62
Sloan Pierce’s office on the top floor of Whitmore’s Auction House had expansive views of the East River. Gemma stared out the window while Sloan flipped through the photos.
“These are incredible,” Sloan said from her desk.
“So tell me about the Electric Rose,” Gemma said impatiently. The meeting was starting to feel like a ransom exchange, with Sloan demanding the photos immediately. She’d handed them over, and now she wanted her payback: news about where her mother’s ring had ended up.
She moved from her spot at the windows to a seat in front of Sloan’s desk. Sloan shuffled the photos absently, like a deck of cards, before placing them back inside the envelope. Then she looked up at Gemma, folding her hands in front of her on the desk.
“I mentioned before that I started searching for the diamond after your aunt’s exhibit at Pavlin & Co. But every call I made, every email I sent, was a dead end. I figured the diamond had gone underground, as some pieces do.”
“Yes, you told me,” Gemma said impatiently.
“I almost gave up. But then a source came to me.”
Gemma felt a chill run through her entire body. “Who?”
“A journalist. Regan O’Rourke. I believe you’re familiar?”
Gemma nodded, her stomach tightening into a fist.
“Apparently, while Regan was doing background research for your interview, she came across a big jewelry collector—very well-known, but very private. Impeccable taste and reputation. And this collector told Regan that she had a pair of two-carat pink diamond studs that had been cut from the larger stone known as the Electric Rose.”
“Impossible,” Gemma said.
“The collector said she’d been told by a jewelry designer she’d commissioned to create custom pieces for her that the Electric Rose had been chopped up sometime around 2007 to make a few dozen pieces.”
Gemma gripped the arms of her chair, her mouth suddenly so dry it was difficult to speak.
“That can’t be true.”
Sloan looked at her with pitying eyes, her hand resting on the manila envelope.
“Maybe,” she said, “you should speak to someone in your family.”
Elodie drummed her fingers on her vintage brass and leather desk. Behind her, out the window, Fifth Avenue teemed with tourists braving the heat to shop. The day’s New York Times style section was spread out in front of her. She hadn’t thought about the press while she’d been away, but now that she was back in her seat of power—literally—the idea of the auction felt like fun, not just a necessity.
How had she spent so much time away from the office? It must have been a sort of temporary insanity. Sure, her subordinates had kept everything running smoothly. But even that delegation of work had maybe been a mistake. It was never smart to make oneself seem dispensable.
Now she was thankful Tito had been so obstinate about the trip. It made her decision very simple. She belonged in the city. She belonged behind that desk. Whatever had bloomed between the two of them, it was over. Now she just owed it to their friendship to tell him in person. She checked her watch; if she left the city in an hour, she could be back in Provincetown just as it was getting dark. She could collect her belongings, end things with Tito, and put her energy back where it belonged.
Her desk phone rang, a call from her assistant.
“Yes?” she said, the receiver cold against her cheek.
“A visitor, Ms. Pavlin. Your niece is here to see you.”
Gemma. Since the day she was born, Elodie had never been able to see her as anything but the personification of Liam and Paulina’s betrayal. But now, maybe because she herself had tasted happiness—however fleeting—or maybe because she saw that Gemma could be an asset to the company, that feeling had changed. And she found herself almost cheerful about seeing her.
“Show her up, please,” Elodie said. Moments later, Gemma barreled in and slammed the door behind her.
“How could you?” she said.
“I beg your pardon?” Elodie said, confused.
“Really, I want to know how you sleep at night.” Gemma’s cheeks were pink with emotion, her Pavlin blue-green eyes watery and red-rimmed.
“Gemma, come inside and sit down. I don’t know what’s got you so upset—”
“You stole my mother’s ring from me and destroyed it! Chopping it up like scrap metal!”
Elodie stepped back, feeling behind herself for the desk to lean on. Her head buzzed with the competing frenzy of wondering how Gemma had found out the truth while trying to figure out how to calm her down.
“I can’t have a conversation with you standing there shouting at me.”
Gemma brushed past her into the next room, where she proceeded to pace in front of the settee with such vigor Elodie felt certain there would be a hole in the carpet.
“Why did you do it? Destroying something so beautiful . . .”
Elodie needed to sit. She moved to an armchair opposite the settee and wished Gemma would do the same. Instead, she insisted on standing, arms crossed, practically vibrating with fury.
“It was a business decision, Gemma. It wasn’t personal.”
“I’m sure it would have been personal to my mother. Didn’t you think about her at all?”
“The company was in a financial bind at the time. You don’t remain a family-owned business for a hundred years without some sacrifices.”
“Does Aunt Celeste know about this?”
“No,” Elodie said sharply. “And I’d like to keep it that way.”
She couldn’t imagine a quicker way to fracture the reconnection with her sister than revealing her lie about the ring. It’s not just that she’d made the unilateral decision to break up the gem in the first place, but she’d also explicitly lied about its fate to manipulate Celeste with the auction.
And really, she was trying to turn over a new leaf. The last remaining piece of the Electric Rose had been sitting in the vault, and she intended to put it to good use—a wedding gift, not a curse. Something both old and new.
“Celeste should know that you robbed my mother and me,” Gemma said.
Elodie’s shame gave way to a flood of anger—a tidal wave of anger. Decades’ worth.
“Your mother was the one who was robbed? I don’t think so,” she said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Elodie knew she should stop, that she’d already said enough and this would only dig a deeper hole for herself. But she couldn’t stop herself. For all these years she’d had to keep her feelings of loss and betrayal buried inside, in a little box in the corner of her mind, so that she could put on a happy face and deal with her family and build her career. But there was no reason to hold it all in any longer.
“Let me ask you something: Do you know how your parents met?”
“Of course. They met at a photo shoot. My father was the creative director and my mother was modeling for the company. It was love at first sight.”
Indeed.
“Well, that’s a nice little fairy tale. Sadly, it’s not true. And I know it’s not true because I unwittingly introduced them. They met at our parents’ house when I brought my boyfriend to dinner. And that boyfriend was your father.”
“What are you talking about?” Gemma said.
“Liam Maybrook was my boyfriend first. Your mother stole him from me.”
Gemma paled, then turned a flush so deep pink Elodie was alarmed for a second.
“You’re delusional. That was just a silly gossip item. You just want to justify destroying my mother’s diamond. But you didn’t just rob me. You robbed the whole world. And I know Aunt Celeste will agree.”
That’s exactly how Celeste would see it: Celeste, champion of forgotten treasures, ever mindful of preservation of all kinds. No, Celeste would not be happy about this news.
“Do you want to upset Celeste a week before her wedding? After how good she’s been to you all summer? You’d be hurting her more than hurting me.”
Gemma walked out.