It wasn’t cheating on his wife to have an utterly decorous dance with an ex on the day of her wedding to another man, in full view of probably a thousand people. His pinkie finger had not strayed below her waist. His gaze had not fallen below her collarbones.
He had been the soul of propriety, as he always had been when the two of them were in public.
God,he missed her, but he deserved every moment of hell she put him through.
Dieter’s phone buzzed, and he glanced at the text.
The message to him and Mrs. Keller, Wulf’s head of staff, said simply,We’ll have another wedding tomorrow morning for Ms. Stone and myself.
Dieter hadn’t managed to finagle his way out of any of his wagers, and so he owed somewhere around six months’ worth of his salary to various people.
His wife would be entirely displeased with that turn of events. They fought over money more than anything else. She insisted that every spare penny must be deposited in the accounts that he would use to start his own security firm someday. She was blindly insistent on it, even borrowing money and racking up credit card bills rather than touch those funds, which meant that they paid interest on the debt. Dieter wasn’t sure that was financially sound.
He supposed he should be pleased his wife supported his ambition, but her unyielding insistence irritated him.
And these lost wagers would set back their plans even further.
Which meant they would fight more.
And it had happened while he was traveling and therefore unable to help with their toddler, Alina, all that week.
Which meant that the fights would be truly vicious.
Sheisse.
Christine Grimaldi
Flicka von Hannover
Christine, baby!
Flicka threaded her way through the crowd at her wedding reception, looking for Pierre. People jostled her as she wormed through, but everyone was laughing at the tight fit.
The orchestra was taking another break, so quiet music was leaking through speakers around the cavernous Louvre lobby. The crowd’s chatter echoed and redoubled on the glass ceiling high above and was like thunder rolling over the crowd.
Her new husband, Pierre, had to be around here somewhere. His personal Secret Service guards were still dark forms on the dais and balconies, looking over the bobbing dancers, so he hadn’t left.
As she made her way toward the bar instead, Flicka’s old school friend and Pierre’s cousin, Christine Grimaldi, stepped out of the crowd, wearing a pale blue ball gown with a matching bolero jacket. Her shining dark hair was twisted up in a chignon. They had been close friends at Le Rosey boarding school for years and had even shared a driver to transport them to their music lessons, first in separate places but then together at a local university, for a decade. Having an hour and a half alone in a car together totalkthree times a week does wonders for girl-pals. “Flicka,baby!”
“Christine,baby!”They mimed air kisses so they wouldn’t smear lipstick all over each other and then hugged for real. “I’m so glad you found me.”
“This is beautiful, Flicka,” Christine said, fluttering her slim fingers at the dense crowd. “You did a fantastic job.”
“It’s nothing,” Flicka demurred, but she had to demur loudly so Christine could hear her over the cackling, chattering crowd shoving around them.
They stood right on the edge of the dance floor, and a duo bumped Christine from behind, throwing her at Flicka.
Flicka caught Christine before she slammed into the floor and laughed at her. “You okay?”
Christine was giggling as Flicka steadied her on her feet. “Just bruised my dignity. Come on, let’s dance!”
“What!”
But Christine had already grabbed Flicka around the waist and used their already clasped hands as leverage, and shoved her out onto the dance floor. Dancers around them parted as Christine led Flicka through some lovely steps and twirls, both of them laughing their asses off. Flecks of light glittered over Flicka’s ivory dress and Christine’s pale blue one as they waltzed.
Christine spun her across the floor. “When you officially move into Monaco, we’ll have to hang out more. I haven’t been able to travel since I joined the Monaco Philharmonic.” She was the third violinist for the Monaco Phil.
Wistful nostalgia wafted through Flicka like whiskey fumes. “I’m so proud of you. You’re doing so well.”
