Whenever the thought of Father Moses arose, Maxence’s mind darted away. He was keenly aware that he had one night left with Dree before he went back to his other life.
He’d caught a glimpse of Dree when she came back from the spa, her hair carefully arranged and wearing perfectly applied makeup, but she’d flitted into the bedroom and told him not to peek.
They dodged around each other for an hour while he showered, shaved, and dressed in the tuxedo Arthur had also left in the closet. It was conservative, unobtrusive, and unrelieved somber black, which was not Maxence’s style at all. The Tom Ford tux he’d worn a few nights ago in Monte Carlo was midnight blue, which in a tuxedo is a dashing fashion statement.
The door from the bedroom opened. Dree emerged, dressed in the scarlet and black body-hugging sheath he had picked out for her at the Alexander McQueen boutique. Her soft blond hair curled like a halo on her head, and her make-up accentuated her already generous but beautiful features.
With her hair and makeup done, Dree was an absolute bombshell. The black eyeliner drew out her eyes to be flirty and sensual.
He hoped she felt as good as she looked.
The oxblood lipstick on her full lips drew him.
Her garnet fingernails with very subtle glimmers of gold nearly made him drop his phone and take her to bed.
He sauntered over and offered her an elbow. “You look absolutely beautiful, and I shall be the envy of every other man tonight.”
She beamed a dazzling smile at him. “Hush your mouth, Augustine. You’ll turn my head.”
He’d arranged for the hotel’s car to pick them up in the underground parking garage. The ride to the Palace of Versailles took only about forty minutes, even with traffic.
They walked into the glorious palace with her hand on his arm.
Watching Dree as she saw the cavernous Gallery of Great Battles, one of the grand salons in the palace, for the first time was enchanting. King Louis-Philippe had constructed the sumptuous gallery in the early eighteen-hundreds to exhibit thirty-five enormous paintings depicting fifteen centuries of France’s glorious military history. The salon’s purpose was to instill pride for the magnificence of France’s many accomplishments in its citizens and to intimidate foreign dignitaries into meek silence. Busts of the illustrious military leaders rested at the base of each of the paintings.
Maxence had seen too much of colonialism’s damage to the rest of the world to enjoy the gallery anymore.
Christmas trees sparkling with red lights and ribbons were arranged in groups of three and five in the corners and near the walls. Evergreen boughs and wreaths adorned the crown molding and chandeliers far above them and scented the air with fresh pine.
Maxence could see that Dree was trying to repress her reaction to the magnificent palace, but occasionally delight overwhelmed her and she giggled or gasped. She’d been quiet when she got home from the spa, and seeing her happy again was gratifying.
A few of Maxence’s friends had been in France that week and decided to attend this charity event benefiting clean water access in impoverished parts of the world. Most of them were school chums, as was not surprising. Attending a boarding school marketed to the world’s wealthiest families tended to leave one with filthy rich friends who attended charity events.
Micah Shine stood over by the bar, drinking a flute of champagne and soberly listening while an older, bald Black man said something of great importance that he punctuated by stabbing the air with a forefinger that was the same color, texture, and length of a cigar stub. Micah listened seemingly without comment, only nodding when the man seemed to be winding down.
Maxence always liked Micah. They both preferred their literature and social studies classes to their sciences or maths classes, and they’d often discussed the novels and poetry that they had been forced to read far beyond what would be expected to study for a test. Micah hadn’t been born into wealth like the rest of them. He’d been part of a scholarship program, probably instituted to raise the academic credentials of the school rather than any real attempt at charity. Micah had been purported to be starting a company, but Maxence had heard that on several previous occasions. The other companies were rumored to have failed, which amused some other Le Rosey alumni who did not need to and would never stoop to working for a living.
Maxence took Dree by the hand and swam through the crowd to stand beside his old school friend, tucking Dree behind him for just a moment. “Micah! So good to see you, old sod.”
