Maxime steps from the dressing room wearing a white shirt and blue suit tailored to the latest fashion, paired with Italian shoes. He looks smart and impossibly handsome. He’s focused on fitting a cufflink, but when he catches my gaze, he walks up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. Our eyes remained locked for a moment before he swoops down and places a kiss on my neck.
“Good morning, cherie.” His gray eyes turn a shade warmer. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.” With the restriction in my throat, the words sound thick.
He frowns. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I force a smile. “I’m running late, that’s all.”
The lie comes with effort. He knows me well enough by now not to buy it. Besides, I’m always early.
Kneading my shoulders, he says, “Try again.”
He won’t give up until I tell him. Biting my lip, I gauge his mood. “I’ve just realized it’s been eighteen months.”
Some of the warmth in his gaze dissipates. “We should go out and celebrate.”
It’s hardly something I want to celebrate, but I know better than to fail this test. “Whenever you want.”
He brushes my hair over my shoulder. “I meant to speak to you about tonight.”
The way he hesitates makes me tense. “What about tonight?”
“We have to attend a gallery opening.” Searching my face, he adds, “With my family.”
“Your whole family?”
“Everyone, including Alexis. I wouldn’t expose you to them if I didn’t have to, but this is an important event. We have a lot invested in the gallery.”
“I could stay at home?” I offer hopefully.
“No.” His tone is curt. “Hiding you at home would send the wrong message.”
“Which is?”
“That I don’t respect you.”
“Oh.” His respect never crossed my mind. “Do you?”
“Of course.” He twists a strand of hair around his finger. “I admire you.”
“If people think you don’t respect me, how would that be a problem?”
“People you don’t respect are expendable.”
Goosebumps break out over my arms. “I see.” No one has tried to kill me since the drive-by shooting, but the threat is never out of my thoughts for long.
“All right.” My smile is shaky. I don’t like Maxime’s family. I definitely don’t look forward to seeing them at a gala event, which will be stressful enough as it is.
He squeezes my shoulders. “Sylvie will be there.”
At least there’s something to look forward to.
Gripping my chin, he turns my face to the side and kisses my lips. “I’ll see you tonight. Be ready at seven.”
I hurry through the rest of my grooming and go down to the kitchen to prepare my latest breakfast craze—a spirulina and berry smoothie.
Francine regards me from where she’s rolling out dough for a quiche. She’s long since given up on setting out my breakfast, but she still dumps the granulated sugar in the trashcan and replaces it with cubes. In turn, I buy sticky brown sugar and fill up the pot I bought. It’s a childish circle of spitefulness, but neither of us is prepared to surrender.
“You better start wearing sunblock,” she says, studying me from under her lashes. “You’re getting more freckles.”
Twisting the lid onto my portable cup, I smile. “Maxime loves my freckles.”
She laughs. “Any man who says he likes freckles is a liar.”
“I’ll let Maxime know,” I say on my way to the door.
“That he’s a liar? Oh, trust me, he knows, but so do you.”
I turn on my heel. “Maybe you should tell him that to his face.”
“He knows how I feel. He promised me things when we were together.” Leaning her hands on the counter, she returns my fake smile. “What did he promise you?”
“What happens between Maxime and me doesn’t concern you.”
I leave without saying goodbye, holding my head high as I walk through the door, but her words have thorns, and they hook into my heart. I can’t get them out of my head during the drive to school or for the duration of my classes.
* * *
My brain feels mushy from a whole day of complicated pattern calculations and mulling over what Francine has said. When I get home by six, I have a headache. The stress of anticipating tonight doesn’t help. I take a painkiller and am ready at the hour Maxime has stipulated. At seven sharp, he enters the bedroom with a bouquet of pink roses.
“For the most beautiful woman in the world,” he says, offering them to me.
“They’re gorgeous.” I inhale their scent. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He runs his gaze over my dress. “One of your designs?”
“Yes.” It’s a black halter neck with a short train at the back. The skirt is decorated with a few black feathers. They add texture and a focal point to the otherwise simple cut.
“Absolutely stunning.” He cups my hips. “Even more so on this body.”
I’ve grown accustomed to his compliments. Maxime isn’t someone to offer empty appraisal. He means what he says. I can’t help but wonder what compliments he whispered into Francine’s ear. For her to be so bitter over their breakup, it had to have been serious.
“Maxime.” I put the flowers on the bed, weighing my words. “How committed were things between Francine and you?”
He studies me for a moment. “I told you. It was sex.”
“Like us? We’re sex, too. Nothing more, right?”
His expression darkens. “There’s no comparison between you and Francine.”
“What’s the difference?”
His fingers tighten on my flesh. “You’re a keeper.”
“What did you promise her?”
“Nothing.” His look is chastising. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
“That’s not how she sees it.”
He sets me aside and drops his arms by his side. “What did she say to you?”
“That you promised her things.”
He chuckles. “Believe me, if I promised her things, you wouldn’t be here.”
I’d be with Alexis, and she would’ve shared Maxime’s bed. Yet here I am. “Why?”
“Why what?” He checks his watch. “We don’t have time for this, Zoe.”
