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Preface May 2006 He watched, intently, from deep within the crowd. Squinting, his eyes followed her every gesture. He realized the totality of his existence. One innate, graceful movement epitomized her completely as she raised one sculptured arm and snipped the pale-pink ribbon. A medley of silvery-gray balloons swirled above her head and rose in majestic splendor. At that moment, the dome of the solarium slid back, spotlighting the star-blanketed night. Opening night at the MJP Salon Paris jump-started a week-long celebration. Four riveting females beamed and waved at their teeming admirers as the circular stage rotated on its axis. High above the throng, the object of his affection, the statuesque beauty he could not ignore, drank in her due. She had created her dream—a thriving international fashion house, incorporating the talents of three distinctly different top designers. It had taken sixteen months to bring this night into fruition. Lila McCall’s undaunted fantasy had finally meshed, and Franklin was transfixed by her beauty and overwhelming success. His dark eyes swept over his wife. She’d changed very little in their near thirty years together. Resplendent in a voluminous teal satin gown, Lila bore her African nobility with haughty appeal. Her six-foot willowy frame and smooth dark mocha skin belied her age. “Forty-nine and holding,” she’d quipped earlier in their suite. “This is my finest hour.” Franklin’s mind took a decided turn, to his long-time, secret love. Claudine. She was still there, clawing at his analytical lawyer’s mind, beckoning him from afar, reclaiming his long-term devotion. He wore the burden of the last two years with grace. Still handsome and unpretentious after his enormous personal success, his suffering was still a mantle that cloaked his heart. Lila’s eyes roamed the crowd, then visibly softened when they found his. Franklin snapped off a crisp salute, giving her his highest praise and smiled as she soaked in his admiration. He loved her with all his being. That was the struggle. The enormity of his duplicity waged a never-ending battle with his fickle feelings, and he winced, his pain obscuring his pleasure. He was suspended somewhere in time. Johnny Diamond stood in awe, never daring to look away. Juanita Sanchez, glamorous and over-the-top, exhibited outrageous funk in an architectural, stark pajama design of hammered burgundy silk, never ceased to amaze him or her fans. Her ethnic, street-inspired fashions had spiked the charts, thanks in part to the fresh breed of newly-rich, hip Hollywood divas who favored her line. Her attitude reigned supreme amid her cohorts, a royal persona that suited her well. Juanita’s hand moved back and forth, like the slow-motion wave of a trained beauty contestant. The diamond-encrusted watch he’d bought her in Peru twinkled on her tiny wrist, causing prisms of light to dance beneath the soft glare of Napoleon Bonaparte’s antique crystal chandelier that dominated the room. As the platform rounded to face him, Juanita’s eyes sparkled with excitement as they crossed the sea of unknown faces and reached out to him. 2005 had been a phenomenal year, the year she had accepted her spiritual fate, but 2006 held so much more promise. This was their year. He’d spent nearly every moment of the last sixteen months aligning his life with hers. She’d conquered his soul and brought him to life as no one else had ever done. He’d found his nirvana. Theo, Johnny’s beloved older brother, stood next to him, a carbon copy of every man in the handsome Diamond clan. Theo was fully aware of Johnny’s intense observation. Sumi, Theo’s faithful Asian lover, observed them from their table of honor, a vision of exotic allure in an amethyst, custom-made velvet gown. Juanita had surprised her with it the night they arrived. Juanita had held a private gathering in her hotel suite where she had introduced them to Patti LaBelle. Sumi was still over the moon. Patti was her shining star. “This is something,” Theo whispered to Johnny. “Can’t believe all the celebrities in this room. This is a groupie delight.” His black eyes absorbed every detail of the elaborate scene. “Yeah, if you’re into all that,” Johnny said, his eyes still fixed on Juanita. Theo chuckled. “Juanita’s in Seventh Heaven.” “And, she’s gorgeous to boot,” Johnny responded, taking in her curvaceous hips. “Can’t miss her, can you? She’s the belle of the ball.” And, as if on cue, Juanita swept an errant tendril from her oval face. Johnny stood above the crowd, his six-foot-five inch frame an attraction in itself. He knew first-hand that Juanita Sanchez was an extraordinarily complex woman. Since their journey last year to Machu Picchu, Peru—Juanita’s paternal homeland—she’d become one hundred percent spiritually indoctrinated. She’d come into her own. He’d experienced her spiritual transition, and he’d been allowed to see and know. He’d been exceedingly fortunate. His nightclubs were the rage of Atlanta, and since he’d moved in with her, he’d been unduly content. They were now engaged, but he had one nagging suspicion. He was afraid of what lay ahead. Ravishing