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“What do you think?” Maxime asks behind me.
“It’s beautiful,” I say honestly. He must’ve invested a fortune in this place. I turn to face him. “Did you have the renovations done?”
“It took two years,” he says proudly.
Two years. All the pain from Saturday comes tumbling out. “Ah. Well, I guessed you didn’t just pop out and buy this place yesterday.”
“No.” His expression sobers as he studies my face. “I bought it two years ago.”
He planned it all along. He knew he’d need a place to ship me to.
“The work is only just finished,” he says.
Otherwise, he would’ve made me move in sooner.
“I’ll have your clothes sent over,” he continues. “A team will unpack everything. You won’t have to lift a finger.”
The hurt spreads and spreads until I breathe and exhale it, until my heart beats with it and my pulse pumps with it.
“So,” I say, “this is the new golden cage.”
“It’s yours, Zoe. No one can ever take it away from you. The day anything happens to me, this apartment will belong to you together with enough money to allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life.”
I stare at him, my feelings adrift. My emotions won’t let me make sense of anything. They won’t let me form words.
He approaches tentatively, his arms spread out with his palms facing the heavens. “Will you at least let me hold you?”
The offer tears me to pieces. I need the solace. I so badly need for someone to hold me. Just for a minute. Just for a few seconds. But he belongs to another.
Biting back my tears, I shake my head.
I’m not a cheater, and he’s not a rapist. He won’t take me by force, not without my consent.
He drops his arms. “I’ll let you settle in, then. The fridge is stocked. If you need anything, you only have to call.”
The agony is so complete I want to sink to my knees under its force. A silent scream catches in my chest when he turns his back on me and walks through the door. I can only stand there while he rips my life apart with his kindness.
Chapter 22
Zoe
It takes me a while to come to my senses. I’m frozen from cold when my limbs finally obey the signals from my brain to move. The first thing I do is go to the front door and yank it open. A man stands on attention in the corridor. My spirits sink. Of course.
“Babysitting?” I ask like a bitch.
“I’m here to protect you, ma’am, and to let Mr. Belshaw know if you need anything.”
“What if I need to go out?”
“Your car will be delivered shortly, but you’re not to go anywhere without Mr. Belshaw’s permission. I’m to accompany you.” He adds, “For your safety.”
“Where’s Benoit?”
“He’s driving your car over, but he’s no longer your appointed detail.”
I suppose Benoit is Maxime’s best man. He’d be protecting Maxime’s wife.
I shut the door in his face and let my handbag drop from my shoulder to the floor. Crouching down, I turn it upside down, shaking the contents out over the polished stone. I gather all the loose bills, and then the ones in my purse. I have enough money for a plane ticket to Spain. I can disappear from there, but I need my passport.
Sitting down with my back resting on the wall, I bite my nail. I have to get into Maxime’s study. I’ve seen him taking guns from a safe in his room, but there weren’t any documents inside. It has to be locked somewhere in his study. Maybe now that I’m no longer living in his house, he’ll leave the door unlocked. Which means I only have to get into his house. I have to try, at least.
I scramble to my feet and open the door again. “When Benoit drops off my car keys, can you please ask him to say hi before he goes?”
He gives me an uncertain look.
“I just want to say goodbye. We’ve been through a lot.”
Everyone knows about Gautier. The hard resolve on his face softens. “Fine.”
I take my phone to the study and use a paperclip to force it open. After removing the battery, I replace the cover and drop the phone in my inside coat pocket. Then I make tea while I wait.
The doorbell rings an hour later. I open the door to Benoit.
“Your keys.” He holds the car keys out to me.
“Thank you,” I say, accepting them. “Is Maxime home?”
“He’s at the office. Why?”
“I need you to drive me back to Maxime’s place. I left my phone there.”
He scratches his head. “I’ll let Maxime know. He can drop it off.”
“No,” I say quickly. “He’ll be angry with me. You know how he gets when I forget my phone.” It’s one of Maxime’s nonnegotiable rules, especially after the drive-by shooting.
