The room turns colder in his absence. I guess it’s something I’ll have to get used to.
It’s going to take me a while.
Goodbye, Maxime.
A sob catches in my throat. Since Maxime took me, I only wanted to get away. That first night in Venice, I never would’ve believed how completely I’d end up loving and hating him in equal measures. I never thought leaving him would be this hard or hurt this deeply.
Chapter 23
Zoe
* * *
I go through the motions. I dress, eat, and do the cleaning. I get through the day by potting around in the greenhouse and watering the plants. Like I expected, Maxime doesn’t come to me after work. He’s no doubt busy with the arrangements of tomorrow’s party. He sends me a text to say he has a family obligation and will see me on Monday, that he will miss me and think about me every minute.
I read the text with mixed feelings through my tears. Sinking to my knees, I imagine him at his party with his strong body filling out his tux, and the look on his face as he slides a ring onto Izabella’s finger in front of their families as witnesses. Will his smile be soft? Will his cold eyes warm for her? Will he give her the look of approval he saved for me when I dressed up for him? I let the thoughts punish me. I own the guilt and the pain. I carry the weight of the sin Maxime won’t admit. Then I pick myself up from the floor and pack a bag.
I go to bed with the box of chocolates Maxime left in the kitchen cupboard, eating them all. I don’t sleep. At five, I make the bed and tidy the apartment. I have a cup of coffee and a slice of toast. After a quick shower, I dress in a wool sweater and my favorite worn jeans. Then I pull a pair of baggy pants on over the jeans and fit my boots. Rolling my red thermal jacket into a small ball, I bundle it with a red beanie and scarf as well as my ballerina flats in my oversized handbag. I tie my hair into a ponytail, but don’t apply makeup. I stare at my reflection in the mirror.
My eyes are dull and marred by dark rings. My cheeks are sunken, making my face look hollow. I don’t bother with trying to disguise the feelings I wear on my sleeve with makeup. The worse I look, the more convincing I’ll be with the guard.
At seven, I pull on my blue puffy jacket, take my car keys, and open the door. A different man from yesterday is on duty.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Ma’am.” His gaze runs over me. “Everything all right?”
“I need to get out.”
He removes a phone from his pocket. “Where to?”
“Anywhere. I don’t care.”
He gives me a baffled look.
“Maybe the movies,” I say. “Preferably a very long one.”
Understanding passes over his face. It’s the day of Maxime’s engagement, after all. Any mistress would want to lose herself in a mindless activity to forget.
Typing something on his phone, he says, “I’m just letting Mr. Belshaw know.”
“While we’re at it,” I say, going back inside and grabbing the bag, “I’ll do my dry-cleaning.” I dump the bag in his arms and then hand him the key to the apartment. “Do you mind?”
Not waiting to see if he follows, I walk down the hallway toward the elevator. The key sounds in the lock. He overtakes me and pushes the button, my bag slung over his shoulder.
When he holds the key out to me, I shake my head. “Please, keep it for me. I have a tendency to lose things when I’m distracted.”
He gives a sympathetic nod. “Which cinema?”
“I don’t care. Pick one.”
We take my car. I drive while he checks the movie program on his phone. He gives me directions to a theatre near the harbor, someplace in Maxime’s territory where we’ll be safe.
I park in the underground parking of a shopping mall. I lock the bag in the trunk and ride the escalators up with the guard whose name I don’t bother to ask. The earliest screening starts at ten. We’re way too early. I buy two tickets at the self-service dispenser and go to a coffee shop to wait. The guard orders coffee. I ask for tea, a rose petal infusion. When the waitress puts the cup in front of me, it doesn’t take much for genuine tears to flow.
“Excuse me,” I say, wiping at my eyes and jumping to my feet. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
The guard pushes to his feet, his eyebrows pulled together. “What can I do?”
“Please.” I duck my head. “Just give me a moment.”
He doesn’t follow me to the bathroom, but moves his chair so that he has a view on the door. I push inside and rush to a stall. Locking the door behind me, I scramble out of my jacket, boots, and pants. I dump everything together with my phone in the trashcan before fitting my ballerina flats and the red thermal jacket.
Stepping out of the stall, I go to the mirror over the basins. I make quick work of untying my hair and shaking it out before fitting the beanie and pulling it low over my forehead. The final touch is adding sunglasses and bright red lipstick. For good measure, I shove my handbag under the sweater and zip up the jacket. I take a step back and study my reflection. I look like a different woman, at least nine months pregnant.
Forcing myself to take long, even breaths, I place a hand over my stomach and exit the bathroom. It takes everything I have to walk slowly like a woman late in her pregnancy instead of running. From behind the dark lenses of my glasses, I keep an eye on the guard. He’s still watching the door, ignoring me. I hold my breath until I round the corner, and then I move.
