Lady Valentina again pressed her lips together before she answered. “Sport is good for disadvantaged youths.”
Maxence wasn’t sure what Nico had thought when he had suggested Lady Valentina might be a qualified candidate for the monarchy if this was how she spent her time. He suspected charity was not how she spent her time, of course, and she had selected useless charities so she wouldn’t be obliged to do much for them.
He asked her, “About the upcoming election—”
Lady Valentina cut him off. “Of course, I shall be voting for you. It is customary that the eldest male of the line should inherit, and tradition is an important part of Monegasque culture.”
He asked her, his voice low, “But what if the heir apparent didn’t have to inherit?”
“Maxence, I have heard wild conspiracy theories that some people are trying to leapfrog you in the line of succession. I disapprove of such liberal nonsense. You need not lobby me, child. As the heir apparent, you have my vote.”
“Wait, you’ve heard what?” Alexandre or Nico must have been flapping their lips. “Who was talking about straying from the usual line of succession?”
“It seems like everyone, but don’t you worry, Maxence. There are plenty of us traditionalists who would never, ever consider such a travesty.”
Maxence needed to talk to Alexandre and Nico right away. “Thank you for your support, Lady Valentina. I have some things to discuss with my uncle Louis.”
Lady Valentina glanced toward the stand of tropical neon trees. “It’ll have to wait until tomorrow. He’s over there with Matryona Sokolov, so he’ll be high as a kite for the rest of the evening.”
The music seemed to stop in Max’s ears. “I beg your pardon?”
“Matryona supplies many of our set with off-label pharmaceuticals to get through the day. After Louis had back surgery eight years ago, he couldn’t quite kick the pain pill habit. It looks like she brought him some extra so he could have fun at the party. Oxycontin pairs so nicely with Chablis.”
The rope that suspended Max’s hopes broke and thudded into a tangled coil in the pit of his stomach. “Uncle Louis is addicted to pain pills?”
“Do you think that he and his friends would be undulating over there if they were merely drinking alcohol?”
The small group of middle-aged adults and seventy-somethings writhed to the approximate beat of the dissonant music.
Maxence turned back. “Thank you so much for your input, Lady Valentina. You’ve given me a lot to think about tonight.”
He moved away into the crowd, intent on getting to the door and out of this stupid surreal party. His two possible candidates for the throne had been dashed in one conversation, and so Max needed to make a Venn diagram or an Excel spreadsheet or something to help him figure out who to put forth to the Council to be the next Prince of Monaco.
Maxence stepped between people, intent on making his way to the bright rectangle and the exit when he almost bumped into a feminine figure in a scarlet gown with matching opera gloves.
“Maxence! How lovely to see you.”
“Nora, lovely to see you.” Double kiss. “What on Earth are you doing in Monaco?”
Princess Norberta von und Lichtenstein was the younger sister of Prince Antonius von und Liechtenstein, heir to the tiny country’s throne with the same name.
Not that Prince Maxence of Monaco should be calling any other country tiny.
Norberta was second in line to the throne after her older brother, and she was one of Europe’s more sought-after princesses.
The zaftig brunette smiled up at him, her tiny nose wrinkling. She slipped her hand under his elbow and snuggled up next to his side. “It’s so good to see you again. It seems like I never see anybody now that we are all out of college. And you are never anywhere when we get together.”
Nora was another boarding-school friend from Max’s childhood. “I’m not asocial.”
“Oh, of course not, but when everybody congregates on someone’s yacht or there is a wedding to go to, you are never anywhere to be found. You skipped your own brother’s engagement party last year. God rest his soul.”
Bringing up Pierre was an odd choice in the conversation.
Nora had steered Maxence over to one of the open bars where they claimed flutes of champagne. The effervescence popped and fizzled in Maxence’s mouth and sinuses. “My life after school has been a busy one.”
As was usual for boarding-school friends, they gossiped for a few minutes about other alumni, discussing who was doing what and who was in trouble with whom.
When Nora brought up one of the odd ducks in their class, Triston King, Maxence told her, “I heard Twist was hanging out at the yacht club here in Monte Carlo. Caz said he’s algorithm-trading global stocks and utilizing Monaco’s 5G network to outfox competitors.”
Nora batted her dark eyes up at him. “So unusual that you have the inside scoop on our classmates, but of course it makes sense that you know everything that’s going on in Monaco. Have you seen anyone else?”
Still odd. Max didn’t like it. “I saw Micah Shine in Paris a month or so ago.”
Nora smiled. “Slumming it with the scholarship kids, are you?”
“He was at a ball at Versailles. Micah looks like he was doing quite well for himself, not slumming it at all.”
Nora finished her champagne and set it on the tray of a waiter who was bussing tables as they passed. She cuddled herself closer to Maxence’s side. “I just meant that the scholarship kids aren’t like us.”
Maxence wasn’t sure if her comment was mere classism or an attempt to emphasize what the two of them had in common, which was enough royal blood to turn the floor sapphire blue. “They always seemed like good chaps.”
“You said you talked to Casimir. How is he doing these days?”
Casimir was a prince of the Netherlands, and another example of like-us. “Living the quiet life in California as his sister pushes him down the line of succession with each new baby.”
