Read Chapter 40: The Coup de Grâce

The gallery had changed. That was the first thing Camille noticed as she stood in the center of the renovated space, her heels clicking against the new marble floor that caught the late afternoon light in sheets of pale gold. The walls had been pushed back, opened up, the old cluttered display cases replaced with sleek glass monoliths that floated like frozen water. And there, in the center of the room, under a cone of perfect halogen light, sat the necklace.

The real one. The actual, genuine, indisputable Falk emerald-and-diamond piece, resting on a black velvet bust that made the stones look like they were drinking the light.

Camille let herself breathe.

"Not bad," Victor said from behind her. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "They let us back in."

"They hired us back in," she corrected. "Independent consultants. With a contract and everything."

"Feels like a demotion from 'saviors of the auction house,' but I'll take it."

Camille turned to face him fully. The chain around her neck shifted against her collarbone, the blue diamond pendant settling into the hollow of her throat. She had meant to put the ring in a safe. She had meant to sell it, or return it, or do any of the sensible things a woman with her history would do with a stone worth more than her apartment. Instead, she'd had it set on a simple platinum chain, and she hadn't taken it off since the day Roussel was led out of the boardroom in handcuffs.

Victor's eyes dropped to it for half a second. He never commented. He never asked. He just looked, and then he looked away, and Camille found that she loved him for exactly that.

"The light's better than the old display," she said, walking around the glass case. "They angled the spotlights to cut the glare off the emeralds. You can actually see the internal clarity now."

"You did that."

"I suggested it."

"You did that," Victor repeated. He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her, his footsteps echoing in the empty gallery. The renovation crew had left an hour ago. The security detail was stationed outside. For the first time in months, they were completely alone in a room with the necklace and nothing to steal.

Camille stopped in front of the case, her reflection ghosting across the glass. Behind her, Victor's reflection appeared, taller, darker, watching her with that expression he got when he was thinking about something he wasn't ready to say.

"Marchand approved the final layout," she said. "He wanted the necklace at the back wall, but I told him that was a mistake. The sightlines from the entrance—"

"Camille."

She stopped.

Victor moved to stand beside her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off his jacket. "It's over. The gallery's open. The necklace is safe. Roussel's trial is in two weeks, and the insurance company dropped their premium increase because the board voted to keep you on. You don't have to keep planning."

"I'm not planning. I'm—"

"You're triple-checking the locks on a case that's already been secured by four different systems." He turned to look at her. "I checked them myself this morning."

Camille opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He was right. She was still in planning mode, still scanning for exits, still cataloging every potential blind spot. It was how she'd survived the past year. It was how she'd survived him.

"It's a hard habit to break," she said quietly.

"I know." Victor's voice was softer now. "I've got the same one. Every time I walk into a room, I count the exits. Every time someone hands me a drink, I check for a wire. It's not something you just stop doing because the crisis is over."

Camille looked at him. In the months since the boardroom arrest, Victor had changed. The sharp edges of his con-man persona had worn down, not gone, but softened. He still dressed like he was about to run a job—dark blazer, crisp shirt, shoes that cost more than the rent—but the constant flicker of calculation behind his eyes had dimmed. He looked at her now like a man who had nothing to hide.

"I never asked you," she said. "About Lidia's annotated file. What she wrote on the warrant."

Victor's jaw tightened. A moment passed. Then he said, "She added a list of my known aliases. Including the one I used in Moscow." He paused. "The one that got someone killed."

Camille felt the words land like stones in her chest. She didn't ask for details. She didn't need them. She knew the shape of that kind of burden. She'd carried her own version of it for years after the first time he'd disappeared with her trust in his pocket.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said.

"I know."

"Whatever's in that file, I don't need to see it. I need you to show up tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that."

Victor's lips twitched. "That's the most romantic thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it."

He laughed, low and warm, and Camille felt something unclench in her chest. They stood there in the empty gallery, the necklace glittering under its spotlight, the sunset starting to paint the far windows in shades of coral and gold.

"Come on," he said, offering his hand. "Let's go see it from the outside."

