Mister Diamond

by Chance Carter

  Dexter didn’t call after me and he didn’t follow. I barely resisted slamming the door behind me, but I’d done enough.

  Had I been too harsh? Probably, but with all the frustration pulsing through my bones it was hard to say what was warranted and what wasn’t. Much as I hated to admit it, I needed a friend right now. It pissed me off that Dexter couldn’t be that friend.

  I marched home. Tomorrow afternoon, when an airplane would deliver my fate, drew closer and closer.

  I’d never felt so lost.

  Chapter 15

  Dominik

  I threw myself into work in the morning, even though soon enough it might not matter anymore. Nevertheless, I needed something to occupy my thoughts. Work had always been a good distraction, even if it was boring as hell.

  I think that was one of the things that always annoyed me about Dexter, though it wasn’t really his fault. I was jealous of his passion. He made little money as an artist, and what he did make he blew irresponsibly on partying and hedonism, but he never stressed about his future. He wasn’t slaving away every day to secure a comfortable life for himself. He enjoyed every tick of the clock and every stroke of his brush. The fact that he got paid for it was like a bonus to him.

  I’d never struggled for money, so I was no downtrodden working class hero. What I did work for was a legacy. My father had instilled in me from a young age the importance of passing the torch, building upon the work of those before you to form an empire that would outlive me. The business wasn’t just our income, it was our history. Him threatening to cut me off from it wasn’t just a punishment because it would mean a great financial loss. It was a punishment because it would be Fyodor saying once and for all that I didn’t belong. That he didn’t want me.

  I was too old to get hung up on daddy issues, but it still stung to realize that if I made the decision not to get in the car that afternoon, everything I’d ever suspected about my father’s disdain for me would be confirmed. Maybe Dexter thought that old Fyodor would come around. I held no such fantasy.

  Work barely provided the distraction I needed, and the hours dragged by. Part of me wanted to hold onto the morning as long as I could, but part of me just wanted this whole mess to be over. I still hadn’t made my decision by the time I got the text alert from my driver saying he was out front.

  Valentina would be here soon. My future wife. But maybe I wouldn’t be there to pick her up, maybe I could walk away from all this. I hated myself for the indecision. I wasn’t an indecisive man, but I’d never faced such a consequential choice before.

  My phone buzzed again, this time with a text from my father. A reminder in no-nonsense Russian to get in the damn car.

  I sighed. Picking Valentina up wasn’t the same as marrying her, so I still had time to walk away if I needed to. I grabbed my jacket and headed down to the street, where a sleek black town car waited for me at the curb. The driver nodded to me as I got in and took off, needing no further directions.

  The ride to the airport was smooth. No traffic, no construction, no delaying the inevitable. Valentina was flying in on one of her father’s jets, so we parked right on the tarmac of the private airfield and waited.

  I saw her plane taxing in from a distance and got out of the car. The driver offered to get out too, to help with Valentina’s bags, but I wanted as little an audience for this moment as possible. I had no idea what to expect when she got off the plane. Why the hell had she come in the first place? So she could spit in my face in person?

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned against the back of the car, wondering as the plane approached how much it had cost. It was bigger than my father’s, and I was surprised he hadn’t requested I bring a tape measure to make sure it would fit in his hanger.

  The plane slowed on the tarmac and finally stopped. I held my breath. The door swung down, extending to reach the ground as a staircase. Then came the first long, tanned leg.

  Valentina strutted down the stairs like a model, which I suppose she was. Blonde hair fell past her shoulders, perfectly straight, and she carried her thin frame with a quiet dignity. Or perhaps it was haughtiness. She seemed not to notice me, or even look for me, until she reached the concrete. Then she peered at the town car and turned her Louboutins in my direction.

  “Welcome to the United States,” I greeted in Russian.

  Valentina dug her phone from the tiny purse under her arm and started texting. “Whatever.”

  I held the door open for her while the flight attendants started unloading her baggage. Valentina slunk down into the seat without sparing me a second glance, but shot back out before I could close the door.

  “Is something the matter?”

  She narrowed slate gray eyes at me. “You’re not the driver.”

  “No.” I cocked a brow. “I’m Dominik Orlov.”

  She gave me a thorough once over, thin pink lips pinched in contemplation. Finally, she made a small humming noise in the back of her throat and slid back into the car.

  I closed the door, muttering, “Well, this is going to be fun.”

  Once we’d packed Valentina’s bags into the car, I slid into the backseat and gave the driver a nod. He started the engine.

  “Did you have a nice flight?” I asked.

  Valentina’s eyes were glued on her phone. She gave a noncommittal shrug.

  I could tell she was used to getting by on her looks, but sensed there was more to her standoffishness than just plain snobbery. Remembering we were both in the same situation, I tried again.

  “Is there anything you’d like to see while you’re here?” I asked. “The Statue of Liberty? A Mets game? Times Square?”

  It occurred to me that I didn’t even know how long she was staying. A few days? A few weeks? Surely she didn’t intend to stay permanently, right?

  “First I want to see where you live,” she said.

  “We’re headed there now.”

  “Good.” She gave me a sidelong glance. “I will need to see if it is suitable.”

