I decline the champagne and food he offers. Sometime during the night, he lowers the seatback and covers my body with a blanket. It should be impossible to sleep, but after the restless night I spent tossing and turning next to Maxime, I eventually doze off.
It’s early morning when he wakes me for the landing. He calls a valet service, and a driver brings his car from a private parking garage nearby. I’m numb when he drives us home, irrationally expecting the sights to have changed like when Russell took me back to South Africa, but everything looks disturbingly the same.
Instead of driving us to his house in Cassis, he heads for town and parks in the underground parking of the building where he bought me an apartment. The Mini Cooper he gave me is parked in its place. Of course. Life flows back into my body as the blood heats in my veins. His wife is at home. This is me. This is the home of his mistress.
I get out before he can come around the car, and slam the door. He stares darkly after me as I walk to the dingy elevator instead of the stairs, leaving him to get the bags. I test my code. It still works. Getting in, I push the button for the fourth floor. Maxime catches the door just before it closes.
We ride up in silence. I pause when the doors open. There’s no one on the landing, no guard in front of the apartment. Maybe Maxime is too certain I won’t run again. He knows I won’t risk the people I love.
He goes ahead and unlocks the door. The smell of grilled cheese and onions hangs in the air. A quiche is cooling on the island counter.
“I asked Francine to prepare something,” he says. “It’s leek and onion. You like that, right?”
The mention of her name makes me go rigid. I don’t want her here, not in this space too, but I say nothing.
He locks the door and carries our bags to the bedroom. I look around. The sewing machine Maxime bought for me, the one I left in the cellar of his old house, stands on the desk of the upstairs study. Everything else is just like I left it. The champagne glasses I rinsed before running are still standing in the drip tray. He hasn’t eaten here since I’ve left. Why would he? He would’ve been staying at the big house, enjoying the honeymoon. The thought hurts. Unable to stomach it, I walk to the French doors and peer outside.
The wind has blown the greenhouse door open. I must’ve not closed it properly. One of the pot plants has blown over. The terracotta pot lies in pieces on the ground, the delicate white orchid dying on the heap of dark soil. Unlocking the door, I go out into the cold wind and scoop what I can salvage of the sand in an empty pot before carefully replanting the flower. It’s still alive, but I’m not sure it will survive the shock.
The greenhouse smells of damp soil, and the floor is wet. Drops of water shine on the leaves. I look up. An overhead irrigation system has been installed. At least the plants didn’t die of thirst in my absence. Whoever did the work must’ve forgotten to latch the door.
When I get back inside, Maxime waits in the lounge. Taking in his emotionless expression, I swallow.
“Come here,” he says with an even voice.
I’m not going to let him touch me like that. His gaze tracks my movements as I slip around him.
“Damn you, Zoe,” he says, coming after me with big steps.
I escape to the room, hoping to reach it so I can lock myself in before he follows me inside, but when I get to the door I stop so suddenly he slams into my back.
The air is knocked from my lungs not only by the collision, but also by the sight in front of me. I stare at the dress hanging from the curtain rail in front of the window, illuminated by the soft early morning light.
A white dress with a wide skirt and an embroidered bodice.
A wedding dress.
A bouquet of white roses tied with a pink ribbon lies on the bed. Two velvet boxes are neatly arranged next to the flowers, a square one that holds the diamond choker necklace and a smaller one with the earrings he gave me in Venice. On the floor at the foot end of the bed stands a pair of white Cinderella shoes. The room smells of roses, and I already know I’ll find petals and candles in the bathroom.
My throat closes up. It doesn’t make sense. Spinning around, I look at Maxime’s left hand where his wedding band should be. Why is that finger bare? Why has it escaped my attention until now? Laying a hand on my neck, I take a step back. Many men don’t wear rings. It doesn’t mean anything. The dress does. The dress and everything else.
“What’s going on?” I ask in a hoarse voice.
He backs me up into the room. “I would’ve explained if you’d given me a chance.”
“Explain what?” The back of my knees hit the bed.
“Stay,” he says, walking out of the room.
I obey not because I want to but because I’m stunned into a state of immobility, frozen to the spot.
A moment later, he returns with a slice of quiche served on a plate. He sets it with napkin and fork on the nightstand.
“Explain what, Maxime?” I ask with a dry mouth.
“Eat something, dye your hair, have a warm bath, and put on the dress.”
“Put on the dress why?” I ask, hysteria creeping up on me.
He only looks at me, looks and looks and looks until I want to scream.
My voice rises in volume. “Tell me.”
He just stands there, mechanical like a robot, infuriatingly calm. “You know why.”
Banging my fists on his chest, I cry, “Tell me, damn you.” My mind begs for an explanation. “Say it.”
He catches my wrists in a painful grip. His calm slips, and ice glazes the gray of his eyes. “We’re getting married.”
I sink down onto the bed, my wrists still captured in his hands. “You are married.”
“I called it off. This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
No. I didn’t want to cheat. I didn’t want to be the mistress of a married man, but I don’t want to be his wife. Not like this. My breath catches. “I don’t understand.”
“I gave it all up for you, Zoe.”
His words are like lava being dripped over my head. My face grows hot, the heat rolling out over my body to the tips of my toes. “What did you do, Maxime?”
“I paid a price.”
He paid a price. He didn’t marry Izabella. “The contract…”
“My father made a new deal. Alexis stood in for me.”
Alexis married Izabella?
“No cheating,” he says through tight lips, lowering his head to mine. “No one else but you. I’m all yours. No more hands-off excuses, Zoe. Tonight, I’m taking what’s mine.” He lets me go with a shove.
I can only stare at him in dread. He can’t be serious. Yet his face says otherwise. His angry steps as he retreats tell me just how serious he is. So does the key that turns in the lock after he’s slammed the door shut.
At the sound, I come to my senses. Jumping up, I run to the door and pull on the handle. Locked. I twist around and lean on the wood, sweat breaking out over my brow.
A marriage is forever.
A marriage is for love.
How far will he take his games? How much more betrayal can he manage? Hasn’t he broken me enough? Anger rises from the hollowness in my stomach to the empty cavity of my chest. The rage swells through me like a wave. It steals my senses and blurs my sight until all I see is that damning white dress through a veil of red.