by Kat Faitour
She stared. “What day is it?”
He stated a date two days after her last conscious memory.
“Good grief,” she exclaimed. Then, irrationally, added, “I need to shower.”
He laughed as he escorted her back to her room. “I’ll bring breakfast. And please stay put. For the sake of your feet.”
She agreed, stepping back into her suite. And half an hour later, after she’d showered and dressed in camel wool pants with a simple, matching v-neck sweater, she felt like a new woman.
Thomas was as good as his word. A tray held a plate with a domed lid over top. When she opened it, steam rose from the creamy scrambled eggs, toast, and four rashers of bacon heaped on top of the china plate. A pot of coffee joined the food on the tray, with a small pitcher of cream next to it.
A subtle knock on the door told her Thomas had returned. “Come in,” she called.
He brought her phone, a stack of newspapers, two magazines, and at least three books from the library. She waved for him to join her at the table. For once, he complied.
“What’s all that?”
“If you’re bored, I thought I’d bring some things for you to read.” He looked down at her bare feet. The doctor had stitched some of the deeper cuts, and the more superficial ones had already begun to scab. “You really should stay off those.”
“I’ll try.” He was being so sweet. Unbelievably kind. She hesitated but then decided she really didn’t have anything to lose. “Mason is out?”
“Yes, he is.”
Under the hot spray of the shower, some of her memories returned from the night she’d arrived. She’d begged. And he’d rebuffed her.
With the kind of hope only those desperately in love could produce, she told herself he’d distanced himself because of her injuries. Because of Julian, and the trauma induced by his attack.
But she had to know.
She lightly touched Thomas’ arm. “Can I talk to you?”
He seemed bemused. “Of course.”
“About Mason.”
“Oh.” Something in her face must have caused him to take pity on her. “I’ll try.”
“I love him, Thomas.”
“I know you do.”
“You do?”
“He loves you as well.” The older man blushed and fidgeted a little. Perhaps worried he’d gone too far. But he didn’t take the words back.
“We had a horrible argument. Before I left.” Margaux twisted her napkin until it resembled a rope. “I accused him of terrible, atrocious things.”
Thomas nodded. She’d guessed he probably knew.
“And now I know he was innocent of everything. Julian, my assistant.” She stopped, choked up. The reality of what had happened still seemed too awful to accept. Bewildered, she looked at Thomas. “I don’t know how I could have missed it.”
“You cared about him. He was your friend.” Thomas’ explanation was simple and rang with truth.
“I did.” She sighed. “I’m afraid I still do.”
“That’s not a weakness, Margaux. You’re human.”
She nodded but wasn’t sure how she could have mixed feelings about someone who knocked her down and hit her. “Do you think Mason still has feelings for me? After everything I said to him?”
Thomas shifted in his chair, looking uncomfortable.
She couldn’t help it. She had to push harder. “Do you think he can forgive me? That he’ll give me another chance?”
Thomas exhaled, the sound audible in the quiet room. “Mr. Graff is an honorable man.”
“I know,” she lamented. “And I accused him of being a murderer.”
“But he’s not perfect.”
She tilted her head, thinking. “Oh. The plan to steal my diamonds.” She patted his arm. “I know all about that.”
He opened his mouth, as if to say something else, then shut it again.
He stood, his motions formal. Suddenly, Thomas was very much a butler again. Margaux knew there was no point in pressing further, as she would only alienate him.
“You should talk to Mason. He would want to be the one to tell you the things you may not know. Or understand.”
Puzzled, she picked up a piece of bacon but didn’t take a bite. “Like what?”
He shook his head. “As I said, you should talk to Mr. Graff.”
“Okay then.” Margaux wouldn’t lie around today like some invalid. Not if she could salvage things between her and Mason. Certainly not if she could win back the love of her life. “Where is he? The lab?”
“No, ma’am.” Thomas looked back from the doorway, his lips pursed as if he was perplexed. “Today’s the auction, remember?”
Margaux gaped.
“The Taylor diamonds are being sold.” He checked his watch. “In ten minutes.”
Margaux dropped the bacon and shoved back from the table.
“No, Thomas,” she exclaimed. “It has to be stopped.”
* * *
Mason loosened his tie and began to relax. He was seated in a hard-backed chair in the first row. Before him, Noor stood behind a podium, her clear voice ringing out as their large batch of diamonds was sold in small lots of five.
So far, the auction had gone off without a single hitch. The room was crowded, mostly because the largest stone—the D color, internally flawless, emerald cut—was still in the wings, waiting for its bidding to begin.
He looked around the room. Familiar faces lined the rows of seats, and each person held a small, round paddle to use for bidding. A line of operators lined one wall and handled the phone-in bids.
The auction house had to bring in additional stations to handle the potential buyers. The back of the room, beyond the rows of chairs, held the surplus of people present who hadn’t been able to obtain a seat.
Mostly, Mason suspected they were observers. But some of them still held the white paddles, undaunted by the standing room only event.
His lips tilted in a minuscule smile. Every single stone sold so far had been created in a lab rather than within the bowels of the earth.
And damn if it didn’t feel good to fuck the diamond industry.