“Why me? Why not Francine or someone else? Is it just because of the diamonds?” I ask, although, I find that hard to believe. He didn’t have to keep me forever. He could’ve let me go when his deal was secured. Maybe he’s worried Damian will reverse his decision if he finds out the truth, if this crazy scheme Maxime mentioned ever works out.
A nerve ticks under his eye. “I know what you’re asking, Zoe.”
“I’m asking why you chose me as your property.”
“No.” He grips my chin. “You’re asking if I feel differently about you than other women. The answer is yes. I’ve never cared more, but you’re also asking if I love you. The answer to that, as much as it saddens me, is and will always be no.”
His words drive into my heart. They twist and hurt. I lay a palm over the ache, willing it to stop, but I can’t turn my feelings off. I can only suffer them knowing there will never be a remedy. Why did I have to scratch the scab off? We were doing so well.
“Maybe…” A suppressed sob turns into a soft gasp. “Maybe you feel more than you realize.”
“I know.”
“How?” I exclaim. “The way you behave—”
“Is designed to make you happy. Love is selfless, like you. Me, I’m the opposite of everything you are. I’m selfish.”
Stupidly, I cling to hope. “You’re being very hard on yourself.”
“No, Zoe.” His eyes are solemn. “If I loved you, I would’ve set you free.”
What he says rings true. Yet I don’t want it to be. It’s too agonizing to bear. I press my free hand over my stomach to where the ache spreads, holding in the raw emotio
ns that threaten to tumble out.
“I wish to God I was capable of love,” he says. “I want to give it to you more than I want to do anything in the world, but this is who I am.” He strokes a thumb over my chin. “I can’t change my nature.”
His words are killing me. Between Francine and me, she’s the one who’s better off. At least she doesn’t have to live with him day and night while suffering the knowledge for an unloving eternity. I’m so fucking pathetic. Why do I do this to myself over and over? Why do I keep wanting us to be different?
“If you can’t love me,” I say, “set me free.” It hurts too much to live like this. “Please, Maxime. We can just forget about everything. I won’t lay charges. I won’t tell a soul. Not even Damian. I promise.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Why not?” I cry out.
“Because I can’t live without you.”
I can only stare at him, trying to get a grip on the old hurt that won’t let go. Just when I think I’ve accepted my situation, I have to go and lift the lid on the pot of my twisted emotions.
“I’m sorry.” Folding his arms around me, he pulls me close. “If it makes you feel better, I’m living to make it up to you.”
It doesn’t, but there’s nothing to be done about it. It’s not going to change, and I’m not going to cry about it.
My heart must be hardening slowly but surely, because my eyes are dry when I pull away. “Thank you for being honest with me.” I’m bleeding inside, but I put on a smile. I’ve learned from the master.
He kisses my lips. The action is tender, apologetic. It’s like a kiss on a child’s cut knee. His eyes fold in the corners. Giving me a thoughtful nod like he’s just ticked a task off his to-do list, he takes the flowers and walks to the bathroom. I act on autopilot, dumping lipstick and perfume into my clutch bag. Anything to keep my hands busy and hide how I’m feeling.
When he returns, he takes my hand like his words haven’t torn me apart. “Shall we go?”
I know the right answer. “Yes.”
“Good.” He kisses my cheek. “I think you’ll like the exhibition.”
We drive to town without making conversation. He takes a few calls, but, like always, avoids discussing business in front of me. For my own protection, I assume.
The minute we enter the gallery, guests swamp Maxime. To be honest, I’m happy for the reprieve. I need some space from him.
When he hands me a glass of champagne that he takes from a passing waiter, I say, “I’m going to look for Sylvie.”
He nods, casts a glance around the room, and flicks his fingers at Benoit.
The place is packed. Making my way through the masses with Benoit following closely, I pass contemporary paintings featuring garbage. Rotting food, one-eyed dolls, and burnt flowers are the subjects. I get the message, but Maxime was wrong. I hate it.
The crowd thins toward the back. A room leads off to the right. I go inside. A mobile light display illuminates nails in the wall. Mumbling, “Excuse me,” I push through the spectators who entered behind me and make my way to the room on the opposite side. Just before I reach the archway, Sylvie’s bubbly laugh reaches my ears. Oh, thank God. I’m not going to dump my problems on her, but I can do with a friend. I’m about to enter when my name pops up in her conversation. I stop in my tracks.
“I don’t know how you can stand her,” a female voice says. “Her clothes are so distasteful.”
“The princess stuff is the worst,” Sylvie says.
“Did you see her dress when they walked in tonight?”
“Hideous.”
“Someone should tell her.”
“Ha,” Sylvie says. “I just can’t be bothered.”
Sucking in a breath, I lean a hand on the wall. My heart starts thumping with a heavy beat. It’s a beat I recognize well, one that pumps with the knowledge of betrayal.
“I hate how naïve she is,” Sylvie continues.
They can’t be talking about me. Sylvie is my friend.
“I don’t see what Maxime sees in her,” the other woman says.
“Boobs and ass, obviously,” Sylvie replies. “The fact that he won’t marry her says a lot.”