Micah angled toward Maxence and offered his hand. “Maxence Grimaldi, a pleasure to see you again.” His accent was carefully neutral American, perfectly measured and expressionless. Micah had sported a thick Brooklyn accent when he had arrived at Le Rosey for high school.
As usual, after he hadn’t seen Micah for a few months, Maxence blinked as he registered the color of Micah’s eyes. Inside the dark ring around his irises, sapphire blues, aquamarines, and pale grays surrounded a center that was amber flecked with black, the several colors blending together. It was almost impossible to remember the brilliance of his eyes and a surprise to register them again.
Before Maxence swung Dree around to meet Micah, he lowered his voice and whispered to him, “I’m called ‘Augustine’ tonight. I’d appreciate it if you’d go along with it.”
Not even a hint of surprise registered in Micah’s opalescent eyes. “Of course. Last name?”
“None.”
Micah’s striking eyes rolled upward slightly, but he had no other expression. “You and your games.”
Maxence brought Dree around and said, “Dree, may I present Micah Shine, an old friend from school. Micah, this is Dree Clark, a very new friend.”
She tilted her head and smiled at him from under her lashes.
Micah inclined his head down to look at Dree, who was about five feet, six inches, or so. Micah was roughly the same height as Maxence, which is to say, exceedingly tall. Le Rosey graduates are often in the top one-percentile of many traits, whether it was height, income, intelligence, arrogance, or depravity.
Micah offered his hand to Dree. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. May I present my associate, Sir Marvin Meriwether-Stone.”
If Micah spoke any slower and more monotone, Maxence would have thought that he was a computer voice set to fifty-percent speed. His languid pace belied the active, brilliant mind churning beneath Micah’s placid exterior. Because Maxence knew him so well, he tended to view Micah’s demeanor as calculating rather than sluggish. Micah spoke nine languages with the same calm precision.
Maxence greeted Micah’s acquaintance, who was doubtlessly a new business associate. Micah had many irons in the fire. Maxence wasn’t sure what any of them were.
They spoke for a few minutes, until Dree asked Micah, “Are you here with somebody?”
Micah’s expression still did not change. “Sadly, no.”
Maxence wanted to ask him what had happened to their mutual friend Micah had been dating, but wouldn’t want to bring up a sore subject in company. All of them seemed to be nursing broken hearts lately.
The man Micah had been speaking to, Meriwether-Stone, seemed petulant, so Max took pains to bring him into the conversation. Meriwether-Stone pouted and subtly snarled insults in an upper-class British accent at Micah, who did not respond. He phrased the insults as questions, of course, and always asked Micah to agree with him. “Your previous import-export venture was quite dodgy, don’t you think?”
Maxence had had enough of it.
He turned to Meriwether-Stone, an angelic smile on his face, and he summoned real enthusiasm for his school friend. “Micah, here, is an excellent businessman. I remember back in school when we were putting together business proposals, he always had the best ideas.” Energy flowed through him, and he clapped Micah on the shoulder, beaming at him. “It’s impressive, some of the things he’s done. Micah Shine is truly an excellent human being, an incredible businessman, and I’m glad he’s my friend.”
&nb
sp; By the time Max was done talking, Meriwether-Stone was nodding along, and his pouting mouth had turned upward in a smug smile. “Yes, I’m sure we will be doing business together soon.”
Splendid.
As they walked away, Dree said, “That wasn’t weird or anything.”
“What?” he asked, though he was already sorry he’d done it.
“The way you talked that guy into liking Micah. Heck, I think I want to give Micah all that money or screw him right now. You convinced me.”
He wheeled her between a few columns for privacy. “Micah’s smart. The guy stands a good chance of making an excellent ROI. I’m not sure I did Micah any favors, though. That guy seemed like a pain in the arse.”
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing.”
“Is it hypnosis? Did you hypnotize him?”
“No. I don’t have to make eye contact, though it helps. I like people, and I like to talk to them. When I like something, other people like it, too.”
