Chapter 5
RAFE
My dining room table glitters.
The jeweler arrived thirty minutes ago and laid out rows and rows of rings nestled in velvet on the dining room table. I’ve already chosen mine. A simple gold band. He brought several sizes, so it’s already on my ring finger.
In the ten minutes Patrick and I have been waiting for Paige to join us, I’ve traced the new gold band over and over again. I’ll get used to it. I’ll have to. It’s a small price to pay for the investment I’ve made.
Patrick made the custom diamond necklace I gave my sister Nora when she graduated fashion school. I trust him to be discreet.
It’s been almost twenty hours since we arrived in Como, and I haven’t seen her much.
Thank God. Things are busy enough. Two of my top people are on their way to Mather & Wilde’s headquarters.
We’ll start the process of overseeing and inventorying everything the company has before making any new plans.
Patrick pulls on a pair of white gloves and looks at me with a patient smile.
He’s the consummate professional. He’s worked at Violette, the jewelry company my father bought in the eighties, for over two decades.
It was one of his first purchases. The brand is legendary, and the little green boxes have become synonymous with diamond-studded gifts.
“She’ll be here soon,” I tell him.
I have no clue if it’s true.
In the three days I’ve known her, she’s made a point of keeping me waiting. I’m pretty sure she does it to annoy me, which means if I show her that she succeeds, she’ll keep doing it.
I need to lock down the emotions instead.
Good thing I’ve had years of practice. I should head out to one of the underground clubs in the area soon. A few rounds there always sets my head back on straight.
I busy myself by opening the double French doors that overlook the lake. The view is as close to perfect as it can be. It’s a hot day. It’s late June, and even though we’re in the north of Italy, the sun shines most days. It’ll get even hotter. August is usually the worst.
The lake looks calm. It’s not very wide, from this angle, but it’s deep. One of the deepest in Europe. I’ll be as placid as its surface, regardless of what taunts she throws my way.
Steps echo over the stone floor.
I lean against the open French door like I have all the time in the world, like I’ve enjoyed this little break she’s given me.
Paige walks into the room.
She’s in a deep blue dress that falls all the way to the floor, with only thin straps over her shoulders. Her hair is loose around her, gleaming like gold. Her eyes find me.
I smile at her. It’s a practiced, charming expression. “Paige, meet Mr. Patrick Meyer. Patrick, this is my new wife, Paige.”
Patrick steps around the table and removes the white glove of his right hand to extend it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Montclair.”
“Ms. Wilde,” she says with a wide smile. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t taken his name. It’s really nice to meet you. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She glances at me. I didn’t tell her we’d have company.
Maybe that’s the key to ensure she will be on time. She might have more care for people who aren’t me.
“It was my pleasure,” Patrick says. “And Ms. Wilde it is. I understand that you’re looking for an engagement ring and wedding bands.”
“I am, yes,” she says. It would look strange if we didn’t wear them.
Paige steps up to the table and scans the rings.
“I’ve brought an array of cuts and sizes,” Patrick says. He looks over at me. I can tell he’s sensing the mood—not a particularly happy one.
“Thank you.”
He steps toward the open doors. “Please take your time looking them over and trying them on,” he says. “I’ll wait out here if you have any questions.”
“I appreciate it,” I tell him. And I add in Italian that there are refreshments outside for him, and to check in if he needs anything. He disappears, and I turn back to find Paige standing with her arms crossed, looking at all the rings.
“See anything you like?” I turn over the wedding band on my own finger. “I found mine.”
Her teeth dig into her full lower lip as she looks them over. “I’m not sure this is necessary.”
“You work in PR, don’t you?” I ask. “Not wearing rings will be noticed.”
“I hate that you’re right.” She runs a finger along the edge of a velvet tray. “These are huge. Did he bring the largest diamonds ever found?”
“Probably.” I reach for one of the engagement rings. It’s a pear-shaped diamond with excellent clarity. I turn it over and watch as the stone catches the light. Jewelry has never been my specialty. “This one, then. Simple. Large.”
“It’s enormous.”
“Yes.”
“It would get caught everywhere. In everything.”
“A wife of mine would wear an expensive ring.” I set the ring back into the velvet and reach for a slightly smaller one. The entire band is covered in diamonds.
“A wife of yours would wear a big ring?” Paige looks at me across the table. She’s not wearing a stitch of makeup. She looks annoyingly pretty, with a bad attitude and quick mouth. “Too bad I don’t like jewelry.”
I lift an eyebrow. “You don’t like jewelry.”
