Reign: A Royal Romantic Suspense Novel (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5)

by Blair Babylon

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Steel Walls and Diamond Windows

  Dree

  After supper, they meandered through the house to a library without helping wash the dishes or anything, and they sat and talked among the books for a while. When Dree yawned for the second time, Rae showed them back to the guest suite, where their luggage that had been at the Four Seasons was waiting for them.

  Dree dug into her suitcase. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought I was going to have to brush my teeth with my finger until we got back to Mona—wah!”

  Maxence had swept her feet out from under her and tossed her onto the bed. The mattress bent toward him as he clambered on after her.

  She bounced, whisper-shouting, “Jeez! No, Max! They will hear us!”

  “I can guarantee they won’t,” he whispered back, nuzzling her ear. “Wulf mentioned to me that their master suite and nursery are in another wing of the house. This compound is around half the size of the Prince’s Palace, you realize, which is essentially an apartment building with office and conference space. They have a large live-in staff, including a significant number of on-premises security people.”

  Dree looked at the walls as if she could tell how thick they were by just glancing at them. “You’re sure?”

  Maxence grinned. “Considering that Wulfram designed and built this manor house himself, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was classified as a nuclear blast shelter with Corinthian columns out front. There is a non-zero chance that these walls are eight inches of steel with a thin coating of plaster over them.”

  Dree pointed. “And the window?”

  “A foot and a half of pure diamond.”

  Dree cracked up. “Okay, okay, I get your point. The walls are probably thick enough if we’re quiet.”

  Maxence dipped his head and ran his lips up the side of her neck, whispering in her ear, “As always, that’s up to you.”

  But it wasn’t up to her.

  Maxence teased her with deep, hot kisses and firm caresses to her ass and breasts until she was panting. He stripped off her clothes, then his, and then he got rougher.

  Caresses turned into pinches, grips with his fingers became tighter, and strokes with his tongue turned into nips and then bites. The coarse hair on his legs and bunny trail rasped against her smooth skin.

  In the throes of passion, she craved the intensity and couldn’t distinguish pain from pleasure.

  He stood on his knees, hauled her ankles over his shoulders, and shoved inside her. She was so wet that he slid in up to the hilt, his body rough against hers as he held her hips and pressed deep inside her.

  Dree arched, lifting her back off the bed, too, and screamed behind her tightly closed lips as his body filled her, pressing her open as he sheathed her body onto him. When he fucked her hard like that, his cock rubbed her all the way, from the rim to the farthest depths of her channel, like her whole body had turned inside out. His penetration hit every nerve in her body, a friction that forced her to the edge and over with just a few breaths.

  When her back bowed farther and the throbbing ran up her spine and ballooned in her head, Maxence dropped her hips and legs and followed her down, scrambling on his hands and knees to thrust into her harder.

  The orgasm roared through her, a torrent that blinded and deafened her. Maxence pervaded her, filling her body and mind and soul as he dug into the mattress with his knees, trapping her in his arms, and ground into her.

  She was clinging to him, crying.

  She was digging into him, dying.

  Her hands clenched as her body spasmed, and her nails ripped into his skin.

  Maxence curled his back, pressing harder against her fingernails, and his body shuddered in hers.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The Country Girl

  Dree

  A caravan of SUVs ferried them back to the airport the next morning, where Maxence had scheduled the jet to be on the tarmac and warmed up. As they walked through the private terminal, their passports were screened in the most cursory of manners, and the plane sped down the runway and lifted off into the sky.

  “So, Wulf and Rae are coming to the enthronement next month? I can’t believe they’ll be traveling with a baby that’s only three months old!” Dree said to Maxence.

  He smirked. “Knowing Wulfram, he has probably organized their childcare regimen like he does everything else. Nothing would dare go wrong.”

  Dree asked him, “How many people do you think there will be at the enthronement? Like, a couple dozen or so? Maybe a hundred? That throne room isn’t that big.”

  Maxence glanced up at her from where he was thumbing something into his phone. “It’s not going to be in the throne room. We carpet the Court of Honor that’s inside the castle walls. There will probably be a thousand people there, possibly including your American president. Your government will certainly send someone.”

  A thousand people.

  They were going to convert the courtyard into a throne room, and a thousand people were going to be there.

  Dread settled over her. Chiara had said that the Monegasque citizens deserved a royal wedding. She’d said that the prince would owe it to them. “Maxence?”

  “Yes, chérie?”

  “Where’s our wedding going to be held?”

  Maxence set down his phone with the screen facing down on the table between them. He kept staring at it for a moment, chewing his lip, before he looked up. “It’s the bride’s prerogative, of course, but Monaco has not had a royal wedding ceremony at the palace since my uncle married forty years ago.”

  “What about Pierre?” she asked, stalling.

  “Flicka insisted on being married in Paris. She had three receptions, two of which required sizable donations for an invitation, which went to her charities. She raised millions that day for her work. It was of great benefit to the world. She oversees her charities like Wulfram organizes nanny services, but Monaco missed out. It was a great disappointment to our citizens.”

