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During the rest of the dinner I fall quiet as the guys talk business. Damian explains his vision of expanding his finished products, jewelry styled by his designer, to Europe, while Maxime agrees to provide a base for selling them as soon as the foundation of his business is sound again.
When I propose fresh fruit for dessert, Damian checks his watch.
“I’m afraid I have to get going,” he says.
Shameful relief mixes with my sadness. “Already?”
“My flight leaves in two hours.”
“Coffee before you go?” Maxime asks.
Damian gets to his feet. “I’ll get one at the airport.”
Maxime follows suit. “I’ll drive you.”
“It’s not necessary,” Damian says. “I can get a taxi.”
“It’s no trouble.” Maxime heads to the door to get his jacket. “Besides, I know the safe roads.”
My heart is heavy when I walk my brother to the door. Folding my arms around him, I hug him tight. “Give Lina and Josh a hug from me.”
He kisses the top of my head. “I will.”
“Please let me know the moment there’s news,” I say, staring up at him.
His smile is tender. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the first to know.”
“A baby.” I sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt.”
“What about you? Getting broody?” Damian asks, but he’s looking at Maxime as he poses the question.
“Soon,” Maxime says just as I reply, “No.”
Damian gives me a curious look, a flicker of caution creeping back into his eyes.
“Something we’re still to discuss,” Maxime says. “It seems I’m keener than my wife.”
I recognize his iron will, but to any onlooker he must appear tender and caring.
Damian relents, releasing me with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
“Thank you,” I say. Thanks for caring enough to check up on me.
Damian’s expression turns stern. “Call me.”
“I’ll make sure she does,” Maxime says. Taking my face between his hands, he kisses my forehead before retrieving his keys.
The door closes on their backs, and then they’re gone. Suddenly, I’m alone in every sense, feeling it all the way to my soul. My hand automatically goes to my stomach, covering the emptiness I feel there that echoes in my chest.
If Maxime is planning on tying me further to him with a baby, he’s got another think coming. There was a time I would’ve given him a child, a time I even craved a baby, but I was stupid then. I believed we were happy in our own way. We’re too unstable to be anything other than unhappy. We could never provide a healthy environment for a child.
I clear the table and clean the kitchen, welcoming the tasks to keep my thoughts from drifting into sadness. When there’s nothing left to tidy, I have a shower and pull on a pair of comfy pajamas. I’m brushing out my hair in front of the mirror in the dressing room when Maxime gets back.
Our gazes lock where he leans in the frame. He watches me with something that burns fiercely in his eyes, but he doesn’t express the sentiment in words.
I put the brush away and get up. “Thank you for driving Damian.”
He stares at me like he may eat me alive. “We’re family. It’s normal.”
“I’m going to bed.” I squeeze past him. “I’m knackered.”
He grips my wrist, holding me back while his gray gaze bores into mine. “That’s really what you want to do?”
“Yes,” I lie.
Slowly, he releases me.
The minute I’m free, I flee. I walk to the bedroom like I don’t want to run, and crawl into bed under the covers while Maxime undresses in the dark. He wants me. I know he does, but for some reason, he doesn’t come to bed with his usual seduction skills. He slides into his side and lies quietly on his back, waiting. Waiting for something I don’t understand.
Chapter 26
Maxime
Zoe isn’t taking the initiative. She’s not touching me.
She doesn’t want me.
Of course she doesn’t.
Look at me.
Look at my face. Look at who I am.
What did I expect?
I’m fucking devastated, and it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand the feelings beating in my chest.
I’m a fool.
What else is there to say?
On my way to work, I spot the nail sticking out of a plank on the pavement next to a construction site. I lift my foot high and put it down with enough force to drive the nail through the sole of my shoe and into the hollow of my foot.
Fuuuuck. That hurts.
For a moment, I’m nailed to the plank like Jesus to the cross, a rivulet of cold sweat running down my hot back.
“Christ,” a workman calls out, making his way over to me. “Are you all right?”
“Does it look like I’m fucking all right?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the pain that burns up my leg.
“Jesus.” The man throws his hardhat on the ground and grabs my elbow. “Here, let me help you.”