beyond belief, Pepper Hankerson plied the crowd. Her black sequined eye patch, a reminder of a former existence, glimmered in mysterious allure. Although her physical beauty far exceeded her friends and business partners, for those in the know, she smoldered with a darker veil. Momentarily mesmerized, Rubin could only stare. He’d wanted to make her Mrs. Rubin Burke, but events of the last year had dimmed his wishes. He was totally besotted by her, but because of her ingrained behavior, he’d begun to re-think their future. While still officially engaged, she’d begun her Parisian treks to help with the new salon. He’d advised against the grueling schedule, but she had been adamant about fulfilling her career ambitions. She, too, was one of the designers. She represented the “P” in the MJP salons. Her designs were skewed towards the classics, and elegance oozed from her carefully crafted sketches. Rubin had no doubt she loved him. It was her darker side that caused him such trepidation. He’d tried to walk away twice in the last eighteen months, but she’d asked…no, begged, him to stay. “You’re the only one I love, the only one I want…the only one who should be by my side,” she’d cried on both occasions. He would never hurt her and couldn’t bear to see her so distraught, so he’d stayed because he loved her. He wanted her to be all that she could be, to reach her summit in untainted victory, but he had his doubts. She’d lost too much ground. She glimpsed him then, and he noted the desperation on her face. His arms, folded across his chest, represented his defensive stance. He smiled, then nodded his glistening head. She threw him a tentative kiss, touching her full, ruby lips with the tip of her long, black-leather-encased finger. Black leather, he thought. How woefully fitting. She had an addictive bent, and Johnny had been one of the first to enlighten him on Pepper’s penchants. He’d later spoken with Dr. Ellerby, Pepper’s therapist, who verified Johnny’s assertions. Johnny was his best friend and boss and the only person who had told him the truth. Dismissing his straying reflections, Rubin unfolded his massive arms and waved, the thick muscles of his chest rippling his tuxedo shirt. He noted the swell of Pepper’s ample breasts as they rose above her black strapless gown. How truly beautiful she is. Her stupendous designs found their way into some of the most exclusive closets around the globe, including many A-list celebrities as well as a growing multitude of stodgy old-money mavens. Rubin returned the air-flung kiss, his heart now overflowing with love and compassion. Tall, olive-skinned, and ultra voluptuous, Pepper aroused his deepest emotions. He wanted no one else, could think of no one but her, but he was rooted in reality, a remnant of his Texas upbringing. As she tossed aside her long raven mane and presented her bravest facade, he ached with the pain of her circumstances because he had again seen the obvious signs…. Jeannot Brussard’s heart was filled with pride. An extremely wealthy attorney, he could see the new-found confidence radiating from his lady love. Micah McCall, the fierce one-woman magnet who, under the aegis of her mother, has been the impetus of this magnificent salon. She stood powerfully and strong in an unusually sophisticated spare sheath of silver sequins that played well to her no-nonsense casual style. Her bronzed, caramel skin glistened for all to see. She’s suffered enough, he thought. He leaned over to Franklin. “She’s something, isn’t she? Beautiful as well as smart.” “Yes. Just like her mother.” Jeannot, unable to decide whether Micah’s confidence was as a result of that much ballyhooed French elegance she had recently acquired while in Paris or whether it sprang from a reservoir of indeterminable strength that had been quelled so long at her core, dismissed it for what it was—trivia. He knew what mattered to her. She’d told him every detail of how she had accidentally killed her fiancé, Mike Sutherland, a few years ago and how she had clamored back from a deadening depression, and he admired her even more. When her eyes met his, he froze. How he loved her. What would he ever do without her? From this distance, he couldn’t discern what thoughts were behind those usually expressive eyes, but all he knew was that he was in way over his head, and wherever she led, he would follow. They had one escalating problem—Claudine and Franklin’s continuing affair. His mother, Claudine, and Micah’s father, Franklin, were caught in a vicious cycle of lies and innuendos, complications that had begun years ago while in college had now swelled to monumental proportions. They were desperately in love and had recently admitted they’d always been. Over the last few months, Micah had begun to back away, fearing further personal disaster. She was riddled with guilt, he knew, but was unable to confide in her mother or turn her back on her beloved father... Jeannot was steeped in the factual aspects of their parents’ union and better able to cope, but he remains supportive of Micah’s dilemma. He’s haunted, too, because he fears the end is near. 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