by Pamela Yaye
“You’re wrong. It wasn’t her ex.”
Immanuel frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Jules doesn’t know the guy, but someone in his family does, and you’ll never believe who it is. I’ve been a PI for two decades, but even I didn’t see this coming...”
Stroking his chin, he listened closely to what his friend had to say. Finally, after weeks of chasing leads and dead ends, all the pieces of the puzzle fit. Anger burned inside him, roared through his veins. He wanted to get even with the person who’d orchestrated the attack on Dionne, but he governed his temper.
“Do you know where Friendship House is?”
“No, but I’ll find it. See you in twenty minutes.”
Ending the call, he pocketed his cell and grabbed his car keys off the kitchen counter. Ready to even the score, he stalked through the living room and into the garage. Immanuel knew who was after Dionne, and they were going down.
* * *
“Get out or I’ll throw you out!”
The velocity of Jules’s tone made the windows in the thirteenth-floor conference room shake, but Immanuel didn’t move. Tucking the manila envelope under his arm, he locked the door and folded his arms across his chest. Now he had everyone’s attention. He was at Fontaine Enterprises on official business, not to shoot the breeze with the first family of Atlanta. He wasn’t leaving until he confronted the person who’d been terrorizing Dionne for weeks.
His heart ached as an image of her flashed in his mind, but he pushed past his pain and swallowed the lump in his throat. After he left Fontaine Enterprises, he was going to find Dionne, and this time he wasn’t leaving Pathways Center until they spoke. He didn’t want to talk to her at work with her staff listening in, but what choice did he have? He’d given her space, but enough was enough. It was time to bring his baby home. He wasn’t going to lose her, not after everything they’d been through, and he was desperate to reconcile with her.
“I’m calling security.” Jules snatched the phone off the cradle and dialed.
“Good idea. They can arrest the person who’s been terrorizing Dionne.”
“Who are you?” Mrs. Fontaine asked, clutching her necklace. “What do you want?”
Seated around the glass table were Jules, his older sister, Adeline, and his parents, Francois and Helene Fontaine. They were all smartly dressed, and wore matching frowns.
“That’s Immanuel Morretti, Dionne’s new boy toy,” Adeline said, her tone dripping with disgust. “You should be ashamed of yourself for carrying on with a married woman.”
“And you should be ashamed of yourself for hiring a hit man.”
The phone dropped from Jules’s hand and fell to the table. “What?”
“Adeline, what is he talking about?” Mr. Fontaine asked. “What’s going on?”
Immanuel stared at Adeline. Her eyes were dark, and her expression was blank. “Guess who I tracked down at Friendship House? Your old buddy Tyler Keaton. I wonder what your country club friends would think if they knew you socialized with hardened criminals.”
The room sweltered with heat, and the air became thicker than fog.
“You have no proof,” Adeline said with a dismissive shrug. “It’s your word against mine, and who do you think the police are going to believe? A woman with a stellar reputation, or a lowly security guard with a chip on his shoulder?”
Immanuel opened the envelope, took out Malcolm’s report, and dropped it on the table. “It’s all right there. You were mad at Dionne for filing for divorce, so you hired Tyler to attack her. You rented him a car and gave him hundreds of dollars’ worth of gifts and cash.”
“Adeline! No!” yelled Mrs. Fontaine. “You didn’t!”
“Ma, I had to do something. I couldn’t let Dionne tarnish our image.”
Jules spoke through clenched teeth. “I told you I could handle it.”
“Jules, please. You talk a good game, but you’re a spineless jellyfish.”
Sweat dripped down Mr. Fontaine’s face. “Are you going to tell the police what you know?” he asked, his eyes wide with fear. “Surely we can work something out that’s beneficial for all parties involved.”
“I bought your buddy Tyler a one-way ticket back to Detroit, and I personally put him on the bus.” Immanuel addressed Adeline. “If Dionne so much as breaks a nail, I’ll tell the police everything I know, so stay the hell away from her.”
