This one was the hardest.
To Father Moses—Your perception is correct. We should discuss my vocation and what I believed to be a Call from God to do His work to make the world better. Maybe I’m not that kind of man.
Maxence waited as patiently as he could while Dree was in the bathroom and caught up on several more personal texts he’d received. He assured Casimir he was alive, and Gen mentioned in a text that Arthur was “away.”
Afterward, Max ended up pacing through the living room.
His skin itched with wanting his little blonde.
His body heated, and he opened one more button at his throat. He’d already taken off the suit jacket and hung it over a chair.
He knew whom he needed to call.
Texting Quentin had been a stopgap measure that wasn’t going to keep them safe. Quentin couldn’t countermand orders from above him.
Max tapped a contact on his phone and listened to the rings.
A man’s voice answered, “What the hell do you want?”
Max’s other hand curled into a fist because just hearing his older brother’s voice made him want to punch Pierre in the face again. In Max’s defense, Pierre’s smug face was inherently punchable. “Call off your goons.”
Pierre’s sniff of disdain echoed through the phone. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You sent them. Corporal Rossi was right there in front. They’re your guys. Call them off, or I’ll punch Rossi in front of the Paris Opera House. The cell phone footage will make every news outlet, and everyone in the council will turn against you because they’ll assume you sent them to take me out.”
“I did no such thing.”
“It doesn’t matter who gave the order. You have ultimate authority right now. Recall them, or I’ll launch a campaign to take it away from you. I’ll come back and talk to people about it. You know I could.”
Pierre’s voice was still a bored drawl. “Quentin told me that you’d been spotted in Paris, but I haven’t sent anyone, either to look after you or to impede you. Quite honestly, I’m too damn busy to worry about you.”
The phone clicked in Max’s ear as the connection broke.
Yeah, he’d call them off. Pierre was just establishing his plausible deniability that he’d sent them in the first place.
Maxence checked to make sure the door’s locks had latched properly one more time and called down to the front desk. “Security update. I have no visitors scheduled, and I need upgraded security measures.”
“Yes, sir,” the front desk said, but the woman’s voice didn’t give him that little frisson when she said Sir. “I’ll have a guard posted at your door tomorrow morning at six. As it’s a Sunday night, I’m sorry that I can’t have someone there sooner. Your floor is already restricted to keycards only.”
“Thank you.” He hung up. Six o’clock was only a few hours away.
Damn, he wished Arthur’s clothes had weapons hidden in them, as they should’ve had. Weren’t the lethal toys the whole point of being a British spy in Her Majesty’s Secret Service?
A few minutes later, Dree emerged from the bathroom, looking fresh as though she’d washed her face, and she briskly skipped over to where he stood. “Hey there. What’s on the agenda for the rest of the evening?”
Maxence took one look at her swollen, pink eyelids and delicate blood vessels on the tip of her nose. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing! Look, this ex-boyfriend thing is making me a little crazy. I got some texts that were asking me about him and what went wrong with the relationship. I don’t want to discuss it with them or with you. I had a fantastic time going to the Eiffel Tower this evening. Well, you know, before. I just want to have a great night, and whatever happens tomorrow, we’ll deal with it then.”
A rush of air filled Max’s lungs. “Yes, tonight. That’s all we know we have, anyway, right?”
She squinted at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”
He surveyed the room: gold and cream walls, mirrors on the support column that reflected the city lights from the window, blue-patterned carpet, the sound of traffic far below the window, the scent of the pastel pink and cream roses on the coffee table. “Carpe diem. Memento mori. Live for the moment and each day as if it is your last because death will take us all.”
Dree raised her sandy eyebrows. “Right. Okay. You’re in a cheerful mood. So, what do you want to do to me first, Sir?”
Her brazen acknowledgment that this evening was a transaction slapped him in the face. Most prostitutes, the real ones anyway, glossed over that part of the financial part of the relationship for the fantasy of it. There was The Girlfriend Experience, The Stranger Fantasy, or different ones for more rarified tastes.
In a moment, for perhaps the only moment in his life, Maxence wasn’t in the mood.
It was so unexpected that Max clutched his temples and groaned. By all the saints and especially Saint Augustine, had God finally granted him chastity?
Not right now, for the love of God, not right now!
Dree reached forward, hooking her fingers in the waistband of his trousers.
Maxence stumbled back, slapping at her hands.
This wasn’t a gift. It was a goddamn curse.
“Sir, are you all right?” Her sweet blue eyes were getting bigger.
Dree had said she wanted Max to lie about everything. Okay, he would. “I’m concerned about our security tonight.”
Although, that wasn’t entirely a lie. Max was concerned, but that wasn’t why he currently wanted to keep his pants on.
“Oh.” She looked at the window that showed Paris spread out below the hotel like a sparkling carpet of light below their feet. “That wasn’t just someone you didn’t want to talk to tonight.”
“No,” he said. “Do you want me to tell you more?”
She shook her head. “Not unless you want to.”
He didn’t. Due to who he was and what he was, Max had been the object of so many people’s fetishes over the years, no matter what he did. Just standing there with her, incognito, was a relief, and yet that meant he couldn’t explain his need for security to her.