“No. I hate it, actually. It gives me a rash.” She blinks at me a few times. “So I don’t think I’ll wear an engagement ring.”
“You’re allergic to diamonds? Don’t worry. I can get you an emerald or a ruby. Do you want a sapphire? Want five?”
“None,” she says.
I walk around the table toward her. Her blue dress is loose, but a gust of warm wind holds it to her shape. “You wore a necklace to the courthouse.”
Her lips thin. “I didn’t think you’d remember that.”
Maybe I shouldn’t. But it was a pendant, and it had fallen down between the valley of her breasts. There was a faint curve to them beneath the ivory of her dress.
“I remember everything,” I tell her.
She lifts up a simple gold band. “That seems inconvenient. Surely there’s a lot that’s not worth remembering.”
“I find my life pretty memorable. I’m sorry you don’t feel the same.”
She rolls her eyes. “God, you’re annoying.”
“Takes one to know one.”
She points at a platinum band with a modest solitaire diamond. I’m not sure why Patrick packed it. “That one, then.”
“You can’t wear that one.”
Her eyes flash to mine. “And why not?”
“No one would believe my wife wears a ring that small. Not when I own the jewelry company.” I point to a ring beneath it. “That one, I can do. It’s one of a kind. I believe we sold its sister to one of the Monégasque princesses.”
Paige holds up the ring. It has a tear-drop diamond in the center, but it’s surrounded by a net of much smaller ones. It catches the light. Unique and understated.
“This one,” she says, “has to be worth a fortune. I’m not surprised you’d go for the flashy option.”
My mouth thins. “I’m not flashy.”
Her gaze slides to mine. “Have I found an adjective you don’t like? What, is that too nouveau riche?” Her smile widens. “You married new American money, you know.”
I run a hand through my hair. Calm lake. “Try it on. Patrick can resize it for you. Find a fitting wedding band, too.”
She looks at it a while longer. “No,” she says. “I think not.”
“If you think you’ll annoy me by taking your time, it won’t work.”
“I don’t believe you.” She looks at another tray and lifts up a ring with a medium-sized clear-cut sapphire. It has a few smaller diamonds nestled on either side. It’s a deeply traditional ring. Less common than the big diamonds that have become so synonymous with love.
“This is the color of the ocean,” she says. She slides it onto her finger and appraises it for a few seconds before stepping over to a row of gold wedding bands. “I saw the email. We’re announcing the acquisition tomorrow?”
“Yes. It’ll be out soon enough anyway. Better to control the narrative.”
She nods and lifts up a simple gold band. “I spent most of the morning talking to the Mather & Wilde team. We’re ready with a statement.”
“Good.” No doubt they’ll get lots of questions. It’s one of the few family-owned companies left in the luxury space, and they’ve touted their independence far and wide. We’ll never sell. Until they did, and now they’re mine. “We’ll coordinate.”
“I want to talk to you about the plans ahead.” She chooses a wedding band that fits and slides it onto her finger to fit next to the engagement ring. “The PR team and I worked on several campaign proposals that my uncle killed for no good reason.”
“There’s a new interim CEO coming in. You can take it up with them,” I say.
“I want you to see them.” She meets my gaze across the table. Her back is straight, and there’s steel in her gaze.
“I don’t get involved in the—”
“I know for a fact that you do,” she says. “You said so yourself when you gave an interview a few years ago to The Financial Tribune. One of the rare ones you’ve given, by the way.”
My eyes narrow. “You listened to that?”
She ignores me. “I want to run my ideas by you.”
“When I have the time,” I say.
“Now,” she demands.
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Tonight.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” I repeat in a hard voice.
A ringing sounds through the bottom floor. My house manager Antonella comes in through the door, her hands knotted together.
“Signore,” she says, “La signorina Sylvie è qui.”
I head to the window and look out. And there, on my courtyard, is Sylvie’s dark blue Ferrari pulling to a stop.
Shit.
“Lei insisteva. L’ho lasciata entrare,” Antonella says.
I nod and thank her in Italian. “Well done. That was the right call.”
She knows, as do all the people I work with, how important certain people are. And Sylvie Li is certainly one of them. Letting her in was the right call.
I step away from the window and look at Paige, her arms crossed, her hair looking like molten gold in the sunlight.
“This conversation will have to wait,” I tell her.
She throws out her arms. “Wait? I’ve waited days.”
“Someone just arrived who I need to—”
My words are cut off by high-pitched barking outdoors. Paige’s eyebrows fly up, and she starts to head toward the front door. I walk past her. I need to get out there first.
This is a fire about to spark, and I’ll do my best to strangle the embers before it starts.