Adeline wouldn’t meet his gaze, looking everywhere but at him.
Turning toward the door, he remembered a conversation he’d had with Dionne weeks earlier about her charity work and spun back around. “Adeline, since you like helping ex-cons, you’re going to make a million-dollar donation to Re-entry Project Inc. on Dionne’s behalf.” He added, “And you’re going to do it by four o’clock today.”
“A million dollars!” Mrs. Fontaine shrieked. “That’s blackmail!”
“No,” he said in a firm tone of voice. “That’s justice.”
Immanuel stalked out of the room and marched down the hall.
“Morretti, wait up!”
Stopping, he faced Jules. He’d been wrong about the CFO. Jules had a vicious temper and an ego the size of Texas, but he wasn’t the one bent on revenge; his older sister was.
“I like the way you work, Morretti, and I could use someone with your insight and initiative at Fontaine Enterprises. Can we set up a time next week to talk?”
Immanuel didn’t know if Jules was serious or pulling his leg, but it didn’t matter. Dionne was his priority, not working with Fontaine Enterprises, and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their relationship. “No, thanks. I have my own business to run.”
Jules released a deep sigh, shuffling and shifting his feet. “Tell Dionne I’m sorry. I had nothing to do with her attack. I feel horrible about what my sister did to her,” he said in a low voice. He released a deep sigh. “If I could go back in time I would. Dionne’s a good woman, but I took her for granted...”
I know, and if she takes me back I’ll never, ever do the same.
“Take care of her, okay? She deserves happiness, and I hope she finds it in you.”
Minutes later, Immanuel exited the elevator and marched through the sun-drenched lobby. He called Dionne’s cell phone, and when her voice mail came on he left another message—his third one that day. Immanuel didn’t know what else to do. He’d texted Sharleen and discovered Dionne had the day off work. At this rate, he wouldn’t see her before she left for Italy on Friday. He had forty-eight hours to reconcile with her, but Immanuel feared he would run out of time. Feeling discouraged, he searched his contact list, found the number he was looking for and waited anxiously for the call to connect.
“Immanuel? What’s up?”
He yanked open his car door and dropped into the driver’s seat. “Emilio, I messed up.”
“You sound like crap. What’s going on?”
Immanuel vented, told his brother about his argument with Dionne and their bitter breakup last Sunday night. “I feel like I’m losing my mind,” he confessed, staring aimlessly out the window. “Dionne won’t speak to me, and I’m dying a slow death without her.”
“You guys were a no-show for Thanksgiving, so I knew something was wrong,” Emilio said quietly. “Dwelling on the past isn’t going to help matters. We need a plan.”
“We? You’re going to help even though we have a strained relationship?”
“Had,” he corrected, emphasizing the word. “Let’s start over. What do you say?”
“I’d like that.” A smile found his lips. “My baby was right. You are a good guy.”
They laughed, and for the first time in days Immanuel felt hopeful about his future. He had Emilio back and a new, improved attitude. All he needed now was the woman he loved to make his life compl
ete. “You’re leaving for Venice on Friday, right?”
“Yeah, we have to arrive a few days before the wedding to finish up paperwork.”
“Is Dionne traveling with the bridal party?”
“Yeah, she’ll be on my private plane. Why?”
Immanuel shared his thoughts with his brother. Fired up, he felt his shoulders straighten and a rush of adrenaline that bolstered his confidence. He wanted Dionne back more than anything in the world, and wanted to prove his love in a big way. “What do you think?”
“That’s your plan?” Emilio asked quizzically. “No offense, bro, but it stinks.”
“Do you have a better one?”
“Yeah, I do. I don’t mean to brag—”
“Then, don’t. Just help me make things right with Dionne.”
“To win her back, you’ll have to fly to Italy.”
Sweat clung to his shirt, made his palms damp and cold. Immanuel didn’t know if he could. It was too soon. What if the locals turned on him while he was out sightseeing with Dionne? What would she think of him? Would his past inevitably destroy their future?
