“But if it’s out of our way—”
The car slid to a stop in front of his hotel, the Four Seasons Hotel George V. Le Cinq was inside. Indeed, ascinqmeansfivein French, he was pretty sure the restaurant was named after the hotel where it was located, George the Fifth. “Here we are.”
Max stepped out of the SUV into the soft Paris sunlight and strolled around the back of the vehicle, watching for other cars or pedestrians that might have an unhealthy interest in him.
He didn’t see anyone.
Excellent.
Dree emerged from the other side of the vehicle before he could get around to hand her out, and she refused to let him carry her small duffel bag. Maxence did manage to lead her inside and signal a concierge to take the bag up to his room while they ate.
“Are you staying here?” she asked, looking around the lobby festooned with orchids and white winter roses.
He nodded. “It’s a small suite. What else do you want to see today in Paris?”
They discussed their options as they were seated by a whisper-thin hostess.
Dree took the offered menu and examined it.
“Do you read French?” he asked.
“A little,” she said. “French was my language in school. But this is in English.”
He leaned and looked at her menu, which was in English. His was in French.
The hostess winked at him and walked away.
Dree’s eyelashes fluttered as she blinked rapidly. An alarming amount of white glowed around her blue irises.
“Problem?” Maxence asked, taking stock of his menu though he practically had it memorized. He’d probably have the turbot again. He’d grown up eating a lot of seafood.
She leaned across the table and whispered,“The soft-boiled egg is eighty-five euros!”
“Right. Do you want a soft-boiled egg?” He was still looking at the menu because you never know.
Dree’s eyes widened until Maxence half-rose in his chair, concerned that she was choking and in imminent need of the Heimlich maneuver.
She said, “Everything else ismore!”
He sat back in his chair and went back to the menu. “I hadn’t noticed the prices.” The lamb looked interesting.
“We have to leave,”she said, her whisper more intense. Tears hovered in her lower lids.“There’s no way I can afford this.”
Maxence laid his menu on the table setting.“Chérie,I told you that I am paying for everything. Please sit down and order what you want to eat.”
“You can’t afford this.No one can.”
Maxence had been accused on many occasions of having too soft of a heart and on even more occasions of having a demon for a soul. These warred in him. He finally explained, gently, “Dree, I can afford this.”
She sat down, but her body was tense like she might spring up and flee.
That would be too bad. Max would hate to lose that Patek Philippe watch if she ran. It had been a Christmas gift from Arthur on a lark.
Her eyes were still so worried as she read the menu.
Well, he’d convince her eventually.
The plates at the table had a wide taupe and gray band around the rim encircled with gold. The settings matched the décor, of course, with soft gray draperies around the bright windows stretching to the ceiling far above. Maxence had always liked the sunlight in here, but Parisian sunshine was truly a thing unto itself. The two wardrobes on the side of the dining room were Louis XIV, and he wondered how many of his friends could trace their ancestry to the Sun King. Probably quite a few.
