Chapter 7
Le Bernardin was crowded, but Julian Vance didn't need a reservation. The maître d' practically bowed when they walked in.
They were seated at a center table. Darian felt the weight of the sapphire on her finger. It caught the light, sending blue fractures across the white tablecloth.
"Relax," Julian murmured, picking up the wine list. "You look like you're waiting for a sniper."
"I am," Darian said. "Grant eats here every Thursday."
"I know," Julian smiled. It was a shark's smile. "Why do you think we're here?"
Ten minutes later, the air in the restaurant changed. It grew heavier.
Grant walked in. Aimee was with him, wearing red.
Grant saw them immediately. He stopped dead in the middle of the dining room. His eyes went to Darian, then to Julian, then to the ring.
His face went pale, then dark red.
He marched over to their table, ignoring the waiters trying to seat him.
"Vance," Grant spat. "What is this?"
Julian looked up, swirling his wine. "It's called dinner, Charles. You should try it. The sea bass is excellent."
Grant looked at Darian. "Take that off." He pointed at the ring.
"Excuse me?" Darian said.
"Take it off. You're making a fool of yourself. Playing dress-up with his grandmother's jewelry?"
"She's not playing," Julian said calmly. He reached out and covered Darian's hand with his own. "She's my fiancée."
Aimee gasped. She had come up behind Grant. She stared at the sapphire ring with naked envy.
"Fiancée?" Grant laughed. It sounded manic. "You met him yesterday. This is a joke."
"When you know, you know," Darian said, echoing the words Grant had once said about Aimee in an interview.
Grant gripped the edge of their table. His knuckles were white. "You are doing this to punish me."
"Not everything is about you, Grant," Darian said.
"I won't let you do this," Grant hissed. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "I know about the nursing home, Darian. I know you moved Martha. I can make sure no facility in New York takes her. I can have her on the street by morning."
Darian went rigid. The blood drained from her face.
Julian stood up.
He moved so fast Darian barely saw it. One second he was sitting, the next he was standing chest-to-chest with Grant.
"Are you threatening my future mother-in-law?" Julian asked. His voice was quiet, but it carried a lethal weight.
"Stay out of this, Vance," Grant warned.
"If you touch Martha Klein," Julian said, "or if you even look at Darian the wrong way again, I will bury you in litigation so deep you'll need a submarine to find your checkbook. I will audit every shell company you have in the Caymans. Do we understand each other?"
Grant stared at Julian. He saw the USB drive reflected in Julian's eyes. He realized, suddenly, that Darian had talked.
Grant stepped back. He looked at Darian one last time. A look of betrayal.
"You'll regret this," Grant said.
He turned and stormed out of the restaurant. Aimee scrambled to follow him, her heels clicking frantically.
Darian let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her hands were shaking.
Julian sat back down. He poured more wine into her glass.
"Drink," he said gently. "Round one goes to us."
Darian looked at him. "He'll come after my mother."
"Let him," Julian said. "I already moved her again. She's in a private facility in Connecticut under the name 'Mrs. Vance'. He won't find her."
Darian felt tears prick her eyes. "You did that?"
"I protect my investments," Julian said. But his eyes were soft.
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