Diamonds in the Dust Read online

  My lips part. I’m about to tell her to go to hell, but Hadrienne grabs my wrist and pulls me back down. “Enough of that. It’s a long time to lunch. I’m sure we can find something neutral to talk about.”

  “What is your problem?” I ask Cecile.

  “Me?” She makes big eyes. “You’re imagining problems where there are none.”

  Right.

  “There now.” Hadrienne smoothes out her skirt. “Why not tell us how you met.”

  “In South Africa,” Cecile says. “A speedy romance. Then again, money makes everything go faster, doesn’t it?”

  “You think I’m after Maxime’s money?” I ask.

  Raising a pinky, Cecile lifts the cup to her lips. “I never said you’re after his money.”

  “You implied it.” I move to the edge of my seat. “That’s the same thing.”

  Cecile rolls her eyes. “Oh, it’s not. Don’t overreact.”

  I don’t care what Maxime’s reaction will be. I can’t just sit here any longer. Pushing to my feet, I say, “Excuse me. If I stay, I’m afraid I’ll say something disrespectful.”

  “You know what’s disrespectful?” Cecile puts down her cup. “Coming here and attacking me in my own house.”

  “Attacking you?” I ball my hands. “Do you really expect me to keep quiet and accept your insults?”

  “Yes,” she says evenly. “I expect you to shut up. That’s the least you can do.”

  What’s wrong with these people? Turning on my heel, I walk to the French doors and push them open. Escaping outside, I walk down a path that leads to a gazebo at the end of the garden. At the edge, I stop to breathe in the salty air and let the small freedom fill my lungs.

  I hate them. I hate them all. I wish I could run. I wish I could climb down the steps to the street at the back and sneak onto a train and go wherever it takes me. I don’t care that I don’t have a passport or money. I can work. I can always make a plan. What I can’t do is let Damian get hurt.

  My fingers curling into fists, I take in the view of this strange and unwelcome place.

  Four years. Give or take a few, to quote Maxime’s words.

  I feel like screaming. I feel like hurling the bird feeder that hangs from the branch of a pine tree into the street, but that won’t help me one bit. I can’t let Cecile get to me. I don’t care what she thinks. Why should I care about how she treats me?

  I settle on the bench in the gazebo, staring out at the sea. Why did Maxime even help me? He didn’t have to. He could’ve just left me to my fate. I don’t understand his motives. I’m not even sure it’s about sex. He said he’s had many lovers. Francine seemed quite willing.

  “Well, look who’s here,” a male voice says behind me.

  I jump.

  Alexis comes around the bench with my coat in his hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Holding out the coat, he says, “You forgot this.”

  Thinking of the devil. When I reach for the coat, he holds it open like a gentleman, instead. Warily, I get up so he can help me slip into it. His hands rest on my shoulders for a second before he sets me free. I step away and turn back to face him. He’s handsome in the blond hair and fair skin kind of way. The color of his eyes leans more toward blue than his brother’s. Recalling what Maxime had said about him, a shiver runs over my body.

  Watching me with his head tipped down, he asks, “How are things with my brother?”

  I fold one side of the coat over the other. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

  He smiles. “Touché. Is he treating you all right?”

  “What do you care?”

  “I don’t know what my bother told you, but I’m not your enemy, Zoe.”

  “No?” I look him over. “Then what are you? My friend?”

  “There’s no need to say it like that.”

  My fingers tighten on the fabric I clutch to my chest. “How would you like me to say it? My kidnappers? My jail keepers?”

  He holds up a hand. “Maybe friends isn’t the right term, but no one wants it to be bad here for you. We’re not monsters, you know.”

  His expression and words are so sincere I have a hard time processing them.

  “That’s why I asked how Max is treating you,” he continues.

  “You’re concerned?” I ask mockingly. “You expect me to believe that?”

  He taps his temple. “Max isn’t always right up here. Ever since the accident…”

  My heart starts beating faster. “What accident?”

