“Oh, my,” she exclaims, taking down a dress. “This is exactly what I want.”
I get up and go over to assist her, and then I stop dead. The dress she’s holding up to the light has a sweetheart bodice with a wide skirt of diamante studded net tulle. It bleeds from white to the softest of pinks that ends with a darker hue at the hem. I have no idea how the dress got here or why it isn’t stained with hair dye and splashes of mud from the gutters. Maxime must’ve had it cleaned. He must’ve accidently moved it with my sewing material from the apartment, and Camille must’ve unpacked it with the other wedding dresses.
My mouth is suddenly too dry to speak.
“Can I have it?” The woman presses it to her body. “Please, please, please tell me it’s not for someone else.”
Finally finding my voice, I say, “Actually, that one isn’t for sale.”
She pouts. “This is exactly what I’ve been looking for.”
My smile is impersonal. It gives nothing away of my turmoil. “That was my wedding dress. It must’ve ended up here by fluke.”
“Oh, shucks.” She lowers the dress. “You can’t sell it then, can you?”
I think back to the moment I realized for who I’d made that dress at the fashion show. I remember why I loved it so much. It wasn’t the design. It was imagining wearing it for Maxime. I had hope for us then. I wanted to say yes so badly. I told Maxime yesterday everything was a lie, but my love has never been a lie. My love might’ve been a victim of our twisted circumstances, but it was never anything other than solid and real. However it came about doesn’t take away from its truth or depth. I fell in love with Maxime, and I love him still.
“Can you make me one along similar lines?” she asks. “Not the same, but the same style, if you know what I mean?”
I force myself back from the past to focus on her face. “Of course. Are you sure though? It’s not according to the latest fashion.”
“I don’t care much for fashion.” She beams. “I just want my dream dress.”
“Whatever you want. Camille will take your measurements and contact details. I’ll draw something and email a draft and quote, and then we can take it from there.”
She jumps on the balls of her feet. “Wonderful.”
Going to the desk, I take my handbag. It’s almost seven o’clock. “Will you please lock up?” I ask Camille when she comes downstairs with the measuring tape. We usually close at seven.
“Sure.” She smiles. “See you tomorrow.”
My heart beats with an unsteady rhythm when I take a bus and get off close to the apartment. I rush the last two blocks home in my heels. Maxime normally leaves the office at six. Urgency makes me forego the lengthy elevator and take the stairs. I’m out of breath when I reach our landing, and then I stop.
Maxime stands in the door, a suitcase in his hand.
Panic rushes through me in a hot flush. “What are you doing?”
“Leclerc is dead. A jogger found his body in a park this morning. Alexis’s men got him eventually.”
The information boggles my mind, but my head is stuck on that suitcase. “What are you doing?”
“Telling you so you don’t have to be scared.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
He looks at the keys that he holds in his hand. “I was going to drop this off at your workshop, but it’s better like this.”
I advance a few careful steps, frightened he’ll flee if I corner him. “Where are you going?”
“It’s time to face the facts, Zoe.” He looks back at me. “This isn’t working.”
The panic turns into anger, hot and all-consuming. I walk until I stand in front of him. “You don’t get to make this decision on your own.”
He pushes me aside. “Don’t make this difficult.”
I move back, blocking his path, standing my ground and demanding my answers. My throat is so dry it hurts to speak. “Why?”
“You’re changing.”
I’m changing? The anger creeps up my neck and heats my cheeks. “You made me.” I push a finger on his chest. “You’ll live with me.”
His smile is tender, apologetic. “I’m afraid you’ll wake up one day and not know who you are any longer. I don’t want to be the reason you hate the person you’ve become.”
“Is it because of the hotel, of what I did?”
He puts down the suitcase. “It’s because of what I did.”
We both know what he’s referring to. He’s talking about stealing my life and cheating his way into my heart. He used every possible means of making sure I can’t escape, even forcing me into this marriage and holding my family’s lives over my head. After everything he’s done to keep me, he’s prepared to let me go?
I stare at him as the enormity of what he’s doing hits me. Because I’m changing, he’s willing to set me free. He cares enough. It’s nothing short of a declaration of love.
“Maxime,” I whisper.
He picks up the suitcase again. “You’ll be fine with money. The apartment is paid for, and you’re the one making the big bucks now.” His smile is wry. “You’ve taken care of me for long enough.”
He’s proud. I get that. “The business will recover now that…” Alexis is dead. I can’t bring myself to say it. It sounds too selfish.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not as much as I am.” He moves around me.
“I’m sorry for the hotel,” I say. “I was upset. I was trying to…”
He looks back. “Survive me.”
“Yes,” I say, biting my lip. “Yet…”
“Yet what?”
I inhale deeply, and admit the truth. “I want you to stay.”
His smile only turns sadder. “You jumped off a cliff and ran away to escape me. I think it’s also time to admit to myself you don’t want me.”
I lock my fingers around the wrist of his hand that’s holding the suitcase.
