“Not to my knowledge, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
Later that night, after several other business appointments, an interminable state supper with foreign diplomats, a private recital by a world-renowned violinist, and cocktails and small talk as was necessary, Maxence retreated to his apartment and texted Dree,Take Notes.
Later, when Dree was lying in his arms in his palatial bed, one of the few beds he’d ever slept in that properly accommodated his long legs, she said, “You were so cute with them.”
He scoffed, “I was notcute.”
She giggled and drew circles on his bare chest with one scarlet-tipped fingernail. “The little girls are pretty. They’re going to be beautiful when they grow up. They seem smart.”
“The girls’ full names are Majambu Milandu, which means ‘Defied the grave,’ and Mpata Majambu, which means ‘Doubted the grave,’ in Tshiluba. Like most babies who are surrendered to the children’s home, they were sick. They just needed some antibiotics and a bunch of formula. If I could take them and raise them, I would, but the Catholic Church has strict rules about priests adopting children.”
Dree paused for a minute, and then she said, “So, you’re still—um—you’re still thinking about that?”
Every minute he’d spent in the dark closet expanded in his mind until it felt like years of fruitless praying.
Ithadbeen years of fruitless praying. He’d discussed it with other priests, who’d said that if it were easy, if anyone had proof, no one would need faith.
Yet, the hollowness felt like an answer to Maxence.
He said, “I’m still thinking about it.”
“Okay.” Dree’s voice shrank, smaller and higher than usual, and he felt like an asshole for doing that to her, but she snuggled down under the thick duvet. “It’s just amazing the way they showed up here.”
No, it wasn’tamazing.
It was a threat.
Whoever now employed Michael Rossi had found someone Maxence loved and brought them to Monaco to be his weakness.
And yet their presence, safe behind the walls of the convent just a few miles away, and the anticipation of the immaculate joy of seeing his dear friends and his godchildren the next day and eating lunch with them cracked open his heart.
Dree whispered, her voice drifting with sleepiness, “It was like a miracle that you found them in the crowd.”
Maxence’s breath caught under his ribs like an enormous fishhook.
Chapter Twenty-Two
App
Maxence
Scheduling another meeting with Maxence’s cousin Nicostrato Grimaldi took a few days because Max’s schedule was booked days in advance. Finally, his receptionist found a free lunch hour, and palace hospitality service brought a table with place settings to his office.
Because it would invite questions, Maxence couldn’t have Dree sitting at the table with them, so he had the kitchens make an additional plate for her. She sat over in her admin’s chair, taking notes on projected spring plantings in the French farms just over Monaco’s border.
Nico arrived, hearty handshakes were exchanged, and Maxence took the chair across the table so that he could see Dree over in her corner. That left Nico with the chair that turned his back toward Dree so he would keep his filthy eyes off of her.
After some eating, generic pleasantries, and gossip, Maxence broached the subject. “About the upcoming Council of Nobles meeting.”
Nico looked up from his salad, his blue eyes bright and one sandy brown eyebrow raised. “You finally scheduled one?”
“No, and it’s a good thing I haven’t. We need to find a new candidate.”
Nico chewed and swallowed, frowning. “Neither Valentina Martini nor Great Uncle Louis is suitable? I would’ve laid odds that one of them would have worked out. As a matter of fact, I did lay odds. I’ve lost a hundred euros.”
“Valentina Martini is exceptionally conservative and will not hear of deviating from the line of succession, and Great Uncle Louis is a drug addict.”