  “The fire. Didn’t he tell you?”

  I shift my weight, eyeing the distance to the gazebo steps. I feel like a bird trapped by a cat. “He mentioned it.”

  “Arson. Someone set fire to one of our warehouses. Max was trapped inside.” He rubs his forehead. “No one should’ve been able to survive those flames. The pain must’ve been excruciating. After Max walked out of there, he never was quite the same.”

  I shudder at the mental picture. “Are you saying he’s insane?”

  “What I’m saying,” Alexis says, “is that you have to be careful.”

  “Talking about me?” a deep, familiar voice asks.

  I spin around to see Maxime approaching with a dark look on his face.

  “We were just getting acquainted,” Alexis says with a cold smile.

  Maxime steps up next to me. “You don’t speak to her when I’m not around.”

  “That’ll be a tad difficult,” Alexis says, “seeing that she’s part of your household now and our paths are sure to cross more often than not. You can’t always be everywhere, can you?”

  Maxime grabs my arm. “It’s time to go.”

  Alexis salutes. “I’m looking forward to seeing you on Sunday, Zoe.”

  “She’s not going,” Maxime bites out.

  Alexis pulls his face into a shocked expression. “You’re leaving her all by herself in that stuffy old house while we’re having a party? How rude of you, brother. Don’t worry, Zoe. I’m happy to keep you company. My social skills are not as unpolished as my brother’s.”

  Maxime puts his face in Alexis’s. “You don’t want to test me.”

  “Having authority issues, Max?”

  Maxime’s hold on my arm turns painful. His other hand clenches at his side. “I dare you, little brother.” His smile is thin and cruel. “I’d love a reason to give you the treatment you deserve.”

  Maxime pulls me roughly down the steps and onto the path, walking with such long strides I’m battling to keep up. Cecile and Hadrienne get up when we enter the lounge.

  “Max.” Worry is etched on Cecile’s face. “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” He kisses his mother’s cheeks. “See you on Sunday.”

  He all but drags me to the car and shoves me inside. When he comes around and takes the wheel, I try to make myself small against the door. My heart is still thumping in my chest. I can’t stop thinking about what Alexis said. There’s not much love lost between the brothers. There’s no question that they’re both manipulating me, but which one is telling the truth?

  Chapter 18

  Maxime

  * * *

  Alexis loves fucking with me, but I won’t let him fuck with Zoe. She doesn’t know this family and their layers of nuances. She has no way of protecting herself against the mind games we play. It’ll take her years to figure us all out.

  I glance at her as I change the gears. “No more talking to Alexis.”

  She gives me an incredulous look. “What am I supposed to do when he talks to me? Ignore him? Pretend I don’t hear?”

  “Just say I don’t want you to talk to him.” Possessiveness is something every man in this family understands.

  She shrugs. “Fine.”

  “What did he say to you?”

  “That you’re insane.”

  I laugh. “He’s probably right.”

  She gapes at me. “You’re not upset?”

  “I don’t get upset about things that don’t matter.”
/>   She looks back at the road. “Wait. Why are we heading home? I thought you wanted to eat in town.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Yeah. Just like that.”

  “I see.”

  “No, Zoe. You don’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I pull over at the outlook point and park. “Get out.”

  Her eyes grow large. “What?”

  “Get out of the car.”

  “You’re leaving me here?”

  “Did I say I was leaving you here?”

  She looks around the unbuilt area, and then up the deserted road. No doubt escape is at the forefront of her mind. It probably will be for a while still to come. She’ll dream about it like recovered addicts dream about drugs and ex-smokers dream about cigarettes. A turning point will come when her dreams will evolve around staying and building a nest for herself.

  Giving me an uncertain glance, she grips the handle and opens the door. She steps into the somber day, her hair blowing in every direction.

  I shut down the engine and get out. “Walk to the edge.”

  She turns her face toward the cliff. When she looks back at me, her face is pale with fear. “Are you going to make me jump?”