“Is it about the inheritance?” She glanced around the well-appointed suite at the Four Seasons, Paris. “Because it kind of looks like you have plenty of money.”
“I don’t want the inheritance,” he said.
“Then, they’re just being dicks about it?”
Maxence laughed. “Yes, they are being giant dicks about it.”
“Look, if you don’t want to see those people or whatever, why don’t we just hole up here in the hotel for a few days?” she asked him. “We don’t have to order that over-priced room service. We can get food delivered from wherever, and we can catch up on movies on the television. I’ll bet they even have HBO.”
He laughed again and rested his hands on his knees. “Yes, I think it’s quite possible that they even have HBO. But, your bucket list. There were several more items on it that you should do while you’re here in Paris.”
“It’s okay, Augustine. I don’t care. I can come back someday.”
He was aware that she probably wouldn’t. “But the Louvre. You have to see the Louvre. You can’t come to Paris for your first time, your very first time, and not fight the crowds to see the Winged Victory of Samothrace or the Mona Lisa. I feel like I should warn you about the rugby scrum around the Mona Lisa.”
“I don’t have to go. I can see it anytime. If there’s someone out there who you don’t want to see or who makes you this upset, I don’t want to go anywhere. Besides, I don’t like crowds. And you shouldn’t spend the money on tickets for a museum that you’ve already seen.”
He waved a hand to dismiss her worries about the money. “The tickets aren’t expensive.”
“Still. You’re spending too much on me. You bought me a bunch of clothes.”
“You had no clothes,” Max said. “You needed clothes.”
“You’ve bought me expensiv
e clothes.
He flipped his fingers in annoyance. “I wanted you to look appropriate.”
Her hands fluttered to indicate the ornate columns and the carved woodwork on the ceiling and walls of their suite. “I’m staying in this ridiculously expensive hotel.”
“I was already staying here,” Max clarified.
“At least that ball is a charity ball, so the tickets were free, right?” she asked.
Good Lord, no. The ticket for two had been ten thousand euros. “Yes. True. The tickets were free.”
“We don’t have to pile on the admission tickets for a museum to see old and dusty things on top of that, especially since you’ve already seen it all.”
“We can go,” Max said. “We’ll figure it out.”
Dree shook her head. “No. We won’t do it. We don’t have to go to the ballet or the charity shindig if people you don’t want to talk to will be there.”
“The hotel will provide some security starting tomorrow morning,” Maxence said. “We can go to the ballet and the ball. The ball will have security for some of the people there.”
“Well, good,” she said, though her lowered brows made her appear confused.
“I want you to have a chance to see the Louvre.”
Her breathy voice was firm. “But I can’t, and it’s okay.”
Maxence paused for a moment, thinking about the Louvre’s weekly schedule. “We could go Tuesday.”
“But it’ll be packed. It sounds like safety is an issue. And I already said no because of the price of the tickets. Seventeen euros is more than twenty dollars.”
“The Louvre is closed on Tuesdays.” That much was true. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that if you go on the day when the Louvre is closed, the admission is free.” It wasn’t.
“That’s crazy!” Dree said. “It would be even more packed than ever.”
“People don’t know about it, but I do. We’ll just go on the day it’s closed, so we’ll avoid the crowds, and it will be free.” Max would have to bribe someone.
“I don’t know,” she said, one eyebrow lowered dubiously.
“A friend of mine had her wedding reception in the Louvre,” Maxence said. Flicka and Max had coordinated three charity receptions at three separate venues that night and extorted millions from their wealthy friends for their work. “I met some of the people who work at the Louvre during the organization. I can call the office and make arrangements. They’ll sneak us in a side door and let us wander around while it’s closed.”
“Only if it’s free,” she said, her eyes wide and serious like she was making a deal.
“I guarantee it that no money will change hands that day.” Max would have to make a sizeable donation to facilitate it. Sizeable. But it would all be electronic. No hands would be needed.
“Well, okay then.”
“Excellent.”
“So, ballet tomorrow, Louvre on Tuesday, and charity ball Wednesday,” Dree said, counting on her pretty little fingers with her crimson, enticing fingernails.
“And Thursday is the end,” Maxence said. He didn’t know why his voice sounded so wistful.
“Right.” Dree looked down. “Right. It is.”
He stepped toward her. “It has to be, you know. I have a trip for work that I have to leave for on Thursday.”
“Thought you were changing careers.”
“Haven’t given up the old one yet.”
“Where?” she asked, though it sounded like she was just making conversation.
“The Democratic Republic of the Congo,” Max said, forgetting to lie.
“Oh, okay. That’s a long flight.”
Maxence nodded. “Twelve hours or so.”
Dree laughed. “I forgot you were kidding me. The Congo, right. Okay. But I will have to decide whether or not to go home.”
“You’re deciding?”
“Long story,” Dree said. “Don’t ask. I don’t even know what my options are, yet.”
“All right.” He reached over and touched her fingers. “Let’s just sleep.”