“How terrible for him.”
“I think he’s rather enjoying his life. His wife is an absolute delight.”
“Marriage can be so good for people of our status, don’t you think?”
The whole conversation with Nora felt forced. “I have some business to attend to, Nora. It was so lovely to meet you here tonight.”
“Yes, well, I heard that you are back in Monaco after one of your extended missions, and I wanted to be one of the first to welcome you back to society.”
“I can’t say I’m back in society,” Maxence said. “I’m only in Monaco for a few weeks, a few months at the most. I’ll have projects lined up all of next year, I dare say.”
She blinked again, but this time it was less fluttering her eyelashes and more trying to expel the grit of astonishment. “But you won’t be able to go away on extended charity projects when you’re the sovereign prince of Monaco.”
Her motives became clear. “Nora, I’m not sure who you’ve been talking to, but I have no intention of allowing myself to be crowned the sovereign prince. I have a vocation to the Catholic priesthood. I will be following that path. I am only back in Monaco to make sure that the succession is a peaceful and successful one.”
Nora’s eyebrows flinched downward, and her voice lowered in disgust. “You’re throwing away a throne?”
“Not throwing away a throne so much as dodging a bullet.”
Nora glanced toward the upper corners of the room with what seemed to be an aborted eye roll. “If Antonius got out of my way, I’d jump at the chance. I don’t know why you’re walking away.”
Maxence swallowed hard. “We have different priorities. I wish you well, and do say hello to everyone from Le Rosey at the next yacht party for me.”
Maxence shook off Nora’s hand and resolutely made his way toward the blazing rectangle of the exit.
Chapter Twenty
Downstairs
Dree
Dree was sitting on her
bed in the dorm-style room deep in the Prince’s Palace, looking at social media on her phone, when her door rattled faintly with a hesitant knock. She wiped her eyes and yelled, “Come in! It’s open!”
Chiara Diallo pushed a small serving cart into the room, placed her feet perfectly together, and pressed the door closed. The rolling cart held a teapot and two delicate cups. “I thought you might like some tea. It’s herbal. No caffeine, because it is late.”
Dree dropped her phone face-down on the nightstand and grinned her brightest I’m-not-crying smile. “I appreciate that.”
Chiara precisely tipped the teapot and poured dark pink liquid into the two cups. “Sugar? Lemon?”
Even Dree’s dolls hadn’t played at this fancy of a tea party. “One lump, please?”
Chiara added the sugar and handed the cup to Dree. After they had both sipped, Chiara sat on the small sofa and asked, “Are you quite all right?”
“I’m fine, fine,” Dree said, waving off her concern. “I’m just homesick.”
Chiara studied the cup she cradled in her hands. “There were social media posts concerning Prince Maxence?”
Dree snapped her eyes shut. “I’m being stupid. Don’t coddle me.”
“It is not ‘stupid’ to have feelings for one of the royals here. Many girls get caught up in the pageantry. Too many of us read Cinderella when we were little.”
Sadness leaked through Chiara’s epic discretion.
Dree asked her, “You, too?”
Chiara sipped her tea and positioned the cup on the small coffee table between them with the handle pointing precisely to the side. “Prince Pierre was a magnetic man. I worked closely with him for several years.”
Dree caught her breath. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Chiara’s shoulder rose in an instant of asymmetry that resembled a shrug. “It’s not uncommon to find an office romance has happened, but the broken hearts are always below stairs.”
Dree had watched enough PBS to get that reference, but barely. “Chiara, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Her shoulder rolled again. “His memory is a blessing.”
“Are you all right?”
She nodded. “The other staff were sympathetic.”
“Yeah, the secretaries always know everything.”
Chiara nodded quietly. “The housekeeping staff changes their sheets, and they are not fooled by a condom hidden under a tissue.”
Dree fell back on the couch, her hands over her eyes. “Oh, my God. Everybody knows.”
Chiara’s voice rose in distress. “I did not mean to alarm you. I am only stating that it’s no use trying to hide such things, and we are here for you. We are cohesive, below stairs.”
Dree grabbed her phone off the nightstand. “I started following Marie-Therese’s Insta after I met her the other day.”
Chiara nodded, seeming to follow along but not particularly approve.
“I grew up in America on a sheep farm. I’ve never seen clothes and jewels like that. I just wanted to follow her and see what their life is like.”
Chiara’s chin dipped. “And tonight, you saw too much.”
Dree held out her phone, where Maxence was kissing the cheek of a beautiful blond woman. “I have no illusions. He’s a rich guy, and rich guys get hit on. I’m not a rich girl, so I can’t expect him to care about what I think.”
Chiara regarded the photo dispassionately. “He is only greeting her, but that is Princess Kira of Prussia. Her family has more noble genetics than money. She used to come to Monaco to visit Marie-Therese and lie around the pool all day in a bikini, and then she turned up wherever Pierre was entertaining that night.”
“So, wait. This woman used to date Max’s older brother?”
Chiara tilted her head, studying the blonde on Dree’s phone. “Not dating so much as stalking.”
“Oh, my God! That’s weird!”
