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I don’t know the woman standing in front of me. I don’t know the person who fixed me dinner and slipped extra pocket money into my school bag. All this time, it’s been nothing but one, big lie. All this time, it was never about me. It was about what my mother wanted me to be. She would’ve sacrificed my wife without blinking an eye for her own, selfish goals.
Yet I can’t hate her. I can’t find it in my soul. She’s still the woman who birthed me. I just don’t respect her any longer.
“You talk as if she’s dead,” I say with a cold smile.
“My God.” My father looks at me with a slack jaw. “Isn’t she?”
It’s my mother’s gaze I hold. “No.” Advancing to her, I peer down at her face. “But you are.”
“Max.” She reaches for me.
I pull away. “Don’t.” With a sneer I add, “You’re dead to me.”
“Did you leave evidence at Francine’s that can be traced back to your mother?” my father asks, coming around the desk.
“I wore gloves.”
My father’s voice is stern. “Where did you get it, Cecile?”
She looks down her nose at him. “I’m not saying.”
My father narrows his good eye. “Don’t think you’ll escape torture because you’re my wife. You’ve crossed a line.”
She knows it. Her hands are shaking. She’s been dishing out orders behind my father’s back to commit murder, no less. That makes her a traitor. My father doesn’t have a choice but to carry the consequences of her actions. She’s his responsibility after all. He won’t stop until he’s flushed out every man she’s ever commanded, no matter what it takes.
“Your contact at the pharmaceutical lab,” she finally says, rambling off a name. The drug factory.
My father sounds tired. “Pack your bags.”
My mother’s lips part as if to argue, but then she stands taller. “Why?”
“I’m sending you to the house in Corsica. You’ll never set foot in France again.”
He’s condemning her to prison. The holiday house stands on a stretch of isolated beach. No one ever goes there except for my family, and none of them will visit there again. It’s nothing short of a cloister. She’ll be living the rest of her days out alone and never see her family again. Me, I’ve already written her off, but the grandchildren she so badly wanted from Alexis and me will never know their grandmother.
Her jaw trembles. “I’m the backbone of this family. Without me, you won’t survive a day.”
“Get out of my sight. You disgust me.” My father turns to me. “You too.”
Gladly.
I leave, turning my back for a second time on my family for the woman I love.
Yes, love.
Fuck my shrink and every textbook that’s ever been written about psychopaths.
Because what is love other than an obsession?
Chapter 21
Zoe
Maxime arrives home just as Hector gets ready to leave. My husband’s strong body is coiled with tension. It looks as if he’s a soldier on the verge of war, ready to strike.
“We’re just wrapping up,” Hector says, pulling off his plastic gloves.
Maxime holds my gaze for another beat before he asks, “What did you find?”
“I’ve collected the dead ants. I’ll have to run tests. At least that’ll tell us if they died from poison and if so, what kind. To be on the safe side, I took samples of your toothpaste and other toiletries like soap and shampoo. We’ve cleaned off the counters and vacuumed. I suggest you throw out all the food and perishables and do a thorough spring-cleaning.”
“Apparently, it’s botulinum,” Maxime says.
“Ah.” Hector rubs his chin. “In that case, you’ll want to use vapor for cleaning and boil the sheets. The toxin is heat sensitive. I’ll run tests anyway to be sure.”
Maxime nods. “When will you know?”
“I’ll push it to the front of the line. I should have something for you in a couple of hours.”
“Great.” Maxime shakes his hand. “I appreciate it.”
“Goodbye, Mrs. Belshaw.” Hector nods in my direction. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Thanks for your help,” I say.
Maxime walks him to the door. “I’ll have your payment delivered.”
“Try not to call again too soon.” With a crooked smile, Hector leaves.
When the door shuts, Maxime and I just stand there for a moment, looking at each other. He moves first. In a few long strides, he eats up the distance between us and folds his arms around me.
“Maxime?” I whisper with my cheek pressed against his chest.
He buries his nose in my hair. “It was Fran and my mother.”
My heart trips in its beating. I suspected Francine. After all, who else had a key? Who else knew I’m the only one in the house who uses granulated sugar? However, Maxime’s mother? She doesn’t like me, but to kill me? That sounds preposterous.
“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling away to look at my face. “You needed to know that.”
