Maxence uncovered the plates. “Sole with white sauce for me. Penne with lobster for you, thus crossingeat lobsteroff your bucket list. I say, wasn’t shopping for designer clothes on your list, too?”
“Yeah, it was. That’s lobster?” She was turning her head back and forth as she examined the dish. Maxence half-expected her to bat tentatively at it like a wary cat.
“Certainly. Shall we eat? I thought we’d have a walk after this.”
“Oh, Paris at night! That sounds lovely.” She stabbed a piece of lobster with her fork and stuck it in her mouth. Her expression was startled at first, then relaxed into dreamy bliss. “Oh my word, this isso good.”
Max watched her savor her supper so much that he barely tasted his own, though he suspected it must have been excellent, as usual.
Dree ate the whole dish.
After supper, Maxence retired for a quick shower and decided which of Arthur’s incredibly conservative, English-cut suits he wanted to wear, silently shaking his head the whole time at Arthur’s safe taste. Maxence’s taste ran toward Italian-cut suits and more daring fabrics.
But, since he was foraging in Arthur’s closet, black and boxy, it was.
And a belt.
Max cinched it tightly around his waist and scowled at the little gathers in the fabric. Maybe he should have ordered two meals for himself.
Or he could introduce Dree toAu Merveilleux de Fredwhich, as its name implied, was the most marvelous thing in Paris. A few of those should fill him right out.
Maxence found a long, formal coat that Arthur had left in the closet and commandeered it. Paris was a bit chilly that night.
When he emerged, Dree was fiddling with her phone on the couch. She held it up. “I connected to the Wi-Fi.”
Maxence said, “Good girl. Put your shoes on. We’re going out.”
“Cool. Where?”
“Is that what you call me?”
“Cool,Sir.Where are we going,Sir?”
Max suspected sarcasm but let it pass. “Plan to walk for about an hour.”
“‘Kay.”
When Dree emerged from the bedroom, she was wearing slim, black trousers and a snug pink sweater she’d selected at the department store. Her medium-heeled boots made him wonder what he could hook the heels over for leverage.
Maybe his shoulders.
“Take your coat, pet,” he said.
“Yes, Sir. Um, one more thing, Augustine, Sir.” She held out his Patek Philippe watch. “Take this back. It flops around my arm. I’m afraid I’ll hurt it.”
“It’s your insurance,” he said, not moving. “For payment.”
“I don’t need it,” she said. “I trust you.”
He shrugged and took the offered watch, buckling it back on his left wrist where it belonged. The lack of its familiar weight had made his arm feel odd.
“Could I ask for something, Sir?” she asked him.
He nodded, aware of her body language. Her shoulders were slumped, and she was holding her hands together in front of herself.
Max did not like this. It appeared she was being forced to do something or was somehow very distressed.
Someone had gotten to her. Someone was bribing, blackmailing, or threatening her.
