“Not really, but I thought—”
“They say things that sound like it, and then they break their promise.Malizia.”
“He wants to be a priest. Pope Celestine said that he should come to Rome right now, and he would ordain him as a priest.”
Chiara straightened. “Why would His Holiness Celestine say that to him? Prince Maxence is to be the Prince of Monaco. He will be elected to be the sovereign prince as soon as they hold the meeting.”
“No, he won’t. He’s always wanted to be a priest,” Dree said. “He has a Ph.D. in Theology because he’s going to be a Jesuit.”
Chiara paused, examining Dree. “Wait, I am confused. Is themaliziayou fell in love with Prince Maxence or a priest?”
“Both. Prince Maxence wants to be a priest.”
“Impossible.Prince Maxence wouldneverdo that to the people of Monaco.”
“He’s going to abdicate as soon as they hold a meeting of the Crown Council tomorrow. He’s trying to get somebody else elected.”
“Malizia!”
Dree sighed. “Yeah, I guess he is.”
“And he is made you cry like this? He does not deserve you. He does not deserveany of us.”
Dree nodded, even though she suspected the truth was that none of them deservedhim.
Chiara snatched her phone out of her pocket, a tiny pucker of anger between her eyebrows, which must have meant that she wasenraged.“Prince Maxence is making a terrible mistake, not wanting to be our sovereign prince and not wanting you. We will make him see his error.”
She slapped her phone up to the side of her head. Dree could hear a faint ring coming from it.
Dree asked her, “What are you doing?”
Chiara inhaled hard, and her lips bowed in the middle. “Showing him his mistake. After he sees you at the Sea Change Gala, he will not want to be a priest anymore. Then, he will be our prince, too.”
Dree exclaimed, “I can’t go to a ball! I don’t have a dress!”
She sounded like the most pathetic Cinderella ever.
Chiara actually snarled. “You areone of us.Below stairs,we stick together.When Prince Pierre died, my friends below stairs carried me through the days until I could be all right again. I am calling my salon, housekeeping, and the palace seamstress. We will find a gown that no one will miss and make it fit you like it was made for you. We will make you the most beautiful woman he has ever seen. Go wipe off that green mask and soak your face in cold water. We have only a few hours to make you ready.”
Chapter Thirty
The Sea Change Gala
Maxence
Prince Maxence Grimaldi stepped out of the rear seat of the limousine at the Sea Change Gala, nodded to Quentin Sault who held his door, and strolled toward the Grimaldi Forum.
A phalanx of security personnel fell into step around him. Large events were difficult to secure, so a team was needed to protect him. Background checks were impossible. Many people felt they were too important to be scanned, and they balked at the perceived insult. Plus, many people brought their own bodyguards who were armed and circumvented the screening station.
On the red carpet outside the doors, cameras flashed at him like great blooms of white in the darkness.
Ah, yes.
He turned and squinted for the cameras, one hand drawing back the jacket of his tuxedo to rest in his pocket, trying to look debonair. Flicka had taught him how to pose for the press after seeing some truly, impressivelyawfulphotos of him. Sometimes, it worked.
The blue and steel Patek Philippe watch that his friend Arthur Finch-Hatten had given him for Christmas years before caught on the edge of the pocket of his trousers.
Under his wrist, his tuxedo jacket bulged where he’d tucked the black velvet box inside his pocket. Maxence couldn’t leave his grandmother’s enormous engagement ring lying in his desk. It seemed disrespectful to her memory to just chuck it in a drawer and lock it up.