Dree searched his eyes for a minute. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. I’ve had a rough couple of days. The day before I met you, I rescued an old school friend from her abusive mafia husband and didn’t sleep much.”
A smile crept onto her face. “Right. That.”
He touched her silken hair at her temple, twisting it into little curls. “And then I rescued a cute little blonde from a horde of men crazed by her beauty.”
Dree cracked up.
Max liked it when she laughed. “Come on. Let’s sleep. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
“I could sleep.”
He recognized that little glitter in her eyes. He’d seen it many times, and every time, it meant someone was going to try to seduce him.
Even as he led her toward the bedroom and shooed her into the bathroom to change into the long tee shirt he’d given her from Arthur’s stash, he wasn’t sure whether he was going to resist.
He should have bought her a nightgown, he ruminated, but he hadn’t thought of it while they were out. He could have purchased something very tiny and naughty, little more than a few ribbons tied around her pale skin, and insisted she sleep in it.
The lace panties had been sufficient, however. He liked those.
After she padded over to the bed, Maxence took his turn and brushed his teeth. He considered himself in the mirror, not pleased with the curse of St. Augustine. Considering his mildly lascivious thoughts about making Dree wear something reminiscent of bondage to sleep in, maybe it was wearing off.
He hoped so.
The man in the mirror looked haggard, Max decided, and probably just needed more calories and gym time. When he got up to his usual fighting weight, he’d return to normal.
He just hoped he felt his old lascivious self before he left for The Congo and Dree went wherever she was headed off to.
He finished getting ready for bed and emerged from the bathroom wearing Arthur’s red and blue pajama pants and a white tee shirt.
Dree was sitting in the bed, looking at something on her phone. She looked him up and down, ogling the way the white tee clung to his shoulders and chest.
Yep, a lot of people had looked at Max like that in his life, from the time when he was far too young to while they were shopping that afternoon.
When a pretty little woman like Dree did it, the evening might end with his dick in her mouth, so that was okay. However, lots of people had ogled Maxence like that, lots of them, and he was pretty good at deflecting most of it before it reached an embarrassing moment for both of them.
However, the little blonde was looking at him with fire in her eyes, and he felt a little less like this might be just a transaction or like he had coerced her with money.
He knew that, as a man, he wasn’t supposed to care about that, but he did. After you’ve done that a number of times, it becomes monotonous.
She asked, “Are those your jammies?”
He scowled at his legs. “No, these are Arthur’s. I think all these red and blue lines represent the Union Jack.”
Dree kept looking at him, and her eyes got a little bigger, slid left, then back to him, and she seemed at a loss for words.
Ah, Max needed to define Union Jack. “The Union Jack is Great Britain’s flag. It’s the red and white stripes and the blue triangles. The various crosses and saltires essentially represent England, Scotland, and Ireland.”
“Oh! I see it now!” she said.
“Arthur is an Englishman, and he’s very, very British.”
Dree asked, “And what are you?”
Maxence looked up at her, considering whether he was supposed to continue to lie to her or whether he should tell her the truth. He waited a beat before he said, “Monegasque.”
“Oh? I’ve never heard of Monagasquay, but I’m an American. Our geography curriculum is terrible. Where is it?”
Monagasquay.
Maxence c
hoked back a full-throated laugh and turned it into a cough. First, he wouldn’t want to embarrass the poor girl, but also because it was the cutest little mistake he’d ever heard.
Monagasquay.
When Max got home, he had to tell his cousin Alexandre about that one. Alex would die laughing. Alex’s recently-wed wife was American, and he’d tease her about that forever.
But for now, Maxence coughed, recovering his composure.
When he thought about it, her interpretation of the word Monegasque made sense. She was from the southwestern US, so she was probably more familiar with South American countries like Paraguay and Uruguay. When she’d tried to make a country’s name out of the nationality Monegasque, it hadn’t worked, so she’d figured something out.
Come to think of it, Monegasque was a peculiar word.
Max cleared his throat and tested it with a few harrumphs to make sure he wasn’t going to bray laughter. Then he said, “Yes, you’re right. I’m from Monagasquay.”
“What’s it like?” she asked him.
“Monagasquay is a very small country and sort of near France and Italy. Very, very small. Smaller than Luxembourg. Sometimes, we sweep the whole country with a broom just to keep it tidy. It’s practically just a harbor and beach, and there’s a casino, too.”
Dree nodded. “Monagasquay sounds beautiful. I love beaches.”
Max walked over to the other side of the bed. Damn, this was killing him, and he couldn’t laugh now. That would be mean, and Maxence was never mean. “The beach is amazing. Blue water, because it’s the Mediterranean Sea and part of the French Riviera.”
She sighed, smiling. “Oh, wow. Sounds gorgeous.”
“Oh, it is. Simply stunning.” Maxence got a terrible idea, and he did it. “And as a matter of fact, I am a prince of Monagasquay. I’m second in line to the throne.”
Chapter Eleven
Prince Auggie
Dree
Dree paused, shocked to her bones.
Augustine said he was a prince, and he was second in line to the throne?
So, he was going to be a king someday?
Then, like, why had he been just standing at the Buddha Bar in Paris?
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