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“Almost a year ago.”
My lips go numb. “Thank you.”
I cut the call. He got out. A year ago. Maxime didn’t tell me. He has to know. He said he was keeping tabs on Damian. I clench the phone so hard the edges cut grooves into my skin. Before the screen goes dark, I call up an internet search page and type Dalton Diamond.
The page that comes up takes the wind from my sails. I read through it with growing disbelief. Dalton Diamonds has changed its name to Hart Diamonds after Damian Hart did a hostile takeover by acquiring the majority of the shares. I scroll to the contact section with growing panic, urgency spurring me on as I keep on glancing at the doors, expecting Maxime to storm through them any minute.
I open the icon. There’s a contact form. Shit. My hand shakes so much I miss the menu button twice. I select About the Owner. There’s a separate contact button at the end of that page. Saying a silent prayer, I click on it.
A number appears. A message pops up. Would you like to connect? I press yes.
A gruff voice comes on the line. “Damian Hart.”
Oh, my God. I press a fist against my mouth to suppress a sob.
“Hello?” It sounds as if he’s been sleeping.
“Damian?” I manage with an unsteady voice.
Alarm filters into his. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Zoe.”
All traces of sleepiness vanish. He’s wide awake now. “Zoe?”
I recognize the alertness and caution that are part of Damian’s making. I don’t waste time. I tell him, “I need your help.”
“Where are you?”
“In France.”
His tone is strong, reassuring. “What do you need?”
“I need you to get me out of the country. I’ll need a passport. A false identity.”
“Where’s your nearest airport?”
“Marseille.”
“How quickly can you get there?”
“Tell me when.” I’ll figure out a way.
“Hold on.” There’s a small pause. “There’s a flight on Saturday morning at eleven.”
“Perfect.” Maxime will be occupied with his engagement party.
“I’ll send a man. The name’s Russell Roux. Tall, dark, and he’ll wear a blue suit and red tie. The code word is apple pie. Meet him at the Air France information counter at eight.”
“Okay.”
“Can I reach you on this number?”
“No,” I say quickly. “You can’t call me again.”
“Zoe, is there someone I need to take care of?”
I know what he means with take care of. “No. Just get me out of here.”
“I’m bringing you home, Zee.” He doesn’t waste time with asking questions. “Whatever this is, we’ll handle it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
There’s caution in his tone. “Take care.”
“See you soon.”
I hang up, taking a moment to find my composure before wiping clean my search and call history. The apartment is quiet when I go back inside. Maxime is no longer snoring. My body breaks out in a coat of sweat. I drop his phone into the pocket of my robe and tiptoe back to the room, but he’s still passed out in the same position.
Careful not to wake him, I shift the phone back between the nightstand and the bed on the floor. I take another shower to warm up and dress in a tracksuit before getting into bed. I stay well on the edge, far away from Maxime, but sometime during the night when I finally fall asleep, we find each other, because I wake up with his body pressed against my back and a heavy arm draped over my waist.
For a moment, I simply experience us. I take the memory and store it away.
I pretend to be asleep when he gets up. I don’t stir while he’s having his shower or gets dressed. I sense him staring down at me. I wait for him to call me out on my bluffing, but he only presses a kiss on my temple and quietly leaves.
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.