  The arms of the airplane seat felt like they were shaking under her fingers. “So there’s no chance of us getting married in a barn in New Mexico, is there?”

  “You and I can sneak off and have any ceremony you want, anywhere you want, but Monaco needs a royal wedding. In the past, tradition has been a civil ceremony in the throne room, where we would be legally married by a government magistrate. The next day, there is usually a large celebration with the religious ceremony, often a full Mass. The courtyard is consecrated to use as a church. That’s where my grandparents were married. The video of it was beautiful. Afterward, the reception is held someplace large. The Grimaldi Forum should be renovated by the time we get married in a few months.”

  Dree was chewing on her lip as the thought of planning such an enormous wedding settled in. She couldn’t even imagine what the cake was going to look like. “Can my parents come?”

  “Of course,” Maxence said and picked up his phone. “We’ll send the jet for them a week or so ahead of time. That way, if they want to do any shopping, they have plenty of time to do it at their leisure.”

  “How many people are going to attend our wedding?”

  Maxence set the phone down again. “About the same. Around a thousand. Perhaps a bit more.”

  Her breath fluttered in the top part of her chest. “Where are they all going to sit?”

  Maxence explained, “We have seating for events like this. If you hate the chairs, buy new ones.”

  “A thousand chairs? You want me to buy a thousand chairs?”

  “Only if you want to.”

  “There’s going to be a thousand chairs at our wedding.”

  “Dree, what’s going on? There will be a thousand guests, so there will be a thousand chairs.”

  “I can’t make a thousand flower bunches and bunting to wrap around a thousand chairs! And the swag bags! How am I going to make up a thousand swag bags for all the guests? I mean, I was thinking about maybe some pretty little candles
in red and white because those are Monaco’s colors. And a few squares of chocolate. Maybe some hand sanitizer. But if I do that, then it’s a thousand candles, and a thousand mini-bottles of hand sanitizer, and three thousand squares of chocolate!”

  Maxence wasn’t exactly smiling. His expression was more in wonderment of her naïveté. “You don’t have to make the bunting for the chairs, and you don’t have to make the gift bags. All you have to do is tell the planners what you want, and it will all happen without you doing anything about it. The only thing you need to do is go shopping for a dress, pick it out, and go to the fittings. Other than that, point at pictures of what you want, attend a scaled-down mock-up of the event for a few hours, and sign off on the approval. You should probably tell me what the colors are, though they’ll arrange for the boutonniere and such.”

  “Well, it should be red and white, shouldn’t it? Because of Monaco? We should do red and white, right?”

  His smile turned gentler. “That’s one of the major decisions for the wedding, and you’ve just made it. We’re settled. Red and white it is.”

  “Is that okay? It doesn’t look like I’m trying too hard, does it?”

  Maxence reached across the table and took her shaking hands in both of his warm ones. “Everything you do will be perfect. If you want my advice, I’ll let you know which might be good choices, but so will the planners. I won’t let you make a mistake. At the end of this, everyone will know that you’re as perfect as I think you are.”

  Dree sat back in her airplane seat. “Well, okay, then. At least that’s settled.”

  She was way out of her depth.

  She wasn’t marrying Maxence. She was marrying Monaco.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Poaching

  Maxence

  The morning after they returned to Monaco, Maxence arrived at his office in the Prince’s Palace a few minutes before Dree, who had insisted on staying on as his supposed secretary, which amused Maxence to no end. Somebody needed to take notes, though.

  Dree bustled in just a few moments before their first scheduled meeting, holding her tablet. “Sorry I’m late. Chiara and I got to talking. I’m going to steal her from the palace admin staff to work with me on the wedding.”

  Maxence nodded. “Poaching is how I hire many of my best employees. I heartily recommend it. Our first meeting is with Magnus Jensen, the commander from Rogue Security. They found a few troubling items relating to our staff, and we’re going to review some of the problems. Are you sure you want to be here for this?”

  She frowned an adorable little moue. “Don’t you need somebody to take notes for the palace record?”

  “This won’t be submitted to the palace record. It’s delicate.”

  Dree seated herself in the secretary chair with a flourish of her swishy skirt that was begging to be flipped up over her back while she was bent over his desk. “Then you’ll definitely need me to take notes on all the seafood supplies you talk about, because rules are rules. Something has to be deposited for the palace record.”

  Ah, his funny little chérie. “Give me your panties.”

  Five minutes later, Dree was sitting back in her secretary chair with flushed cheeks and a pretty pink bare bottom under that flouncy skirt of hers when Maxence’s first appointment was shown in.

  The acting commander for the Rogue Security detachment in Monaco, Magnus Jensen, strode in carrying a computer bag. His black hair was as dark as Maxence’s, though shorter on the sides and top, but their similarity ended there. Whereas Max had been born under the Mediterranean sun, Magnus Jensen’s skin was pale like his flesh might be limned with frost under his light tan, and his eyes were the pale blue of a Nordic winter sky.

