have a headache and I can’t think anymore. The cushion underneath my head is wet with tears.

  I get up and make a cup of tea in the kitchen. I can’t stomach food. I drink the tea downstairs, staring at the busy street from a dark shop window. When it gets late, I take my bag, lock up, and set the alarm. I take the tram to a nearby hotel and get a room for the night before buying some essentials from the pharmacy across the street. I send a text to Maxime to let him know I won’t be home so he doesn’t go looking for me, but receive no reply. My phone lies on the nightstand of the strange room, the screen remaining black.

  By morning, there’s still no answer. I take off the underwear I slept in and have a shower. Donning the same outfit, I use the new toothbrush and hairbrush to make myself presentable. Still not having an appetite, I grab a coffee on my way to the boutique. I arrive early enough to change into one of my own creations before anyone else gets there. My shop assistant, Camille, arrives just before nine to put up a new window display before we open at ten.

  For the rest of the day, I throw myself into work. It helps me forget I’m unhappy. It’s helps me forget what happened yesterday. I’ve walked out on my husband, and he didn’t come after me. In relationship terms, it means our marriage is in trouble. In our terms, it means nothing. I’m a prisoner in Maxime’s golden cage. My feelings aren’t going to change that.

  We get a lot of traffic from the street. With the peak summer wedding season around the corner, many women come in asking for a wedding outfit. I’ve expanded to a selected range of wedding and bridesmaid dresses. Camille arranges the new collection in the showroom while I brew a fresh pot of coffee and catch up with my emails at the front desk. I’ll drop by the workshop tomorrow to check how the girls are progressing with the orders. I simply don’t have enough energy today.

  A girl with dark hair and slanted eyes walks into the shop. I notice her because she reminds me so much of Christine from the design school.

  “Can I help you?” Camille asks.

  “I’m looking for a wedding dress,” she says, “but I’m very fussy.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find you something you love.” Camille walks to the mannequins modeling some of the dresses. “If not, we can always design one for you.”

  I cut their conversation out, focusing on an order of fabric as they go through the showroom. Camille is a great saleslady. She’s much better at selling than me.

  The young lady browses through the dresses hanging on the rail when Camille goes upstairs for a tape measure.

  “Oh, my,” she exclaims, taking down a dress. “This is exactly what I want.”

  I get up and go over to assist her, and then I stop dead. The dress she’s holding up to the light has a sweetheart bodice with a wide skirt of diamante studded net tulle. It bleeds from white to the softest of pinks that ends with a darker hue at the hem. I have no idea how the dress got here or why it isn’t stained with hair dye and splashes of mud from the gutters. Maxime must’ve had it cleaned. He must’ve accidently moved it with my sewing material from the apartment, and Camille must’ve unpacked it with the other wedding dresses.

  My mouth is suddenly too dry to speak.

  “Can I have it?” The woman presses it to her body. “Please, please, please tell me it’s not for someone else.”

  Finally finding my voice, I say, “Actually, that one isn’t for sale.”

  She pouts. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

  My smile is impersonal. It gives nothing away of my turmoil. “That was my wedding dress. It must’ve ended up here by fluke.”

  “Oh, shucks.” She lowers the dress. “You can’t sell it then, can you?”

  I think back to the moment I realized for who I’d made that dress at the fashion show. I remember why I loved it so much. It wasn’t the design. It was imagining wearing it for Maxime. I had hope for us then. I wanted to say yes so badly. I told Maxime yesterday everything was a lie, but my love has never been a lie. My love might’ve been a victim of our twisted circumstances, but it was never anything other than solid and real. However it came about doesn’t take away from its truth or depth. I fell in love with Maxime, and I love him still.

  “Can you make me one along similar lines?” she asks. “Not the same, but the same style, if you know what I mean?”

  I force myself back from the past to focus on her face. “Of course. Are you sure though? It’s not according to the latest fashion.”

  “I don’t care much for fashion.” She beams. “I just want my dream dress.”

  “Whatever you want. Camille will take your measurements and contact details. I’ll draw something and email a draft and quote, and then we can take it from there.”

  She jumps on the balls of her feet. “Wonderful.”

  Going to the desk, I take my handbag. It’s almost seven o’clock. “Will you please lock up?” I ask Camille when she comes downstairs with the measuring tape. We usually close at seven.

  “Sure.” She smiles. “See you tomorrow.”

  My heart beats with an unsteady rhythm when I take a bus and get off close to the apartment. I rush the last two blocks home in my heels. Maxime normally leaves the office at six. Urgency makes me forego the lengthy elevator and take the stairs. I’m out of breath when I reach our landing, and then I stop.

  Maxime stands in the door, a suitcase in his hand.

  Panic rushes through me i
n a hot flush. “What are you doing?”

  “Leclerc is dead. A jogger found his body in a park this morning. Alexis’s men got him eventually.”

  The information boggles my mind, but my head is stuck on that suitcase. “What are you doing?”

  “Telling you so you don’t have to be scared.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  He looks at the keys that he holds in his hand. “I was going to drop this off at your workshop, but it’s better like this.”

  I advance a few careful steps, frightened he’ll flee if I corner him. “Where are you going?”

  “It’s time to face the facts, Zoe.” He looks back at me. “This isn’t working.”

  The panic turns into anger, hot and all-consuming. I walk until I stand in front of him. “You don’t get to make this decision on your own.”

  He pushes me aside. “Don’t make this difficult.”

  I move back, blocking his path, standing my ground and demanding my answers. My throat is so dry it hurts to speak. “Why?”

  “You’re changing.”

  I’m changing? The anger creeps up my neck and heats my cheeks. “You made me.” I push a finger on his chest. “You’ll live with me.”

  His smile is tender, apologetic. “I’m afraid you’ll wake up one day and not know who you are any longer. I don’t want to be the reason you hate the person you’ve become.”

  “Is it because of the hotel, of what I did?”

  He puts down the suitcase. “It’s because of what I did.”

  We both know what he’s referring to. He’s talking about stealing my life and cheating his way into my heart. He used every possible means of making sure I can’t escape, even forcing me into this marriage and holding my family’s lives over my head. After everything he’s done to keep me, he’s prepared to let me go?

  I stare at him as the enormity of what he’s doing hits me. Because I’m changing, he’s willing to set me free. He cares enough. It’s nothing short of a declaration of love.

  “Maxime,” I whisper.

  He picks up the suitcase again. “You’ll be fine with money. The apartment is paid for, and you’re the one making the big bucks now.” His smile is wry. “You’ve taken care of me for long enough.”