A wave of heat rises from my stomach to my chest, making me feel sick.
A hand lands on my arm. “Are you all right?”
I look from the hand to its owner. Benoit. “Fine.” I down the champagne and hand him the glass. “I need another drink.”
Turning around, I go in the opposite direction. I don’t stop until I’m somewhere in the middle of the floor, hidden by strangers. Benoit hands me another glass. I thank him and swallow it down.
“Hey,” he says, “you better go easy on the booze.”
I hand him the empty glass. He’s right. I’m not my father, but maybe I am the naïve princess Sylvie described. I fell for her deceit, didn’t I? I was stupid enough to believe she was sincere. Taking a glass of juice from a nearby cocktail table, I keep an eye on the archway.
Not long after, Sylvie and Noelle exit. They walk to a small group, smiling as they near. Raphael, Cecile, Emile, Hadrienne, and Alexis are standing together.
“Are those girls being bitches to you?” Benoit asks, following my gaze.
“No.”
“I wouldn’t worry about their opinion.”
I look at him, really look at him for the first time. After he’s asked me to keep my distance, I’ve respected his request. We never drive together any longer, but I’ve noticed him hastily shoving pastries down his throat in his car before following me to class.
“Do you eat croissants for breakfast every day?” I ask.
His face scrunches up. “What?”
“That can’t be healthy or good for your weight.”
He drags a hand over his stomach. “The girls aren’t complaining.”
“From now on, I’ll make you a smoothie.”
“A fucking what?”
“If you follow me, I may as well watch out for you.”
“I’m not following you. I’m protecting you. I’m the one watching out for you.”
I’m hurting inside, my chest throbbing like an open wound, but the banter is like a Band-Aid on a cut. Maybe it’s just a really good distraction.
“Well,” I smile, “all of that is about to change.”
“Here we go.” He rolls his eyes. “Now I’m your pet project.”
“Nothing like that,” I say, swatting him on the arm. “But you’re done pushing me away.”
“Listen here, lady. I missed five football matches because I’m trailing after you.”
“Then maybe we should eat lunch in a brasserie where you can catch up on your matches. Two birds with one stone.”
“Getting friendly with the staff?” a voice cuts in.
I turn. Alexis stands in front of me, dressed in a tux. My stomach roils. Vivid images of the woman he tortured run through my mind.
“It’s been too long,” he drawls.
“Not long enough,” I mutter.
He chuckles. “A sense of humor, too. No wonder my brother is so taken with you.”
I glance at where I left Maxime. He’s talking to his father. Maxime’s expression is dark and his gaze narrow as he regards Raphael from under his eyelashes. Raphael moves closer, saying something in Maxime’s ear. Maxime’s hand balls into a fist at his side.
“Speaking of which, how is my brother treating you?” Alexis asks.
“That’s none of your business.” I look over his shoulder. Benoit has moved a short distance away, discreetly giving us space, but he’s still within earshot.
“I was just going to say you’re always welcome at my place if you need saving.”
“I don’t think Maxime will appreciate you talking like that.”
“You were supposed to be mine,” he says with a wink. “It’s only natural that I watch out for you.”
“Like you did for that poor woman we found in your apartment?”
His s
mile is practiced. Underneath the gesture runs malice. “What woman?”
“I’ll never pretend it didn’t happen,” I say, lowering my voice.
“Calm down, Zoe. You think you know everything, don’t you?”
“I know enough.”
Laughing, he tips back his glass. “You have no idea.”
This evening has gotten too much. “Benoit, I’d like to go home.”
“Running?” Alexis asks. “Do I scare you, little Zoe?”
A strong hand closes around my upper arm. I look up into Maxime’s thunderous face.
“I told you to stay away from her,” Maxime says in a cold tone, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me against his side.
“I can hardly avoid her at a social gathering.” Alexis’s gaze moves to his family. “Although, it seems everyone else is.”
A muscle ticks at Maxime’s temple. “If you want a fight, say so. Don’t pick one. I’m happy to take it outside.”
Alexis lifts his hands. “I come in peace.”
“Is that why you went behind my back again?”
“Father invited me to the club for lunch. The opportunity came up. It would’ve been foolish to waste it. If you’d been there more often like you’re supposed to be, you wouldn’t have to accuse me of stealing your fifteen minutes of fame.” He trails his gaze over me. “We all know where you prefer to spend your evenings.”
Sylvie’s voice rings over the noise of the crowd. “Zoe!” She makes her way over and takes my hands. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over for you. Look at you. What a beautiful dress. Did you make it?”
I pull away.
“Has Alexis been keeping you busy?” She pouts at her cousin. “Are you bothering my friend?”
“Just leaving,” he says, bowing in my direction.
“You do that,” Maxime grits out.
“What’s going on?” Sylvie asks when Alexis walks off.
“Nothing new,” Maxime says. His eyes remain fixed on his brother’s back as Alexis walks to the bar and orders a drink.
“I’m in town until Saturday,” Sylvie says. “Shall we grab some pizza? Girls’ night. You won’t mind, will you, Max?”
“Actually,” I say, “I have exams coming up.”
“What about the weekend after?”
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