Pierre turned toward them. Morning sunlight from the window dappled the strong lines of his face. He was as tall as Arthur and Casimir, his black suit tailored closely to his body, and nearly as handsome as his younger brother, Maxence, though no one dared make that comparison. Boating and sports had smoothly tanned his naturally light European skin, and his eyes and hair were nearly black. The Grimaldis had movie-star blood running through their veins and were shockingly attractive.
Indeed,shocking.They were almost unnatural, Arthur thought.
Arthur merely bore the blue blood of a millennium of English noblemen and younger-sibling royals, though Casimir was of finer stock.
But for all of Pierre’s physical splendor, he wasn’t quite as luminous as Maxence, which was probably why Casimir shouted at him from halfway across the room, “Pierre Grimaldi, you son of a bitch, what thefuckdid you do with your brother?”
Casimir’s wife, the petite and fiery Roxanne, trotted to keep up with him. Arthur had the distinct impression that she was ready to shove damning notes into Casimir’s hand during a negotiation.
Arthur’s own wife, Gen, remained beside him with one hand resting on her pregnant stomach and observing the situation, as was he. Arthur was teaching his wife to be more British, as Gen had been born and partly raised in Texas.
She was learning.
He liked it best when she learned by sitting naked at his feet, eyes downcast, her wrists crossed behind her back and neck bent, but he shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts at that moment. Arthur needed to concentrate on interrogating Pierre.
Gen sipped from her large, to-go tumbler of Issouf’s special tea. Her color was better than it had been in months. He was heartened to see it.
Pierre frowned at Casimir, who was barreling toward him, and asked, “I beg your pardon?”
Casimir pointed an accusing finger at Pierre. “Maxence disappears clean off the face of the Earth in the middle of the nightin Monaco,and all you have to say for yourself is, ‘I beg your pardon’? I willendyou, Pierre.”
“I had nothing to do with it.”
“Did you get a note?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pierre said.
“A note!”Casimir yelled at him. “Did Maxence email or text you a goddamn suicidenote?Is that how you knew he was missing and not just gallivanting around Europe again?”
“I told you I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Casimir turned. “Roxanne, the evidence?”
Roxanne, standing beside Casimir, drew herself up to her full height of not-very-much and announced, “First, your security called Arthurat your direction,as he confirmed when we landed in that death-trap you call a helicopter at the heliport.”
Pierre frowned, confused. “My helicopter has excellent maintenance.”
“And then,” Roxanne continued unabashed, “it was determined that you and Maxence had a fight that led to a physical altercation, and I can see the pancake makeup on your shiner from here, pretty boy.”
Pierre did not flinch. His voice was cold as he assured her, “My interactions with my brother are none of your business. Did you find him yet?”
“And then,”Roxanne continued, talking over Pierre, “you called us maybe minutes after Maxence went missing and had your staff lie and say he’d been gone for four hours. Why the hell would you call us to come and find him when he might have just slipped off for a cigarette on the terrace unlessyou knewsomething had happened to him?”
“What else are you hiding, Pierre?” Casimir demanded, the two of them tag-teaming their quarry as Arthur had expected. “What did you two talk about that led to a fight? What did you say that made him punch you?”
Pierre jerked his chin up and sniffed. “Immaterial, and none of your concern.”
“You called us here to find him, and you already knew he was missing after only a fewminutes,”Casimir said. “How did you know he wasmissingso quickly, Pierre? Anyone else would assume he had hooked up with some woman and didn’t want to be interrupted by his phone.”
“He didn’t go back to his hotel,” Pierre explained, his chin raised and looking down his nose at Roxanne. “Ergo, he wasmissing.”
“That’s utter bullshit,” Roxanne told Pierre. “It’s horse hockey and hogwash.”
Interesting.Pierre’s people must have also questioned the hotel staff about whether Maxence had returned that night.
Arthur watched Pierre for any more slips.
He sensed Gen stiffen beside him, and she thrust her cup of tea at him. He grabbed her cup before she took off across the room.