I sprint down the escalator, yanking the bag out from under my sweater in the run. My lungs are burning by the time I reach the underground parking. I don’t look left or right. I have the keys ready in my pocket. I push on the button to unlock the car. Only when I’m opening the door do I dare a glance at the doors giving access to the mall. All is quiet.
Shifting behind the wheel, I start the engine and get out of the parking area. Luckily, the first hour is free, so I don’t have to waste time by paying. I only have to push the parking ticket into the slot for the barricade to open. I have no idea how much time I have. Maybe not long before the guard realizes I’m gone. Maxime will send men after me. He’ll look for my car and license plate. At the nearest bus terminal, I park in an illegal spot and take my bag from the trunk. It won’t take long before my car is towed away. Maxime will eventually find it at the impound, but hopefully it wins me more time.
I check the bus routes on the board, and take the number that goes to the airport. All the way there, my stomach twists so tightly I think I may be sick. I grip my handbag in my lap.
Please, God. Please.
After twenty minutes, the bus pulls up at the airport stop. I get out and fall in line with the other passengers, making sure I move in the middle of the group. I’ve never been to the airport, but it’s not big. It doesn’t take long to find the Air France information counter.
A tall man wearing a blue suit and red tie stands next to the counter, reading a tourist brochure. He’s shorter than Maxime, but bulkier. One look at his strong frame tells me this man is in the security business. His brown eyes have that vigilant light that says he’s aware of everything happening around him, even if he seems to be engrossed in what he’s reading.
My assumption is proved correct when he looks up while I’m still a short distance away. Our eyes lock. He offers me a warm smile, the appreciative kind a man would only offer to a woman he knows well. He recognizes me. Maybe Damian showed him a photo.
I study his handsome face. He has deep laugh lines around his mouth and eyes. A bit of gray touches the russet color of his sideburns. He looks easygoing, yet alert, competent, exactly like someone Damian would trust and employ.
“Code word?” I ask under my breath as I stop in front of him, looking around to make sure we’re not watched.
“Apple pie,” he says in a deep voice.
My relief is so great it feels as if my knees may give out. Before I know what’s happening, he pulls me into a hug.
I try to push away but he holds tighter and
whispers in my ear, “Make this look real. We’re a couple traveling together.”
Understanding, I return his smile when he lets me go. To anyone looking on, we’re just a boyfriend and girlfriend happy to be reunited.
He takes my bag. “Any other luggage?”
“No.”
Offering me his arm, he leads me to passport control. “Damian will be so happy to see you.”
I know he’s only making conversation to help me stay calm. Nodding, I look over my shoulder.
“Act normally,” he says, squeezing my hand that rests on his arm. “Just relax.”
Easier said than done. I’m expecting Maxime’s men to burst through the doors with automatic rifles and kill Russell before dragging me away.
“Who am I, anyway?” I asked in hushed tone.
He glances around before handing me the brochure he was reading. I flip it open to find a South African passport with the familiar green cover inside. Turning the page, I read the name next to my photo, Amanda Clifford.
“I’m Devon Edgar,” he says in my ear, pretending to sneak in a kiss. “We spent ten days at the Blue Voile on the French Riviera, our first holiday in France.”
The information threatens to scatter with how much I’m stressing. Blue Voile. French Riviera. Ten days. Devon Edgar. I repeat it silently in my head.
“You’ll be fine,” he says with another easy smile.
We go through the scanners. At the customs counter, I remove my sunglasses. The officer looks from my passport to my face with a bored expression. Taking his time, he pages through the passport. The pages look used—frequently touched and full of stamps.
“Returning home?” he asks me in English.
In a reflex reaction, I almost reply in French, but bite my tongue just in time. “Yes.” I smile. “Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.”
The officer turns to Russell. “What was the nature of your visit?”
“Holiday,” Russell says.
I nearly sag in relief when the officer pounds the stamp in my passport and shifts it toward me over the counter.
“Thank you,” I say in a chirpy voice.
“We’re not in the clear yet,” Russell says as he steers me to the international lounge. “Not until we’re in the air.”
I’m very aware of that. A powerful man like Maxime will be able to delay flights and search planes. Since I’m unable to sit still, we wander through the duty-free shops where Russell buys wine and truffle oil.
“Really?” I ask as he bags the goods.
He shrugs. “Just trying to look normal.”
“Are you a gourmand?”
He grins. “I like to eat.”
I can’t help but glance at the biceps stretching the arms of his suit jacket. “You don’t say.”
He places a hand on my arm to silence me as he listens to an announcement. “That’s us.”
I close my eyes. “Oh, thank God.”
“Come.” Taking my hand, he leads me to the boarding gate.
