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“I’d love nothing more than to be there for both of you.” I hold my husband’s eyes. “I’ll get back to you about that.”
“What are your plans for the future?”
“I’m not sure yet. For the moment, we’re just, uh, enjoying each other.”
Getting to his feet, Maxime walks to the sliding door. He continues to look at me as if he’d like to punch a hole through the glass and snatch me while Damian and I say our goodbyes.
When I step back inside, Maxime grabs the lapels of my coat, dragging me against him. “I missed you.”
His words take my reason, but I won’t allow them to soften my heart. “It’s only been five minutes.”
“Five minutes too long,” he breathes in my neck.
If I had any doubts about Maxime letting me go to South Africa for the birth of my niece, I’m certain now he won’t. Still, I have to try. “My niece will be born in three months.” I pull away to look at him. “I’d love to be there.”
Regret contorts his features. “I know, flower, but I can’t let you go alone. It’s much too dangerous.”
“You could come with?” I ask hopefully.
Tension invades his expression, making the lines of his face look harsher. “I have to get this business off the ground. There are a lot of changes.”
I notice the dark rings under his eyes that, with everything that has happened, have escaped me. He’s genuinely concerned about this.
“Are we all right?” I ask.
“Don’t worry.” He paints a smile over his concerned expression. “I’ll take care of you.”
I watch him as he sets me aside. “You said you’d be honest with me.”
His lips are still curved into a smile, but it’s a tight one. “I am. I’d give anything to take you to South Africa for the birth, but this business is our future.” Adopting a lighter tone, he says, “In fact, I’d like to show you the office.”
“Now?”
“I have to go in to take care of some things.”
I suspect taking me with him to work has more to do with keeping me safe than involving me in his professional life.
Trying not to show my disappointment about not being able to be there when the baby is born, I follow him to the car. He drives us to a modern building on the outskirts of the city and leads me through the scanners and security check. There’s no name on the outside, but a plaque above the elevator reads Belshaw Diamantes.
His offices are on the top floor, overlooking the hilly side of Marseille instead of the harbor. The interior is modern with gray and white walls and minimalistic furniture. He introduces me to some of the staff members, all of them men, including his assistant. Maxime’s office has glass walls affording him a view of the open floor plan where the other employees are installed. Instead of working at desks, the setup is more casual with sofas arranged around workstations and coffee nooks.
While I page through a magazine on the sofa in his office, he makes arrangements for setting up a diamond auction in Paris. From the conversation I overhear, Maxime gets the uncut stones from Damian and sells them to wholesalers in Europe.
Hector calls just before we leave the office, saying he’s found traces of botulinum in both the ants and sugar, but not in any of the toiletries he’s tested. I still can’t believe Francine would’ve done something like this and even less that Maxime’s mother was involved.
Back at the hotel, I switch on the television while Maxime orders room service. We’re both too exhausted from the ordeal to have dinner in the restaurant. He didn’t allow me access to computers or anything other than movie channels on television before. Watching the news is still a novelty. I flick to the local channel while kicking off my shoes.
A newsflash about a young woman who committed suicide by ingesting botulinum stills me. The reporter stands in front of a house on the beachfront, saying that a neighbor found the body. My knees trembling, I sink down on the bed. For the first time, it hits me, really hits me. Maxime killed her.
“Zoe?”
I look up to see him staring down at me darkly. “She deserved it.”
My stomach turns. My husband is a killer. I knew that, didn’t I? I knew it right from the start, even if I chose to bury my head in the sand. That luxury is no longer an option. I can’t claim to be naïve about the man I married.
“This changes nothing,” he says in a hard voice, taking my hand and pulling me roughly to him.
I’m shaking inside. It’s hard to keep the fear from showing on my face.
“It’s too late for second thoughts, ma belle,” he says with narrowed eyes, pushing up my sweater and palming my breasts. His hands are angry as he unfastens both our pants and pushes mine with my underwear over my hips. “You already married the devil.” Guiding his cock to my entrance, he drives home in a single thrust, consummating the words.
