Of the pain I caused. Yes, I get that. “That’s over now.”
“Is it?” She faces me again. “From where I stand, I still don’t have a choice.”
Damn right. She’s with me. I could teach her a lesson about choosing between happiness and misery, but I promised no more lessons. No more manipulation. All she has as a device for happiness is love. Why won’t she use it? Why won’t she fall back onto it like she did that day on the beach when she begged me to love her? Why won’t she be the girl who believes in fairytales? That girl has the power to be happy amidst the grime like me. Me, all I have as a weapon is lust. I can corner her now and shove my hand into her panties. It’ll only take a few seconds to make her wet. I know how to drive her to her knees and make her beg, but I promised myself I’d give her power. I told myself I’d wait until she came to me. Well, she’s here now, pretty as a flower in the flesh, but if I open that door she’ll still be running. I want her so much I have to clench my hands until my knuckles hurt to prevent myself from grabbing her and spreading her legs on my desk.
When she pushes me aside and reaches for the door handle, all I can grab are straws. “You didn’t tell me why you came.” Don’t go.
Her tone is flat, her eyes dead. “I maxed out the credit card.”
“You did?” She’s never been a big spender. “What for?”
“I’m selling that dress, and you’re not going to stop me.”
I frown. “To who?” I don’t want her to have to work to support us, but I never said she couldn’t sell the dress.
“Doesn’t matter. I came to tell you I made an investment in fabric.” She opens the door. “Damian is sending a necklace to go with a dress I’m making. He said you can sell it after I’ve used it for publicity.”
Ah, damn. I lose. My willpower caves. Locking my fingers around her wrist, I hold her back. “Zoe.”
“What?”
Touch, me. “I’m happy you’re designing again.”
She pulls free. I step back, letting her go.
In the threshold, she turns. “I don’t regret marrying you, Maxime. I regret how it happened.” She takes a shaky breath. “I regret how everything happened.”
Hanging her head, she leaves.
I regret how it happened. How everything happened.
It and everything are small words for the shitload of dirty water that has passed under our bridge.
Chapter 31
Zoe
The day Vera Day steps off the plane in Marseille, the evening gown is ready. I’ve worked day and night. The necklace Damian promised has arrived. I bought a second-hand mannequin from a thrift store for next to nothing. The mannequin is dressed in the gown and the necklace, standing in the soft light that falls from the circular window.
I step back to study my work. It’s striking. The necklace hangs in a single platinum chain down the back, a black diamond caressing each vertebra of the naked spine. Magnificent. Definitely one of a kind but not me. I brush aside the odd twinge of betrayal that nips at my heart. This isn’t about staying true to myself. This is about building a brand and making money.
Even if I can’t afford it, champagne is chilling in an ice bucket on the counter and macaroons from a reputable baker are set out next to it. The intercom buzzes exactly on the hour. I push the button to open the street door and wait at the front door to welcome Ms. Day.
She flitters from the elevator like a leaf on an autumn day, breezing down the hallway with a bodyguard on her tail. After shaking hands, I invite them both in, but the man takes up a position by the door, politely declining my offer for refreshments.
“Please call me Vera,” she says, stepping inside and looking around. “Wow, nice place.” The minute her gaze finds the dress, she gasps. “Oh, my God.” She waltzes over and slams a hand over her mouth as she circles the creation.
My chest warms. She likes it. There’s a good chance she’ll wear it to the festival.
“I want it,” she says even before I’ve closed the door.
“What?” I ask, the click of the door sounding loud in my ears.
“I want it. It’s perfect.” She gives me a panicked look. “With the necklace, right? Please tell me the necklace is for sale.”
I lay a hand over my heart. “Actually, yes.”
She lifts one of the stones. “Black diamonds? I’ve never seen one.”
“They’re from my brother’s mine in South Africa.” I walk over. “His designer made it.”
Her face brightens. “You do have to show me more. Earrings and rings.”
“My husband is the importer. He’ll be happy to send you a catalogue.”