“Bro, the clock is ticking. What’s it going to be? Do you want Dionne back, or not?”
Chapter 20
The words Venice Skies were painted on the side of the jet. The white custom-made airplane reeked of wealth and sophistication. It was a hotel in the sky, as luxurious as a penthouse suite, and filled with the best furnishings money could buy.
Stepping inside the bright, spacious cabin, Dionne noted the milk-white interior, plush seats and designer tables, and the state-of-the art electronics. R&B music played on the mounted speakers, and Dionne was surprised to see dozens of people chatting, eating and dancing as if they were at a nightclub. Stewards dressed in crisp navy blue uniforms served appetizers, poured champagne and walked around offering guests cashmere blankets.
“Good morning, Dionne. How are you?” Emilio kissed her on each cheek. “You look incredible. Is it just me or does she get more beautiful each day?”
Sharleen nodded her head and gave Dionne a one-armed hug. She looked adorable in her flashy bride-to-be getup, and her diamond tiara sparkled in the sunlight streaming through the cabin windows. “Girl, I love your outfit. You should be on an Italian runway!”
As if, she thought, rolling her eyes behind the protection of her sunglasses. I haven’t slept in days, and I have a killer headache. But you’re my girl, and I want to support you on your big day.
Waving at the members of the bridal party, Dionne strode through the cabin and found a seat at the rear of the plane, away from the raucous, inebriated group. She wanted to sleep, not socialize, and hoped Emilio and Sharleen’s friends and family would keep their distance.
“Champagne?”
It was 9:00 a.m., far too early to have some bubbly, but Dionne could use something to quiet her mind and settle her nerves. Smiling her thanks, she accepted the flute and took a long drink. The liquid flowed down her throat, instantly calming her. A pleasant scent inundated the air, and her mouth watered at the aroma. Silver food trays filled with pastries, gourmet cheese and heart-shaped fruit covered the tables. Dionne didn’t have the energy to get up. It had been a long, stressful week, and she was looking forward to resting during the ten-hour flight.
Kicking off her high heels, she rested back in her seat. Her thoughts returned to Thanksgiving. Upset with Immanuel, she’d decided to spend the holiday with her family, instead of at Emilio’s Greensboro estate. After dinner, she’d had a frank talk with her parents and sisters, and they’d all promised to stop meddling in her life. Dionne didn’t believe them, but she was glad everything was out in the open and they’d finally cleared the air. The highlight of the day had been playing flag football in the backyard with her nieces and nephews. Running around with the kids had helped take her mind off Immanuel.
Dionne opened her purse, took out her cell phone and stared at the screen. The picture had been taken at Pike Place Market, and looking at the image of Immanuel made her miss him. Her nose twitched and her vision blurred, but she maintained her composure. Dropping her phone, she picked up her bottle of sleeping pills and flipped it open.
“Is everything okay? You seem upset, you’re so quiet and withdrawn.” Sharleen sat in the empty seat across from Dionne, put her purple feather boa over her shoulders and wore a sympathetic smile. “Talk to me, Dionne. I want to help.”
“I’m great, fine, couldn’t be better.” It was a lie, one she’d been repeating for the past several days, but she’d suffer in silence rather than burden her friend with her problems. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about memorizing your vows, because you’re getting married in forty-eight hours!”
Sharleen pointed at the blue pill bottle. “What’s that?”
“Sleeping pills. Can’t fly without them.”
“Sleeping pills!” Scowling, she plucked the bottle out of Dionne’s hand and furiously shook her head. “You can’t go to sleep. We’re going to play party games, and I want you to mingle with our friends and family. It’s a wedding celebration, remember?”
“I knew I should have flown commercial,” Dionne grumbled, wondering if it was too late to de-board the plane. Peering down the aisle, she noticed the cabin door was locked and cursed under her breath. “I’ll socialize after my nap.”
“Why are you so tired? You were off yesterday and the day before.”