  I rankled at that. “I’m sure you’ll find it’s more than suitable.”

  Why was I defending my penthouse to a woman I wasn’t even sold on marrying? I was tempted to have the driver pull over and let her out, though my father had probably warned him against unplanned stops.

  I couldn’t help but compare Valentina to Gemma. Gemma would never behave like this, to me or to anyone else. Both were beautiful, but Valentina seeped fake from every pore and I could never imagine myself feeling relaxed around her. I could never imagine her relaxing. I’d barely known Gemma when I first opened up to her, but I could see myself spending thirty years with Valentina without either of us speaking a word of anything meaningful.

  After what felt like the world’s longest, quietest car ride, we pulled up in front of my building. Valentina had carefully disguised her wonder as we drove down Manhattan’s bustling streets, but she allowed a small smile to slip onto her face at the sight of the skyscraper I lived in. I wondered if that meant she found it suitable, then realized I didn’t care.

  We got out and I started pulling the bags from the trunk. Valentina sashayed right up to the front door and waited, impatiently folding her arms like it was my own bags I was wasting time getting. The nerve of her.

  The doorman rushed over to help with the two oversized suitcases, and soon we were tucked into the elevator on our way to the top floor. I showed Valentina into my apartment and she took off on a self-guided tour, inspecting every molding and cornice.

  I dropped her bags in the living room and went to the kitchen to grab a beer.

  “Can I get you a drink?” I called.

  Valentina had already found her way onto the patio. She called back her reply without even sparing me a glance. “Vodka.”

  I cracked open a beer and rolled my eyes. She was lucky that I kept a bottle of the good stuff around in case my father stopped by. And that he never stopped by, so the bottle was full.

  I poured her a g
lass and joined her on the patio. Even during this tense time, I couldn’t help but find solace in the stunning vista, blocks of steel and glass broken over the horizon. Even the more cosmopolitan parts of Moscow didn’t look like this. I wondered if Valentina found it suitable.

  “Your apartment isn’t even a fraction of the size of my father’s mansion,” Valentina muttered, staring off into the distance.

  I shrugged and took a drink of my beer. I figured she was only talking out loud and not looking for a response.

  “I like to play tennis. Is there a tennis court here?” she asked.

  “You could go to the Y.”

  “What is the Y?”

  I chuckled. “It’s a place you can go when you’re short on the dough.”

  Valentina shot me a needlelike glare and I took another drink. Not my best joke, sure, but the least she could do was try to pretend she didn’t already loathe me.

  “All my friends think it’s wonderful I get to live here.” She shot back the vodka in one swig like it was water. “America, land of the free.” She snorted.

  I didn’t understand the joke. “You don’t like it over here?”

  She shrugged. “I know that I like it at home. I had a tennis court. I had a private chef and an indoor pool. Why would I want to go anywhere else?”

  I began to see her unpleasantness in a new light. Valentina didn’t want this. I’d been thinking so much about me and what I wanted that I’d let this vital detail slip my mind.

  She might be a princess and a snob, but we had at least one thing in common.

  “This is awkward, isn’t it?” I offered a warm smile.

  She didn’t return it. “Yes, I’m sure that’s how the cow whose been sold to the slaughterhouse feels,” she said. “Awkward.”

  “You’re angry.”

  She directed those steely eyes, perfectly lined in kohl, at me. “Aren’t you?”

  It was more of an accusation than a question. I ground my teeth and gave a short nod.

  “Furious,” I said. “I guess I just didn’t expect you to be.”

  She smiled but it was cold. “I’m used to it. People don’t expect much of me.”

  I could work with this. We could work with this. If Valentina was just as opposed to the match as I was, who was to say we couldn’t make something work? Maybe if Valentina talked to her father...

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and I dug it out. Another text from my father, this time asking me if I’d proposed yet. Did he expect me to have gotten down on one knee the second she stepped off the plane? I rolled my eyes and thrust the phone back in my pocket.

  Valentina pushed off from the railing and strolled back in the house. I followed her, heading to the fridge.

  “Do you want another drink?” I asked, rooting in the fridge for another beer.

  Valentina didn’t answer me, and when I turned around she was standing a little too close for comfort. Her hands went to my shirt buttons, and she managed to open one of them before I stepped to the side and out of her reach.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She raised one perfectly sculpted brow. “We should have sex now.”

  “What?” I set my beer on the counter and raked a hand through my hair. “But you just said...”

  Valentina’s lips twisted into a frown and she rested a surly hand on her hip. “What does it matter what I said? We’re both attractive and we’re going to be married soon. We may as well skip to the fun part.”

  Her logic floored me. Only two seconds after admitting how she felt she’d been sold to me and how much she hated that fact, Valentina was ready to commit to our arrangement in the basest of ways. She was attractive, of course, but the thought of having sex with her made my gut clench. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want her.

  I had the sinking realization that it didn’t matter how much resentment Valentina held toward her father, my father, even me—she had resigned herself to this fate and wouldn’t fight it any longer. No wonder she’d returned each of the engagement rings, and no wonder she was here now. This trip was just as much punishment for her as it was for me.