  “No.” I move around the car, closer to her. “Go.”

  She gives me a pleading look. “I don’t want to.”

  “Go, Zoe.” She needs to learn to trust me, even when she’s frightened.

  She walks to the edge, carefully peering down. A frown mars her features. “What is that?”

  “What does it look like?”

  “A picnic?”

  I take her hand. “Come. There’s a path this way.”

  She pulls free. Her voice is angry. “You scared me. You could’ve just told me why we stopped here.”

  “Then it wouldn’t have been a surprise.”

  “I thought…”

  “I was going to kill you?”

  “Yes,” she whispers.

  “I’ve told you before. I’m not going to kill you.”

  “How do I know you won’t change your mind?”

  “You don’t.”

  Her chest rises with a deep breath. “Is this one of your lessons?”

  “Yes.”

  Her beautiful eyes are filled with apprehension. “What am I supposed to learn from this?”

  “To do something when I tell you to.”

  She scoffs. “Blind obedience?”

  “As long as you do as you’re told, I’ll watch out for you.” I take back her hand. “Now come.”

  We climb down the path to the small beach below. It’s private, part of our territory. I was going to take her for the best bouillabaisse in town until I called to make a reservation and found out my uncle and father were lunching there. The picnic is improvised, a stab at fulfilling her romantic needs, but right now there’s nothing romantic about the way I feel. Volatile is more like it.

  When we reach the beach, Zoe pulls her hand free and walks to the edge of the water. She stares out over the ocean, a small, lonely, sad figure, and something stirs in my chest. I pop the cork of the champagne and pour her a glass.

  “Come here,” I say.

  She turns away from the water and sits down on the blanket. I hand her the champagne, and then prepare a plate of cheese, charcuterie, and baguette.

  “Hungry?” I ask as I put the plate between us.

  “A little.”

  “Eat up.”

  I let her eat and drink, filling her glass twice while only having one myself. I’m driving, but that’s not why I’m pumping her full of champagne. I’m getting her drunk. I need her uninhibited.

  “That’s enough for me,” she says when I offer her another piece of Brie.

  Setting the food aside, I push her down.

  “What are you doing, Maxime?”

  I straddle her legs. “Having my dessert.”

  “Here?” she cries out.

  “Wherever I want.”

  “What if someone—”

  Her words cut off when I push up her coat and unfasten her pants. I pull them down her hips with her underwear and flip her around.

  There’s a tremor in her voice. “Maxime.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist and pull her to her knees. She looks at me from over her shoulder, her pretty face tense, but it’s only until I bury my fingers in the tight flesh of her globes and drag my tongue over her pussy. The frown on her brow evens out as she pinches her eyes shut. I repeat the action, this time spearing my tongue through her folds. Her lips part. The tension in her pretty features turns to desire. She’s not complaining about the location any longer. All thoughts of our unsuitable spot have vanished from her mind, courtesy of a small dose of lust and three glasses of expensive French champagne.

  She moans when I sink my tongue deeper. I don’t waste time. I suck her clit and work a finger inside her wet heat, getting harder as I remember exactly how tightly her inexperienced pussy grips my cock. She comes with a cry, her back arching and her fingers burying in the blanket.

  My pants are unzipped and my cock free before her orgasm is over. I take a condom from my pocket and make quick work of sheathing my cock. She’s wet. She’s ready. Gripping her hips, I push in carefully. Her moans are loud. She’s tight and warm, gripping me like a fist. I can go harder on her because of the alcohol. Her body is supple and relaxed. She pushes back, taking me deeper, and I slam all the way home. Her cry makes me even harder. It makes me take her with punishing strokes. Twisting her long hair around a fist, I use it like a rein, pulling her head up and to the side until she faces me. I want to see the ecstasy on her face as I fuck her into oblivion.