Dionne swallowed a yawn. She hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since breaking up with Immanuel, and their argument had dominated her thoughts for weeks. He phoned constantly, sent her emails, text messages and dozens of red roses. Dionne wasn’t impressed. Like most men, Immanuel thought flowers and expensive gifts could fix everything. He was fooling himself if he thought material things would win her over.
He’d shown up at her office, begging to see her, but Dionne couldn’t bring herself to go to the reception area to talk to him. Not yet. Her emotions were still raw, her heart heavy with despair, and every time she remembered his bitter deception, tears filled her eyes.
“Let’s compromise. I’ll sleep for an hour, then join the festivities.”
Sharleen leaned over and touched her leg. “Have you talked to Immanuel?”
“No. And I don’t plan to. We’re over.” Her voice was quiet, filled with such anguish she didn’t recognize it. Her eyes were moist, but she didn’t cry. Dionne didn’t want to ruin the festive mood inside the cabin or upset the glowing bride on the eve of her fairy-tale wedding. “Our relationship was built on lies and deception, and I have nothing to say to him.”
“Dionne, don’t say that. Immanuel loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s been plotting behind my back from day one—”
“You have every right to be upset, but don’t let your anger cloud your judgment.”
Dionne took issue with what Sharleen said, but she didn’t argue. Was it true? Was she blinded by hurt and anger? Should she try to work things out with Immanuel?
“Love is when your partner’s happiness is more important than your own, and from day one Immanuel has done everything in his power to protect you. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you, and he’s always had your best interests in heart.”
“Then why did he deceive me? Why did he make me look like a fool in front of Jules?”
“I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
I can’t. I’m emotional and upset, and every time I think about what he did I cry.
“The next time you see Immanuel, let him explain. Don’t interrupt. Just listen.”
Dionne nodded, realizing her friend had given her great advice. On Tuesday, when she returned from Italy, she’d meet with Immanuel. It was time. Time to move on and put the past behind her. She didn’t know if their relationship could be salvaged, but she wanted to know the truth o
nce and for all. “When did you get so wise?”
“When I met my Emilio.” Her gaze fell across her husband-to-be, and her face lit up. “He redefined my definition of love, and because of him I’m a more understanding person.”
“Good, then give me my sleeping pills!”
Laughing, Sharleen stood and dropped the bottle into Dionne’s outstretched hands.
“Have a good nap.”
“I will. See you in an hour.” Dionne popped a pill into her mouth and washed it down with a glass of water. Yawning, she put on her earphones and slipped on her silk sleep mask. Reclining her seat, she closed her eyes and snuggled in her blanket. As Dionne fell asleep, images of Immanuel filled her mind, and his voice played in her ears like a love song.
* * *
Immanuel was dying to touch Dionne, wanting to reach out and caress her skin, but he exercised restraint. Dionne was sleeping peacefully, and he didn’t want to disturb her. Remembering the last time he’d watched her sleep made his pulse hammer in his ears and an erection rise inside his boxer briefs. Her perfume was an intoxicating blend of fruits and flowers, and Immanuel liked the soft, soothing fragrance.
Dionne looked youthful and stylish in her off-the-shoulder blouse, gold accessories and jeans. Her makeup was simple; her hair was in a loose French braid. It had only been two weeks since their breakup, but it felt like months since he’d seen her, and his desire to kiss her was so strong his mouth watered at the sight of her glossy peach lips.
Immanuel tossed aside his business magazine. He wasn’t reading it anyway. He’d been watching Dionne for hours, ever since he’d boarded his private plane that morning at ten o’clock, and was so eager to talk to her he couldn’t sit still.
Stirring in her seat, she stretched and pulled off her sleep mask. The color drained from her face, and her eyes widened. He sensed her pain, her hurt. Immanuel didn’t mean to hurt her, but he had. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not today. Not ever. It wasn’t too late. He’d fix things. Prove to her that he could be trusted with her heart. She had a beautiful spirit, an energetic, fun-loving personality, and despite the stress of the past few weeks she’d never lost her smile. Loving Dionne was easy, as natural as breathing, and he wanted to be her man.
