CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Juliette

I SIT ON the deck outside Gavriil’s stateroom. Hills teeming with lavender spread out before me. I lean back in my chair, wearing nothing but a silk robe, holding a mimosa in my hand with a bright red cherry nestled in the bottom of the glass. The scenery, the delicious breakfast we just shared and the events of the past twelve hours have left me happy. Content.

I don’t know what all this means for our future. We still have fifty-one weeks left in this so-called marriage. Plenty of time to figure it out.

I glance back over my shoulder. He disappeared inside a couple minutes ago to check with the captain on our itinerary for the day. He mentioned an art museum set inside an old quarry, with projections of classic works of art on the stone walls. It sounds like a wonderful adventure to have on my honeymoon.

A honeymoon I’ve decided to fully commit to. Shortly after Gavriil left to speak with the captain, I texted my contact, Jared, to tell him to pause the investigation into Louis Paul. I need to have that conversation with Gavriil myself before I proceed any further. To give him what little I know and let him make what decisions are best for him and his company. To trust him to be the man I’ve come to know as I move on to the next phase of my career. One that I know will bring both purpose and joy to my life while giving a voice to those I’ve looked over for so long.

My phone dings a moment later. Aside from some good-natured ribbing and a detailed invoice of what I owe Jared for his time, he includes a quick summary of what he found, which is thankfully nothing.

There’s a reason for the trips to Texas. But nothing professional. It’s personal.

I’m not even tempted to follow up on that. If Jared says nothing illegal is happening, I believe him. And I have no interest in looking deeper into someone’s personal life. I just want to move on.

I sit there on the deck, breathing in deeply, savoring the feeling of peace for the first time in over two decades. I’m hopeful. I have so much hope I feel like I’m about to burst.

Footsteps sound behind me. I turn. Unease cuts through my happiness at the frown between his brows. I stand.

“Gavriil? Is everything all right?”

“Louis Paul just called.”

I frown. “And?”

“The deal is suspended.”

Something starts gnawing on the inside of my stomach, a horrible dread of what Gavriil is going to say next.

“Suspended?” I repeat softly.

“Someone has been looking into Paul’s personal life. Asking questions about Paul and his friendship with Peter Walter. About the time he spends down in Texas.”

He walks toward me, his jaw tight, his eyes more apprehensive than angry. I realize he doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know. I stare back at him, fear and hopelessness building in my chest with such strength it robs me of breath.

Then I square my shoulders and prepare myself to do the right thing. The right thing I’m terrified will snatch away something I held in my hand for mere moments.

“It was me.”

Gavriil

The sound of water trickling by, the wind stirring through the lavender on the hillside, the gentle hum of the boat’s motor, all of it fades away, replaced by a roaring in my ears that smothers it all.

I trusted her. I trusted her with everything. She knows why Drakos North America means what it does to me. Knows the kind of impact doing business with someone who has links not just to scandal, but to the selling of actual human beings could have on my company.

“You knew as soon as you saw his name on the file in Paris.”

Her single nod breaks me. Just an hour after she straddled me and held my face and told me things I had never thought I would ever hear, making me believe that she truly cared for me...

I share some of this responsibility. I was so distracted by her, so caught up in the mystery and allure of Juliette Grey, that I didn’t do my usual due diligence. Didn’t dig deep enough into Paul’s background to uncover this potential link to Peter Walters.

But Juliette knew. She read the file, and just hours later she gave herself to me. She told me that I was more than she had ever imagined. Just not enough to trust with the information that the man I was dealing with could ruin my reputation and rip my company’s status to shreds. Invite scrutiny and gossip as to whether or not Drakos North America was involved in the trafficking of innocent women.

She moves to the railing, silk draped over her body, hair flowing past her shoulders. And her face. Her beautiful face, looking like she actually regrets what she’s done, is a knife to the heart. I wonder if what I accused her of in Paris has been right all along. I have no doubt she’s supporting Dessie and moving her back into Grey House.

Yet just because someone does good things, doesn’t mean they’re a good person. Right now, I have no idea who the woman standing in front of me is. If her motivation truly faltered in Texas and died with my father, or if that was just a ruse to kick-start the next phase of her career after she didn’t have the ruins of Lucifer Drakos at her disposal anymore.

I imagined that I could let myself care for her. That over the next year, we could forge something between us. But without trust, there’s nothing. Nothing but a flimsy illusion built on sex and a few midnight confessions.

I walk to the table where we dined just a few minutes ago. I sit and pour myself coffee. I sit back and gaze at her over the rim of my cup. I give her no emotion, no sign of the fury clawing inside me.

“Explain.”

Her hand tightens on the rail. I find myself curious as to how she’s going to spin this. Will she simply own up to the fact that when she reacted with such theatrical offense back in Paris, she had just been baldly lying and doing exactly what I had accused her of? Using our marriage to further her career? Or would she try to play it off, come up with an excuse for what she has been doing behind my back even if she slept in my bed?

“When I saw Louis Paul’s name on that paperwork in your suite, it brought Texas back.”

I stay silent. She hesitates, her throat working as she swallows, before she continues.

“I found the timing of his visits to Walter odd. I couldn’t find anything and as I started to focus on my other project, I decided to drop it.”

“Until I provided you with the perfect opportunity to continue your work.”

She flinches. My anger multiplies at the tiny sliver of guilt for hurting her. I should feel nothing. She is the one at fault.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Of course it wasn’t.” I take a sip of coffee. It burns its way down my throat, gives me something else to focus on. “Tell me, Juliette, how was it?”

She looks away then. I thought my heart already crushed. But the sure sign of her trying to come up with an excuse, of continuing to lie to me, grinds it from tiny shattered pieces into dust.