  Valentina came toward me again, this time trying on a seductive smile. “Come on, Dominik. Give me a taste of that American dream everyone’s always going on about.”

  I held out a hand to stop her, ready to physically push her away if needed. And just then, like a gift from the heavens, someone knocked on my door.

  I didn’t know who it was or why they’d come, but I knew one thing—even if it was Fyodor Orlov himself, I would welcome them with open arms.

  Chapter 16

  Gemma

  No matter what I did, ate, or watched, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dominik Orlov. In my rational mind, I knew that it was best if we never saw each other again.

  So why couldn’t I feel that?

  My conscience, heavily guided by Molly’s advice, told me to let it be. The rest of me refused to listen. I would catch myself thinking about his smile when I was grocery shopping, wondering what he was up to, considering taking him up on that offer and going to his place. It would be so easy. Much easier than staying away, surely.

  But then I’d remember why I was trying to condition myself away from him and a hollow pit of hopelessness would open up in my chest. It was easier just to let myself dream than it was to deal with reality.

  Why did he have to marry some Russian girl? I’d understood it when he explained it to me, but the more I thought about it the more I started to resent him, even though I didn’t want to and didn’t have any right to. I barely knew the guy. If he wanted to follow his father’s path in life, that was up to him and shouldn’t affect me at all.

  I also didn’t want to think about Nik all the time, and hell maybe that made me resent him too.

  It had been a slow day at work, which meant lots of polishing and cleaning glass—activities that provided ample opportunity for wandering thoughts. Luckily, the end of the day approached and I had all night to throw myself into a new set of distractions.

  I was set to close by myself, and had just finished rearranging one of the cases when the door chimed. I looked up hopefully. Customers were a great distraction. Especially when they had lots of questions.

  My heart sank.

  “Hey sis,” Justin said, sauntering up the counter like he owned the store and every jewel inside of it.

  But it wasn’t the sight of Justin that made my palms sweat and my hair stand on end—it was the person he’d brought with him on his field trip of mortification.

  Niles looked exactly the same as he had the last time I saw him, yet somehow like a different person entirely. His face hadn’t changed—baby blue eyes, a square jaw, bold forehead, corn silk hair—but everything else about him had. Before he lived and dressed like a frat boy, but today he’d arrived in a tailored three-piece suit, cufflinks winking at me under the fluorescent bulbs.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked. I wasn’t sure which one of them I was talking to.

  “I wanted to see what my little sister has been up to since leaving the nest,” Justin answered, stopping in front of me. A whole counter separated us but it wouldn’t have been enough if it were a ten-foot wall.

  “You own a whole Tiffany’s?” Niles asked. “I’m impressed.”

  I frowned. “I don’t own it.”

  He knew that, of course. I realized too late I’d fallen into a trap.

  “Oh, you don’t own it? So you just work here?” Niles’ lip tugged into a half-smile. “Shit, I bet you make minimum wage, don’t you?”

  “That’s none of your business.” I folded my arms and tried my best to look in any way intimidating, but it didn’t work. I always felt small around my brothers. I’d felt even smaller when I was with Niles.

  “How does it feel working around these beautiful diamonds all day and knowing that you’ll never be able to afford one?” Justin asked. His eyes bore into mine. “You would’ve been better off at home. Look at you now�
��Dad would be ashamed if he could see you like this.”

  “Like this?” My tone was sharp. “What? Free to make my own decisions? Happy? Independent?”

  “Pathetic,” Justin spat back. “You’re pathetic, Gemma. You caused a world of drama just to go sell jewelry to women who will always have more than you. This whole thing is a farce, and you must know that otherwise you wouldn’t have hidden from us all this time.”

  “I’m not hiding from anyone!” My fists bunched at my sides and I wondered if I had it in me to hit my brother. “I wanted nothing to do with you anymore. Any of you! I still don’t.” I pointed to the exit. “Get out before I throw you out.”

  “Big words from the failure of the Lennox family,” Justin snickered. “I don’t know why Niles would even consider taking you back.” He shot a smirk over his shoulder at my ex-boyfriend, who still hovered a few feet behind. “At least she hasn’t gotten fat, huh?”

  “Get out!” I screamed it this time, leaving no room for argument. I’d start outright wailing in a second if they didn’t leave.

  “Fuck, relax,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. “We’ll see you around.”

  He and Niles ambled out of the shop like I wasn’t glaring daggers at them, like I hadn’t just yelled at them for the first time in my life. I practically collapsed once I saw them walk out of view, and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes.

  I pushed them down. At the end of the day, at least I managed to stand up to my brother. That was new for me, and whether he showed it or not I’d surprised him. I only hoped he revisited his estimation of me and decided that I was more trouble than he was willing to risk.

  What even was his end game here? Had Justin been trying to imply that Niles wanted to get back together with me? I’d burned that bridge. Or at least I should have.

  Maybe next time I needed to use more flammable material.

  I held it together as best as I could while I closed the shop, heart thudding as I imagined Niles and Justin waiting outside to berate me some more. I’d done such a good job of slamming the door between my old world and my new world closed that I never thought about what I would do if someone managed to force it open a crack.