My scalp pricks with uneasiness. By now Maxime must know I’m on the run. It feels as if ants are marching down my spine, but ten minutes later, I’m seated in the plane. Russell puts my bag in the overhead storage compartment before sitting down next to me. Gripping the armrests, I stare through the window. I’m nervous about flying. Technically, this is my third flight, but Maxime drugged me during the first one—I don’t recall any of it—and during the second I was too preoccupied with my fate to worry about the plane dropping out of the air.
“It’s not my business,” Russell says, “but I’m going to ask anyway. Are you okay?”
I look at him. Am I? No. I doubt I’ll ever be. There are things I can’t un-live, feelings I can’t undo.
It takes some courage and strength to produce a smile. “Yes. I’m okay now.”
“Good.” He pats my hand. “Maybe try to get some sleep. You look like you need it.”
“I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep.” Ever again.
“I’m here to watch over you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
“Thanks,” I say, meaning it like never before.
It’s not until we take off and the wheels fold under the plane that I relax somewhat. It’s only then that I let the emotions catch up with me. Loneliness when you’re single is unpleasant but hopeful. Loneliness when you love with all your heart and soul is like walking through fire. It burns yet leaves you cold. The cavity of my chest is hollow. Empty. Only the echoes of painful memories are left.
As the view of Marseille slowly shrinks, I say goodbye to Zoe Hart. When we break through the fluffy clouds, I close the door on the life that lies below.
It’s only then I allow myself to cry.
~ THE END ~
Afterword
Dear Reader,
* * *
Zoe and Maxime’s story concludes in:
Diamonds are Forever (15 September 2020)
* * *
Thank you very much for joining me on Zoe and Maxime’s adventure. If you enjoyed the story, please consider leaving a short review on your favorite review or vendor site to help other readers discover the book. Every review makes a huge difference.
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* * *
For updates on my future books, special deals, and exclusive offers, please join my newsletter. You’ll find all my social media links in About the Author. I look forward to staying in touch. :-)
* * *
Hugs,
* * *
Charmaine
Also by Charmaine Pauls
Standalone Novels
(Enemies-to-Lovers Dark Romance)
Darker Than Love
* * *
(Second Chance Romance)
Catch Me Twice
Diamond Magnate Novels
(Dark Romance)
* * *
Standalone Novel
Beauty in the Broken
* * *
Diamonds are Forever Trilogy
Diamonds in the Dust
Diamonds in the Rough
Diamonds are Forever
The Loan Shark Duet
(Dark Mafia Romance)
Dubious
Consent
Box Set
The Age Between Us Duet
(Older Woman Younger Man Romance)
Old Enough
Young Enough
Box Set
Krinar World Novels
(Futuristic Romance)
The Krinar Experiment
The Krinar’s Informant
Audiobooks
* * *
The Loan Shark Duet
(Dark Mafia Romance)
Dubious
Consent
* * *
Krinar World Novels
(Futuristic Romance)
The Krinar’s Informant
Book Blurbs
Diamond Magnate Novels
(Dark Mafia & Revenge Romance)
* * *
Standalone Novel
Beauty in the Broken
Six years ago, Harold Dalton framed me for theft and sent me to jail to steal my diamond discovery. He gave his daughter to Jack Clarke in exchange for the excavation rights. Today I’m walking free, and I’m coming for him with a vengeance. Six years of cruelty make beasts out of men. I’m going to take back what he stole from me, and more. I’m not interested in his properties or shares. I don’t want his small change. I want his biggest asset. Beautiful, mentally unstable, Angelina Dalton-Clarke.
* * *
Worth billions, she’s the wealthiest widow in the country, and also the craziest. Her self-harming tendencies had Jack declare her incompetent before he put a gun to his head and blew out his brains. Lina isn’t allowed to touch a cent of her riches. Her father manages her finances. He has all the signing power. As her husband, that chore will fall to
me. But if she thinks I only want her for her money, she’s sadly mistaken.
* * *
Diamonds are Forever Trilogy
* * *
Diamonds in the Dust (Book 1)
Men like us, we see things.
We do things, things that make us unfeeling.
* * *
That’s the price of power and money, of living la belle vie and running the French mafia. Then she came along like a pretty wildflower pushing through the cracks on a dirty pavement—fragile yet resilient, a breath of beauty among the filth. She was supposed to be just another job, a nameless person I was to pluck from her life and hand to my brother, nothing but a pawn in the gamble of our diamond business.
* * *
There’s a psychological label for men like us.
We lack empathy and guilt.
We do things to have what we want, things that make flowers wilt.
* * *
Diamonds in the Rough (Book 2)
Girls like me, we know how to survive.
We each have our own little ways, but we acquire those skills at the same tender age.
* * *
If you ask me how many times a person can die, I’ll tell you many times. As many times as a man stabs you in the stomach with betrayal and wrings out your heart with lies.
Diamonds in the Rough Page 18