  I’m rough, but she arches her back and makes sexy, needy little sounds. I fuck her until her arms give out and she goes down on her elbows, until pleasure erupts at the base of my groin and fills up the condom instead of her body. One day, I’ll empty myself inside her. I’ll mark her. When I do, no man will ever touch her again. She’ll belong to me forever, not only for four years.

  I ease her down gently and cover her body with mine, making sure to keep my weight on my elbows.

  Pressing a kiss behind her ear, I say, “No more talking to Alexis.”

  She turns her head to the side, her cheek flat on the blanket and her breathing heavy. “Is that what this is about? That’s what you’re trying to teach me? That you’ll fuck me like it’s a punishment in broad daylight where anyone can see if I speak to your brother?”

  I pull out, causing her to whimper. The beach is secluded. You can’t see it unless you look over the cliff, and the boats don’t sail past this cove. There are too many rocks in the shallow water. I wasn’t planning on doing this, either, when I set up the picnic. Fucking her here became a part of my intentions after I caught her with Alexis. Yes, I want her to accept me inside her body anywhere and anytime, and yes, I don’t want her to talk to Alexis, but that’s not what this is about.

  She’s mine. All mine.

  That’s the lesson.

  Chapter 19

  Zoe

  * * *

  It must be the effect of the champagne, but it’s after nine when I wake up the next morning. The cup of rose tea on the nightstand is cold. Maxime’s side of the bed is empty. He must’ve gone to work.

  After showering and changing, I use the same stationary to write another letter to Damian. Emails aren’t allowed, although he has limited access to a computer for the studies he took up in jail.

  I seal the letter in an envelope and go downstairs. A breakfast of croissants and oranges are laid out on the dining room table. I eat quickly, then carry my plate to the kitchen. Francine is standing at an island counter, chopping onions. She’s dressed in black pants and a silk blouse with a white apron tied around her waist. She lifts her eyes when I enter but doesn’t say anything.

  I put the plate in the dishwasher and lean against the counter. “I have another letter. I
f you tell me where to leave it—”

  “In the silver tray in the entrance.”

  “Look, I…” I get why she doesn’t want me here, but I can’t tell her I don’t have a choice. I remember Maxime’s threat all too well, and he’s a man of his word. That’s another lesson he’s taught me.

  “I’m busy,” she says. “I’m here to cook, not to chitchat when you’re bored.”

  “Does Maxime read the letters?”

  She gives me an irritated look. “I’m not psychic. You’ll have to ask him.”

  Fine. This is how she’s going to play it. I straighten and walk to the door.

  Her words stop me in the frame. “You won’t last, Zoe.”

  My name is like an insult on her lips. I look back at her from over my shoulder. “It seems you didn’t.”

  Her cheeks flush red. “I’m here, am I not?” She smiles. “We’ll see where you are when he grows tired of you.”

  A rather frightening thought. I hope not on the bottom of the ocean.

  * * *

  For the rest of the day, I install myself in front of the fire in the library. I page through the coffee table books with photos of the region, but I can’t focus. I switch on the television and figure out how to set the language to English. I’ve never owned a television, and I lose myself in a spy series, but by late afternoon I’m hungry and bored. I’ve skipped lunch.

  Pushing the throw aside, I go in search of something to eat in the kitchen and find a salad and a glass of water set on the table in the dining room. I eat listlessly before washing my plate and glass in the kitchen. Francine has already left. A casserole stands on the stove.

  I walk to the window and peer out. It’s rainy today. Drops lash at the windows. The ocean is obscured in a haze of fog. The grounds that stretch to the edge of the cliff are green with hedges and bushes trimmed into shapes. A maze stands in the middle.

  I go from window to window, looking at the garden from different angles. I arrange the books in the library in alphabetical order. I switch the television on and off. Finally, I sit down in my favorite chair in front of the fireplace and stare at the flames. Normally, I would’ve daydreamed to pass the time, but dreaming isn’t my go-to escape any longer. That dream, the one about Venice and love, has been vandalized. It hurts too much to poke at it or to try and construct something new from the debris that’s left.