She took his hand without hesitation.

---

The terrace outside the gallery overlooked the harbor. Monaco spread out beneath them like a jewelry box, all white stone and glittering water, yachts bobbing in the marina, the Casino's gilded dome catching the last of the sunlight. Camille leaned against the balustrade, the warm Mediterranean breeze tugging at the ends of her hair. Victor stood beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

"The board finally confirmed the appointment," she said. "Chief curator. Official. They emailed this morning."

Victor raised an eyebrow. "And you're telling me now?"

"I wanted to wait until we were somewhere nice."

"Camille. That's excellent news."

"It comes with conditions." She turned to face him, and the pendant swung against her collarbone, catching the light. "They want a full security review of the new gallery. And they want a name for the consulting firm we're planning to start."

"We don't have a firm."

"We do now. I put in the paperwork last week. 'Laurent & Associates.' You're the associate."

Victor stared at her. "You named a security consulting firm after yourself and made me the associate without asking me?"

"You said yes when I hired you at the auction house."

"That was different."

"How?"

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I don't know," he admitted. "I genuinely don't know how that's different."

Camille smiled, a real smile, the kind that reached her eyes. "Then it's settled. We work together. We build something. We stop running from the people we used to be."

Victor was quiet for a long moment. He looked out at the harbor, and Camille watched the thoughts move across his face, the old wariness, the older hope. Then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small box.

Camille's breath caught.

"Relax," he said, seeing her expression. "It's not that."

He opened the box. Inside, on a bed of black velvet, lay the blue ring's original setting—a delicate platinum band she'd convinced the insurance company to release after the evidence was sealed. It was empty now, the diamond hanging around her neck, but the workmanship was exquisite. The ring she'd offered him in a moment of trust and fear. The ring he'd never answered.

"Roussel's lawyers tried to claim it," he said. "But I filed a counterclaim. Ownership disputes go to the nonclaim registry in Monaco, and since you're the one who actually recovered the gem, the court ruled in your favor. It's yours, Camille. The whole thing. Ring and stone and the history that came with it."

She didn't move. "You did that?"

"I did that." He closed the box and pressed it into her hands. "You gave me a choice, back in that vault. You offered me the ring, and I never gave you an answer. Not a real one."

"And now?"

Victor stepped closer. The sunset painted his face in shades of gold and shadow. He reached up, very slowly, and took the pendant between his fingers. For a moment, he just held it, the blue diamond catching the light like a piece of captured sky.

"Now," he said, "I'm answering."

He let go of the pendant. His hand moved to her face, cupping her jaw, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. Camille leaned into his touch, and when he kissed her, it was slow and certain, the kind of kiss that wasn't the beginning of anything but the confirmation of something that had already begun months ago, in a vault, with a ring she'd been terrified to offer.

When they broke apart, they were both smiling.

"Does that mean you'll take the job?" she asked.

"Does this mean you'll stop calling me 'the associate'?"

"I'll think about it."

Victor laughed, and it was the freest sound she'd ever heard from him. He kept his hand on her face, his thumb still moving against her skin, and Camille realized she wasn't planning anymore. She wasn't scanning for exits. She wasn't cataloging the flaws in the security system or the blind spots in the lighting.

She was just standing in the Monaco sunset, in front of the harbor, beside a man who had once betrayed her and had spent the last year earning back everything he'd broken.

"You know what happens next?" she said.

"Enlighten me."

"We're going to open this gallery in the morning. We're going to present the necklace to the public, and you're going to stand next to me like you belong there."

"Because I do."

"Because you do." She reached up and pressed the box against his chest, letting it rest over his heart. "And then we're going to go back to my apartment, and for the first time in our lives, neither of us is going to have to look over our shoulder."

Victor took the box, slipped it into his coat, and pulled her close. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse against her cheek.

The harbor glittered. The galley lights went on behind them, painting the cobblestones in soft amber. The blue diamond lay warm against her skin, a promise she'd made to herself and a trust she'd given to another person.

Ahead of her, stretched out under the fading sky, was a future she hadn't let herself imagine.

She was ready for it.