“Have you done it to me?”
“No. I’m careful about what’s appropriate. If I had tried to convince you of anything, it would have been to get into the car at the Buddha Bar so I could take you home rather than going back inside after your coat and possibly into a dangerous situation.”
Dree tilted her head to the side and nodded. “I can see where that would have been warranted. I was smashed that night.”
“Yes, you were. But no, I don’t use it to fuck people, ever.”
“Okay.” She was nodding and looking at her shoes, thinking. “Okay. I can see that you’d be moral about something like that.”
“You do?” he asked.
She looked up at him. “We’ve been playing some games, but they’re games. I think I can trust you. I think you do the right thing.”
Maxence drew her into his arms and hugged her, careful not to muss her too much. Her soft arms hugged his midsection, and he let himself have the moment.
In the Gallery of Great Battles, round tables with seating for about five hundred people occupied two-thirds of the room. Maxence saw several more friends of his and introduced Dree around, and then the meal was spectacular, as he’d expected.
Later that evening, they walked the gardens of the Palace of Versailles, thus allowing his little blonde to check yet another item off her bucket list. He thought the black formal coat he had purchased for her matched her dress splendidly.
Classical music played from strategically placed, invisible speakers. The enormous trees were bare for winter, of course, and the fruit trees had been removed to the orangery under the South Parterre for the winter. Evergreen shrubs still lined the paths, and the grass between the walkways was verdant, if not lush. Christmas lights clung to the trees and shrubs, illuminating the gardens.
Max cornered Dree behind bushes, seeking to tease her once again, but she practically climbed him even though hampered by that sultry evening gown. She planted a rough kiss on his mouth.
He had to disentangle himself from her arms and set her back, but he whispered in her ear, “Wait until I get you back to the hotel. You’ve been a naughty, naughty girl.”
“It’s our last night together. Please tell me you’re not going to stop again.”
Maxence lied, “I haven’t decided yet.”
Dree began beating against his chest with her tiny fists, giggling effervescently as she did so.
The music drifting from the speakers changed, and one of Max’s favorite pieces of classical music, the “Vienna Blood Waltz,” began to play. He caught Dree’s hands with his fingers, clasping her left hand in his right and placing her other hand on his shoulder while he grabbed the deep indentation of her waist.
“Oh, are we going to dance?” she asked.
Instead of answering, Maxence stepped toward her, nearly tripping over her feet and ending up in a heap.
Her wide eyes looked more terrified than when kidnappers had attacked them outside the Louvre. “I don’t know how to dance like that!”
“It’s a waltz. It’s in three-four time, so it’s BAH-dah-dah, BAH-dah-dah. Just let me lead, and you’ll get the hang of it.”
She was looking down at their feet, holding herself bent over in a way that would never work for a waltz. “You Europeans learn this when you are kids, and all we learned in school was the stupid Virginia Reel.”
“So, let’s learn something new tonight. It’s usually a box step, but considering that I just want to dance with you for a few minutes tonight, let’s just go side-step-step, side-step-step.”
He taught her the simple sway, and within a few moments, at least they could enjoy themselves. She got the hang of it quickly, and he was able to turn her under his arm a few times and watch her grin at her accomplishment.
Oh, the things he could teach her if they only had more time.
He meant more classical dances and introductions to food and culture and travel, but the depraved things he also wanted to try with her lurked in the back of his head.
After a few rudimentary spins, Maxence clasped her in his arms and enjoyed swaying with her, her buxom curves pressed up against him, even though the waltz was never meant to do that.
“All I need are glass slippers,” she said, smiling up at him.
He didn’t get the reference. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m practically Cinderella tonight. I have a new gown like I’ve never had before, and we’re dancing at a real palace,” she motioned to the majestic Palace of Versailles directly behind them, showered in golden light, “and you’re a handsome prince.”
Maxence paused. “I am?”