It was the only thing that had felt good since Margaux arrived on his doorstep, bloodied and bruised. In fact, before. It was the first hint of satisfaction he’d had since their terrible argument, when she’d left in the first place.
Now, she was back. But only so she could recuperate. The locks on her apartment were being changed, but until Julian was apprehended, Mason didn’t think it wise for her to be alone.
Luckily, she agreed. Otherwise, he’d have been tempted to lock her in the stables with Sherman. As it was, the big horse would hardly be able to contain himself once he knew Margaux had returned.
He’d moped, like a baby, since she left. Thomas and Mason had alternated trying to feed him, but he stubbornly refused to eat. And when they tried to walk him in the arena, he planted his hooves and refused to budge.
A low rumble swept through the crowd, and Mason realized it was time for the large diamond to come out. Someone in the press had dubbed it The Grace, in honor of Grace Kelly and her flawless, icy beauty.
His eyes met Noor’s. With an infinitesimal nod, she confirmed all the other stones had sold. And without a single glitch or cause of worry.
Now, it was down to this, the last and final diamond, the only one that was genuinely mined. Mason couldn’t help but appreciate the irony that something perceived as so perfect could, in fact, be so fundamentally flawed.
For no matter its grade, the stone was stained with the blood of its countrymen. And no matter how many illegal channels were used to funnel it into the legitimate market, it could never be washed clean.
The room hushed as Noor described the stone. Large photos of the diamond were projected onto a screen beside the podium. Grading and certification documents were also enlarged and accompanied the pictures.
And the bidding began.
Mason always loved to watch Noo
r in action. She was calm and composed, despite the boisterous energy in the room. With one hand she acknowledged the bidders, while the other held the walnut palm gavel she preferred. Her voice was clear and never faltered as she rapidly raised the bidding.
She reached $200,000, and the bidding showed no signs of slowing. Mason shifted in his seat, looking toward the proxy bidders. The operators were talking into their phones while flashing their paddles up at increasingly furious speeds.
The Grace was a hit.
An animated, high-speed auction was exhilarating in its own right. But Mason couldn’t help but feel depressed. He thought of Ruby and how she’d feel if she were here to see its sale. It was good she wasn’t. The Grace had already fetched a higher price than anything the Orphans had ever presented.
And it still wasn’t sold.
Noor reached $300,000 before she held up her hand to pause the bids. “One moment,” she laughed. A ripple of amusement flowed through the crowd. She was genuinely popular among the traders, and it was obvious she enjoyed her job. She sipped from a glass of water then resumed.
Within five minutes, the bid was over $350,000. Mason was shocked. The diamond, no matter how perfectly cut and internally flawless, wasn’t worth that.
But a bidding frenzy had descended on the auction house. Phones continued to ring, although Mason sensed the pace was slowing.
“Four hundred seventy-five thousand dollars.” The operator’s voice cut through the noise of the room like a knife.
Noor never missed a beat, but her eyebrows did shoot skyward. She pointed toward the proxy bidder. “Four hundred seventy-five. Do I hear five hundred thousand?”
Silence blanketed the room with disconcerting suddenness.
“Four hundred seventy-five thousand.” She perused the room, looking for raised paddles. “Once.” A pause. “Twice.” Another beat. “And sold. The Grace goes to an anonymous bidder for four hundred seventy-five thousand dollars.” She smacked the walnut block with her matching palm gavel. “And that concludes the auction.” She nodded in acknowledgement to the cheers and clapping from the attendees. “Thank you. It’s been a pleasure today.”
She stepped down from behind the podium. But a ruckus was coming from the back of the room.
Someone was trying to force their way farther into the room, fighting through a crowd intent on going the opposite direction.
People shouted. A chair was tipped over, then several more.
Finally, a man burst through. He shouted, “Stop! They’re fakes!”
It was Julian. He looked disheveled. Unkempt.
But many of the people recognized him as Margaux Taylor’s long-time assistant.
The attendees had stopped trying to leave and stood in a congested cluster near the exit. Mason heard several people asking, “Fakes? Did he say fakes?”
Mason surged forward, determined to apprehend Julian. All he could see was Margaux, lying unconscious in his bed with bruises and cuts all over. And Julian was responsible.
But the other man saw him coming for him. He did a rapid about face and shoved people out of his way, running for the door. And all the way, he kept up a shrieking mantra.
“Fakes! They’re fakes!”
He escaped. The crowd stood in hushed silence, not trying to stop the lunatic who’d interrupted the auction, but staring at Mason and Noor instead. They moved forward, and Mason was reminded of a mob, ready to burn witches at the village stake.
He swallowed. He glanced to the back of the room, but there was no sign of Julian.
Only Margaux.
She was standing apart from the rest, still as stone.
And staring at him, as if transfixed.
* * *
An accidental bump into her shoulder sent Margaux half spinning. She caught herself, wincing as her abused muscles screamed in protest.
She quickly stepped out of the way, grimacing when she stubbed her foot on a chair. By the time she got of here, she’d have more bruises than when she arrived.
But she persisted, making her way to the front of the room. Once there, she found Noor and signaled to her what she needed. The crowd noise had reached deafening proportions as the attendees moved forward, swarming back into the room.