“I reached out to a couple of my contacts. Not for a story,” she insists as she looks at me again. “I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t missed something again.”

“So altruistic reasons then? Nothing to do with a future story, another lauded investigation by the infamous Juliette Grey?”

She looks at me with heartbroken eyes. In that moment, I despise her for it. For making me care. Making me think that I might have a shot at happily-ever-after.

“You know I was considering giving up investigative reporting.”

“You said you were. I have no way of knowing if that was just another lie you told me or had any basis in truth.”

“It’s the truth.” She releases the railing and stalks toward me. “You saw my photos. I told you everything.”

“Everything you wanted me to think and believe.”

She stops then, looks at me as if I’m the one who’s caused all of this.

“Is that what you really think?”

Her words catapult me back to Paris, to that moment when I felt lower than dirt for jumping to conclusions and accusing her of using our marriage to advance her career. That moment, and my subsequent apology, led to our dinner at the Eiffel Tower, our lovemaking after.

“I think you’re far more dedicated to your career than I gave you credit for.” I sit up then, lean forward, pin her with my gaze and let her see the depth of my anger. “You lay next to me in bed this morning when I talked about Paul Properties. When I unburdened my soul to you. You didn’t think to mention that you were looking into him then?”

“What was I supposed to say, Gavriil? Oh, thank you for sharing the worst possible moments of your life and all the great things you’re doing despite the trauma you’ve suffered. Oh, by the way, did I tell you that the man you might be making your next big deal with is suspected of trafficking?”

“You could have told me in Paris. You could have told me numerous times. But you didn’t. I had to find out from someone else. Had to find out by having the deal I’ve been working day and night on yanked away from me.” I can feel the next words building in my throat, know deep down that they’re wrong. But I can’t stop them. “I think in your desire for revenge on anyone worth over six figures, especially the offspring of Lucifer Drakos, you decided now was the time to kill two birds with one stone.”

She rears back as if I’ve slapped her. I almost hate myself for what I’ve said, for voicing my deepest fear as fact. But I also know it doesn’t matter what she says in rebuttal. Nothing can fix what she’s done.

The words are cruel. But they will sever all ties. I need that. I need to never, ever have hope that something could change.

Her eyes glint. Her lashes sweep down. She inhales deeply, then looks up at me. I don’t trust the sadness I see in her dark brown gaze even as I can feel something inside me wanting to reach out, wanting desperately to grab at that last thread that might somehow make this all right again.

“I hid something from you. I’ll apologize for that, and for what it’s caused. My contact has always been reliable, so I didn’t think twice about asking them for more information.” Her shoulders sag, as if the weight of the world has been dropped on them. “Louis Paul is clean. Whatever he’s doing in Dallas is personal.”

Beneath the betrayal, I can at least respect Juliette’s ability to ferret out information. But I don’t trust a single word she says right now. If Paul has any connection to Walter’s human trafficking ring, I need to know about it. Not only can I not risk Drakos doing any dealings with him, but I will personally do whatever is in my power to put him in prison where he belongs. If he is innocent, I will be working night and day to get this deal back on track.

She breathes in a deep, shuddering breath. “Believe it or not, I didn’t say anything to you in Paris because I was afraid it would look exactly like this. Like I was trying to use you to get to a story. I didn’t want to potentially sway a monumental decision with supposition from an old case. A case where I failed once already to make any connections.”

“And after we slept together?”

Her chin drops.

“You could have come to me.”

“I should have.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No.” The word is barely a whisper. “I didn’t.”

There it is. We’ve trusted each other with so much. Something so small shouldn’t have such an enormous impact on what we’ve shared the past few days.

Except it does. She didn’t trust me. I can’t trust her.

Won’t trust her , a little voice whispers.

I silence it, quickly and ruthlessly. This is what comes from opening one’s heart. The high is enjoyable as long as it lasts.

But inevitably, it come crashing down.

She starts to walk past me.

“Where are you going?”

“To pack my things.” She stops on the opposite side of the table and looks down at me. “Drakos needs your attention now.”

I surge to my feet, coffee sloshing over the rim of my cup and splashing the snowy white tablecloth. “Of course it needs my attention.” I plant my fist on the table and lean forward. “How could I focus on anything else when the future of the most important thing in my life is at risk because you hid things from me?”

Silence falls like a death knell.

I don’t know how long we stand there, me with fury pumping through my veins and her with grief echoing in her eyes.

Finally, she moves. The smile she gives me is so heart-wrenchingly sad that a perverse part of me wants to reach out and pull her into my arms, to offer comfort. To apologize for the unforgivable thing I’ve said.

Except it’s true. Without Drakos, I have nothing. I thought that Juliette might care for me. That I could risk caring for someone again. That we could be more than just names on a contract.

But she didn’t trust me. Just as I no longer trust her.

The pain drains away, leaving me feeling like I did the day I met my father. Hollow, hopeless.

“I did. And I’m sorry I put your company at risk.”

She glances down. I see her reach for the rings on her left hand, but she stops.

“I will still honor our agreement. But if you decide that we can no longer continue—”

“We will continue. You signed a contract. I expect you to honor it.”

“I will.” Her voice is soft. Heartbroken. “Goodbye, Gavriil.”

She walks away, the sound of her bare feet on the deck fading as she moves inside. I look down at the table, at the coffee still spreading and scarring the tablecloth with an ugly brown stain.

I know this is the right thing to do.

This is the right thing.

Water laps at the side of the boat. The breeze brings the faintest whiff of lavender. Two birds soar overhead, twisting and dipping in a coupling ritual. I sit down, listening to the addition of the slow, steady drip of coffee sliding off the table onto the deck.