I turn away from the dizzying height. “I came back for her because I can’t live without her.”
His eyes have that lively light of someone who’s clever and insightful, someone who sums people up well and fast. “What made you realize that?”
“Losing her.”
From the way his gaze widens a fraction, I can see he understands this. This particular language, we share. It’s a language not consisting of sounds and syllables. Except for that faint recognition of understanding, he gives nothing else of his personal self away. His face is perfectly blank.
He pushes away from the desk. “How did you meet Zoe again?”
I smile, because Zoe and I have rehearsed this on the way over. “You know how we met.”
His expression hardens. “Indulge me.”
“I had a meeting with Dalton. He mentioned your history, so I looked up your sister to hear her side of the story.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t believe Dalton.”
Picking up a diamond-shaped paperweight, he weighs it in his palm. “Then why not speak out at the time?”
“Would it have changed anything?”
He puts the paperweight back on the desk. “No.”
“At the time, you didn’t concern me. In any event, your time in jail seemed not to have been wasted. You studied. You made alliances.” I let the implied meaning hang. I know about his connections. I know he plays dirty when it suits him. We’re two peas in a pod really, or we used to be.
“True.” Dipping his head, he studies me. “Conveniently, a relationship with my sister will benefit your business. As your family, you’re expecting me to honor our deal.”
“I don’t care about the deal. I’m out of the family business. You can do as you like.”
His eyes narrow with more understanding. “You gave it up for her.”
“I did.” My self-inflicted punishment. I’d do it again. I’ll do whatever it takes.
“Then how are you going to provide for her? How do you intend to keep her safe?”
“By running a legitimate business. I’ll still be importing and distributing your stones, but I’ll acquire them through a middleman if that’s the route you choose to go.”
“What about your family?”
“How they run their business is up to them.”
“Can you guarantee she’ll be safe?”
“You and I, with the kind of lives we’ve lived, no one is ever one hundred percent safe, but you can rest assured I’ll die protecting her. She has a property in France. I took out life insurance. If anything happens to me, she’ll be well provided for. If she wishes, she can sell the property and come back to South Africa. Whatever she wants.”
He nods. “I appreciate your frankness.”
“I’ll bring her home to visit at least once a year. Of course you’re always welcome in France.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, I didn’t think so either.” Knowing who we are, he won’t risk his family’s lives.
“If she didn’t love you, Belshaw, I would’ve been sorely tempted to break your French bourgeois neck.”
“Understandably. If I had a sister, I would’ve felt the same way.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, because know this.” He advances to right in front of me. “If you ever fuck with her feelings again, you’ll die a slow and painful death.”
“A fate I’ll accept as it’ll only be fair.”
“Good.” He gets out of my personal space. “You better make sure she calls me. You don’t want me to come after you.”
“She’ll call.” I walk to the door. “Seeing that you’re busy, I won’t take up more of your time.”
“My sister’s personal life is hardly my business, but her wellbeing is my concern. You better do right by her.”
I grip the handle. “I will.”
“There’s no place for three people in a relationship, not with Zoe. That’s not who she is.”
“I know. No triangles. I promise.”
His nod is reluctant. He’s not happy to let her go, at least not with me, but she’s made her choice as far as he’s concerned.
I’ve offered as much reassurance as I could. I close the door on his brooding face. My flower waits by the elevator, her bag clutched to her chest and her pretty face white. All mine.
As far as I’m concerned, there is no choice.
Chapter 9
Zoe
There isn’t much furniture to get rid of. I picked up a few essential pieces for next to nothing at second-hand stores. Damian offered to buy me what I needed or at least give me money, but I wanted to do this on my own. I wanted this new life to be all mine, earned and not given to me on a silver platter.
Yet here I am again, watching helplessly as Maxime pays the transport company to drive my meager possessions to a charity store. Next, we drop the keys off at the rental agent. Maxime pays the rent for the two months’ notice I was supposed to give, and I ask that the deposit is paid into Damian’s account once the inspection of the unit has been done. I called in to work this morning to explain the situation. Since I don’t have a contract yet, there aren’t any legal issues about my hasty resignation.
The little clothes I’ve brought with me are packed in the bag Maxime carries to his private plane. As I entered the country under my false identity, I’m leaving it under the same name. On paper, Zoe Hart has never left France.
Damian, Lina, and Josh come to the Lanseria airport to say goodbye. It’s a difficult farewell, but I do it for the people I love. I do it to keep them safe—Lina, the baby, Josh, Damian, and yes, even Maxime. There’s no doubt Damian would start a war if he finds out the truth.
Lina takes my hands and steers me a short distance away from the men. “Is this really what you want, Zoe?” she whispers.
“Yes.” I try to say it with a smile and conviction. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for being here for me when I needed a friend.”
She pulls me into a hug. “I’m always here for you. Damian and I both are.” Holding me at a distance, her eyes turn imploring. “You can always come back if it doesn’t work out like you hope. Don’t you forget that.”
I smile through my tears, knowing it’s an impossible notion. There’ll be no coming back ever again. This time, Maxime is keeping me for good. He’s not going to let me slip through his fingers twice.
Maxime puts a consoling arm around my shoulders, the act tender as he leads me away from the people who mean everything to me. With every step, my heart breaks a little more, and by the time we’re stepping on board, the tears flow freely. No matter how hard I try, I can’t hold them in.
Handing our bags to a steward, Maxime takes my shoulders and propels me to a double seat. “It’ll get better.” He sits and pulls me into his lap. “You have to give it time.”
Time. Time didn’t help the first time round. I doubt there’s any remedy. I wiggle off his lap and shift to the far corner of the seat. His jaw clenches, but he lets me.