Chiara shook her head. “Royals are traditional. Some see work as beneath them or humiliating, or at the very most something to do until they marry one of their own kind who has a sufficient income.”
Dree shook her head hard, her curls bouncing off her cheeks. “Max isn’t like that. He worked so hard while we were in Nepal.”
“I understand that is true. However, he is one of them, not one of us. You’re going to see more and more situations like that. It’s not your fault. You can’t hold onto him. It’s the way they are.”
Dree wanted to protest. She wanted to say no, Maxence wasn’t like that. He wouldn’t just use and discard people like Chiara was saying all royals did.
On her phone, Maxence was kissing the very pale blond woman.
And when Dree swiped to the next picture, a brunette had her arm linked with Max’s and was gazing adoringly up at him. His look down at her seemed to be more fondness than sexually charged.
She held up the phone toward Chiara. “Who’s this?”
“Princess Norberta of Liechtenstein. She goes by Nora. Her brother will inherit the throne. She’ll be given an adequate allowance if she stays in Liechtenstein and works for the royal family. She’d rather marry someone in another country than stay in Liechtenstein. She will become superfluous when her brother marries and produces issue.”
Producing issue sounded like something forbidden by the Old Testament. “It’s like the fifteen-hundreds around here.”
Chiara made a whispery sound that seemed to be a very small sigh. “The thing is, those other royals have heirs and spares. We don’t. Monaco doesn’t. Our prior sovereign prince had no children, so the crown was to be passed to his younger brother’s sons, Pierre and then Maxence. Now that Pierre is gone, Maxence is the only one left.”
Dree let her phone drop to her lap. “But there are lots of royals around. You can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting Lord this or Lady that.”
Chiara’s brown eyes widened. “Why would you do that to a poor dead animal?”
Dree waved her hands. “It’s just a saying. Nobody swings dead cats. But my point is that this line of succession goes on forever. Isn’t, like, everyone in Monaco eventually in line for the throne?”
“No. The treaties with France are specific. Every schoolchild here knows that our nation is contingent on one bloodline. If a sovereign is not crowned, France has the legal right to take over this territory. We don’t want to be French. We’re Monegasques.”
Under her breath, Dree whispered, “Monagasquay.”
“Pardon me?”
Dree ignored it and barreled on. “You know Max is an ordained deacon in the Church, right?”
Chiara’s determined headshake must have rattled her brain. “That is a vile rumor. Prince Rainier IV would never have allowed it, and His Holiness would never have done that to us. Monaco needs him. If you are close to Prince Maxence, you can see why he will have to take the crown and why he must marry one of these princesses, probably quite soon.”
The rope holding Dree together snapped and unraveled, the ends banging around inside her chest as her stupid dreams fell apart. “He does?”
Chiara nodded intently. “Monaco has gone through a terrible trauma. First, Prince Rainier IV suffered a horrible stroke and lingered on a ventilator for over a month. We prayed for him, but he died. Then, the heir who was supposed to lead us was abandoned by his wife and took his own life. Every time we feel we are on solid footing, the ground is knocked out from under us again. Monaco feels like it’s teetering and going to fall, either to France or into the Mediterranean Sea. We need some good news. We need a good man to be crowned prince, and we need him to secure the line of succession by marrying and fathering children. Royal children, for us.”
The air had turned to ice around Dree, impossible to breathe. “I see.”
“I’m not telling you to give him up. I’m just telling you to guard your heart because he’s going to break it. Trust me, he’s going to break it.”
Tears trembled in Chiara’s brown eyes.
Dree said, “I’ll be care
ful. I know you’re right. I know I don’t have a chance with him. In the end, I’m just a sheep farmer from New Mexico, not a princess or whatever he’s looking for in his life.”
Chiara left Dree sitting in her dorm room clutching a cold cup of tea, thinking about the dead ends in her life.
There were a lot of dead ends to consider, and all of them were in the last couple of months.
She found a notepad and pen she’d inadvertently swiped from Maxence’s office and tried to journal or write some poetry, tactics that had clarified things for her when she was in college, but all that came out of the pen’s point was, I am stuck, I am stuck, I am stuck.
Chapter Twenty-One
The Good Sisters
Maxence
A few days later, on a sunny afternoon, Maxence grinned at his little chérie.
Dree glanced back at the rear of the office, but Maxence had already sent Quentin Sault off on some fool’s errand. She turned around and stared up at him with wide blue eyes as he sat behind his desk. “I’ve never gone swimming in the ocean before.”
“It’s the Mediterranean Sea, not an ocean, but it is salty.”
She grinned harder, and he just loved looking at her smile. She said, “Then it totally counts.”
“Come on, just like last time. Grab your notepad and pretend to take notes as we walk. The most important thing is to walk with purpose like we’re on our way to murder someone, and no one will even question where we’re going.”
“But I don’t even have a bathing suit!”
“There are a dozen little shops down by the beach that sell swimsuits. We’ll buy a few and change into them at the beach club.” Max stood up so fast that his chair banged into the bookcase under the window behind him. “It’s almost two o’clock. If we don’t leave now, we won’t have sunlight left on this astonishingly warm day.”
Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) Page 18