“Sure, you’re the prince of Monagasquay, second in line to the throne.” She grinned hugely at him. “Remember?”
“Oh, yes. Monagasquay, and I’m the prince.”
“For tonight, you’re my prince.”
He held her closer. “For tonight, yes, I am.”
“And I’m Cin-Dree-ella.”
He laughed. She was undoubtedly a bit of magic in his life.
Dree said, “It’s nice of you to introduce me to your friends, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to. They’re never going to see me again, and I won’t take offense. It’s all just kind of wasted breath.”
The pragmatic part of it had not occurred to Maxence. Even though he supposed it was true, the insult implied in it was something that he would never indulge in. “I know you’re going back to the States, but perhaps someday one of them might turn up in your emergency room, and it would be nice for them to see a friendly face and know your name.”
Dree laughed at him and then stopped short. “How did you know I work in an ER?”
He couldn’t help but smile a little, even though he felt like he had been snooping just by observing her. “You evaluated the child yesterday at the Louvre very competently, as you did when I said I sprained my shoulder this morning. I know we said we were not going to discuss our lives and we were going to lie about it if we do, but it seems obvious you are a medical professional who deals with fast-paced, varied situations. That’s an ER. You’re obviously very good at your job.”
She nodded, but the softening of her smile into a more wistful expression seemed more downcast. “Yeah, maybe I’ll see them in my emergency room, someday, after I go back to the US tomorrow.”
He pulled her closer to his chest and tried to slow down time so he could remember this joyous, voluptuous woman and these few, beautiful days that they’d had together in Paris.
She asked, “Do you think I’ll ever see you in my emergency room?”
“Monagasquay is a long way from Arizona.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
They swayed together under the stars with winter fog swirling at the edges of the garden.
Max said, “I wish you could have seen Versailles in the spring. It’s amazing in the springtime.”
She nodded, rubbing her face against his black coat over his tuxedo.
They swayed together in
the cold of the Christmas-season night for a while longer, and then Maxence decided it was time to take her back to the hotel for the night he had planned.
On the way back, Maxence cuddled his little bombshell against his chest in the town car, during which she whispered to him, “Better than a pumpkin and mice.”
He chuckled and watched Paris’s Christmas decorations whizz by: the globes of red or white pinprick lights around bare trees, the glowing gift boxes and nutcrackers, and the fir and pine boughs swagged over doorways or bent into wreaths. He should enjoy them while he could because Christmas was not particularly celebrated in the land where he was going tomorrow.
That was too bad. Maxence liked Christmas.
The hotel’s town car deposited them in the underground garage for the hotel. It was a quick trip up the elevator to their floor, where Maxence had to insert his key card into the slot to allow the doors to open.
Dree wrapped her arm around his waist, and he had his around her shoulders. It felt companionable and affectionate.
Or it did, until she looked up at him with that dark red lipstick and touched her lips with a delicate finger tipped with a blood-red fingernail.
Maxence had been teasing her for days, but he was desperate for her.
They strode off the elevator and into the suite, and he slammed the door with one hand as he unbuttoned his coat with the other.
Dree was already half out of her coat and struggling to get the sleeves off.
Maxence reached over and grabbed the collar of the coat behind her and yanked it down, pulling the coat off her arms. The force spun her, and she stumbled backward, but Maxence caught her before she could fall over.
The moment Dree was in his arms, he was lost. The softness of her feminine flesh enticed him, and he grabbed her hair to pull her face back so he could kiss her properly. His mouth crashed down on hers. She flung her arms around his neck, and her body molded to his.
Maxence tried to keep kissing her while he unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket and stripped it off, letting it fall to the floor while he went after the tie at his throat. Dree had both of her arms wrenched behind her own back, trying to find the zipper of her dress. Maxence reached around her and found it, whipping it down her back and grabbing her ass while his hand was right there. She gasped against his mouth and kissed him harder, her dress falling away like rose petals.
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