  Magnus said, “Our weekly report has changed little since last week. As we are liaising with your police, Matryona Sokolov has told us a little more about her operation in France and Spain. There is now enough to submit a report to Monaco’s courts for investigation. In addition, she was more forthcoming with information about Marie-Therese and Jules Grimaldi and has agreed to testify against them. Your public prosecutor will be bringing additional charges soon in your criminal court.”

  Maxence nodded. “Good. And the special report?”

  Magnus removed a laptop computer from his bag, which he opened and placed on the end of Maxence’s desk, facing inward.

  The screen seemed to be black and yet was backlit as if the computer was on.

  Maxence squinted at it.

  Barely perceptible in the Monegasque sun shining on the screen from the windows behind him, the outline of a man in a darkened room moved slightly on the screen.

  Maxence turned to Magnus Jensen. “And who is this?”

  Magnus said, “May I present Blaise Lyon, one of Rogue Security’s resident IT and communication specialists.”

  That meant Lyon was a hacker of course.

  The computer, and presumably the man on the screen, said, “A pleasure to meet you,” in a profoundly deep voice with a distinctive rasp to it. A sound like microphone feedback played when he spoke.

  Magnus looked at the screen and frowned. “Do you have a cold, Blaise?”

  “Yes,” the man said, his voice like a bass singer in a barbershop quartet.

  Yet, Maxence could have sworn the male voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  As Maxence’s eyes adjusted to looking at the screen, there did indeed appear to be a human shape on it. The outline of a cowl shadowed the man who sat in darkness, and one line of light traced the bridge of his nose and one cheekbone.

  Magnus said, “Blaise has been evaluating the social media and other electronic communications of members of Monaco’s Secret Service, police department, and other security services. He has found a few troubling communiqués that we would recommend would disqualify someone from continuing to hold a post in your organization.”

  “You’ve found collaborators then,” Maxence said.

  Magnus nodded and removed a short report from his computer bag, laying it on the desk between himself and Maxence. “Considering that you had a disinformation campaign running for years from an internal, trusted source, we found very few problematic communications. All hits were evaluated by Rogue Security personnel, including Aiden Grier, who was undercover within your Secret Service a few months ago. Many were routine transfers of information, not conspiracy.”

  Maxence steeled himself. “How many people are involved?”

  Magnus flipped open the report that was stapled in the corner and creased the paper back. “Eight.”

  Most of the names listed on the report, Maxence did not recognize, which was a blessing. The few that he did recognize were low-level personnel but not officers.

  Magnus said, “We believe the majority of the conspiracy can be traced back to Quentin Sault and Michael Rossi, whom you already named.”

  “How certain are you?” Maxence asked.

  “We are quite secure with these conclusions.” Magnus gestured toward the black computer screen, where the faint outline of a hood was visible on the person there. “Blaise made incursions into your systems prior to the Winter Ball in December, and he correlated intelligence from that time with current data. These two data points have made us quite certain that these eight names,” Magnus tapped the piece of paper on the desk, “are the extent of sympathizers within your organization.”

  “Pierre was in charge of this organization for a long time. Years, really, as my uncle Prince Rainier IV slowly ceded power to him. Prince Jules also had a propaganda campaign among his security people that bled into the palace’s security.”

  Magnus nodded. “Most of the people in your organization were not blind to Pierre’s weaknesses. They escorted him to visit his other family with Abigai Caillemotte in France. They were present when he married Princess Friederike von Hannover, and they knew Caillemotte was present at the wedding and in the hotel because they had escorted her there. They provided security so Pierre could visit her
in her hotel suite, which was the second-largest suite in the hotel after the one Princess Friederike von Hannover had reserved for herself and Pierre.”

  Pierre had been a coward and had forced the people who worked for him into duplicity. It was a little surprising that his own security forces hadn’t assassinated him. That’s what usually happened to leaders who forced people with guns to choose between them and their country.

  “From the communications that were surveyed, Friederike von Hannover was very popular with the security staff. Abigai Caillemotte was not. They viewed Caillemotte as not only a security risk and moral failing but as a threat to Monaco, should Pierre be crowned the sovereign prince and then go through a divorce or want to marry a Protestant. There was a great deal of discussion as to whether Princess Friederike von Hannover should be approached and informed before her wedding, but we believe it didn’t happen.”

  If Flicka had walked out on the wedding, Pierre might still be alive and would have been crowned the Sovereign Prince of Monaco soon after Prince Rainier IV’s death, and Flicka would be dealing with much less trauma in her life.

  In that scenario, Maxence would probably have finished out his tour of Nepal with Dree and proposed to her somewhere in the Himalayas. They would have run off to New York or Paris and lived out their lives quietly, doing their charitable work and raising children.

  He stole a glance at Dree Clark, who was dutifully in the middle of a creative writing project with illustrations about sea scallops.

  But it didn’t matter what Maxence might have wished or not. The past was over.

  Magnus continued, “Most of the people in your organization were not personally loyal to Pierre. They are loyal to Monaco and the people of Monaco. There was a great deal of cognitive dissonance. The communications we saw were substantially less alarming than many other investigations I have conducted, both with Rogue Security and before.”