Noor nodded and gave a thumbs up.
Margaux approached the podium and tried to step up to it but stumbled when her hip—the one she’d banged against her kitchen counter—gave out.
Of course, Mason caught her.
He gripped her waist and placed her on the dais, making sure she was stable before removing his hands. She smiled, grateful. And tried to tell him with her eyes that she finally understood.
When she’d looked at Mason after Julian’s outburst, it was like all the pins in a complex lock tumbled into place. And a door had opened, revealing the truth about Mason and his friends.
But he dropped his eyes and turned away. Margaux couldn’t tell if he was upset, ashamed, or possibly elated. All she knew was what needed to be done next.
She tapped the microphone Noor had connected for her. A screech came through unseen speakers, effectively silencing the room. All eyes turned to Margaux.
She leaned forward, adjusting the mic so it better suited her height. “Hello, everyone.” She stopped when her voice triggered a reverb. Noor mouthed for her to adjust the volume down. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” she smiled, thanking the other woman for her help. “I’m Margaux Taylor.” She knew many of the buyers and traders present, but not all. Plus, it wasn’t a bad thing to remind them who her family was. Nothing triggered credibility in the diamond business like tradition. And old money.
“Beyond working in the diamond trade for my entire professional life, I grew up in it. My father is Matthew Taylor, the owner of Taylor Diamond Corporation. And I am his sole heir.” She waited, allowing that piece of information to sink in for those unaware. “Taylor Diamonds has been in business for over a hundred years. First, as landowners to several mines. Then later, when a marriage was arranged between a Taylor daughter and a Rhodes son, cementing a partnership with the prestigious De Beers company. But don’t worry,” Margaux said to several snickers in the room, “the family swears they fell in love eventually.”
She saw Mason quirk his brow. Margaux allowed herself a tiny grin.
Her audience was rapt. Anger had been replaced by interest.
She continued, knowing how much rode on rest of her performance. “So, I think you can understand why I’m more than a little shocked that this group of people,” she waved her hand, including everyone in the room, “would believe that Taylor Diamonds would ever, ever,” she stressed, “try to pass off synthetic stones as real.”
She couldn’t look at Mason, knowing how he would hate her terminology. But needs must.
She plowed forward. “So why did that man accuse us of selling fakes?” She held up her hand, palm outward, in case anyone tried to answer the rhetorical question. “As many of you may already know, that man was Julian Jones. He’s been my assistant as long as I’ve worked in the business.” She frowned. This part was genuinely difficult, no acting required. “Unfortunately, he’s suffered a recent breakdown. He’s wanted by the authorities for questioning.” She shook her head when someone tried to ask a question. “I won’t be saying anything more about Julian. Suffice it to say he’s not well, and he’s not to be taken at his word.”
She leaned back, signaling she was ready for questions.
“Why should we take your word for it? How do we know you’re not lying?” someone shouted.
“Because I am a Taylor,” she answered. The haughtiness was natural. “But don’t take my word for it.” She flicked out her hand in a gesture of dismissal. “Do your tests.”
The only reaction in Mason was a widening of his eyes. Noor’s naturally glowing complexion blanched.
Margaux allowed her eyes to pan slowly across the room, as if her insides weren’t tied in panicked knots.
“Personally, in the interest of ev
eryone’s time,” she said, “I’d suggest testing The Grace. It is, after all, the stone with the most value. We would certainly have the most to gain if it were fake.”
She waited one more beat. “But it’s up to you, of course. As the buyers.”
Ready to step down, she flung out her hand. Obediently, Mason took it within his, gently seeing her to the ground.
When she glanced up through her lashes, his face was meekly composed into blank docility. She very nearly burst out laughing. His submission was so obviously false.
A few key members of the crowd had gathered into a small semi-circle to discuss her proposal. When one member approached, she assumed her best queenly demeanor and listened.
“We agree there’s no need to test all the stones. But we would like for The Grace to be examined.” He was sheepish, as if the request wasn’t perfectly reasonable considering the events of the past hour. “Just a formality, you understand.”
She nodded, gracious in victory. “Absolutely.” She turned to Noor. “I believe you have testing devices on site?”
Noor nodded.
Margaux looked back at the man. “Will that be sufficient? Or would you like the stone taken to the De Beers facility?”
“No, no,” he assured her. “That won’t be necessary. Noor has excellent equipment.”
“Then lead the way,” Margaux announced. “See for yourselves.”
* * *
Ruby Stark sat unseen and unnoticed in the very back of the room. Her hair was tucked inside a wig, one with jet-black hair that cascaded straight down her back. Blunt-cut bangs covered her forehead.
She wore enough make-up to conceal her freckles and make her face itch. She felt like she was wearing a mask, and in many ways, she supposed she was.
Bold, black frames camouflaged her eyes. Her clothing was stylish, yet drab. She held a paddle but hadn’t used it.
After all, if she wanted jewels, she just had to steal them.
It was one of many disguises she used in her work. None of which the other Orphans knew about.
And for all intents and purposes, she was invisible to everyone she knew.
