“And this one?” I ask, pointing to a pale blue stone.

“That is the Blue Moon Diamond. It’s a flawless thirteen-carat vivid blue diamond. Discovered in India in 1703, it was then purchased by French royalty. It has enjoyed a long history of use as a crown jewel. It has graced Louis XV’s coronation crown and the scepter of Napoleon III.”

“Beautiful,” I say, standing back up and looking at him rather than the rings. “They all are. Who did you say sent you?”

He adjusts his stance as if somewhat flustered by my shift in conversation.

“Mr. Mercier.”

“The father or son?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Frédéric.”

“I see.”

I step away from the briefcase and offer Eugene a tight smile. “I do appreciate you allowing me the pleasure of viewing these stones today, and though I hate to leave you with a task, I do think it would be more fitting to have the younger Mr. Mercier, Emmett, choose from among them.”

“Of course.” Nodding with understanding, he walks swiftly toward the briefcase and closes it securely once again. “It’s no trouble at all. I understand the appeal of doing things the old-fashioned way. I’ll set up an appointment with Mr. Emmett Mercier right away. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my men and I will be on our way.”

They vacate my hotel suite smoothly, one security guard positioned on each side of Eugene.

Already, there’s a pit in my stomach. The pleasure of my morning is gone now, replaced with worry over what Emmett will do once he receives that case. He probably doesn’t even know about it, not if his father was the one to send the jeweler here today, never mind the intrusion on my privacy. I’m sure my grandmother was all too happy to inform Frédéric where I’d be this weekend.

Determined to continue my day as planned, I grab my purse and head for the hall.

The wait for the elevator is long, but when I step on, I’m blessedly alone. I ride the whole way down with only my reflection in the mirrored walls to contend with.

The doors open to a cacophony of noise down in the lobby. I pass more than a few familiar faces and smile at them as I pass. It seems everyone who was here for the fundraiser last night is checking out of the hotel and heading home at this precise moment.

I bypass the madhouse and rush out into the crisp autumn air to join the taxi line. With it being so close to the hotel’s official checkout time, the line is slightly longer than I expected, though I’m sure it’ll move fast. The sidewalk is bustling with people toting their luggage out of the hotel. Bellmen rush around, attempting to direct the flow of traffic and offload bags from tired guests. A sleek black Range Rover pulls up to the curb, blocking the taxi lane and eliciting curses from the people in front of me in line.