“What’s going on?” I ask.
She shifts uncomfortably. “You see, shortly before you arrived this morning, I’d received a call from someone…”
“Who?”
“Monsieur Kurt Ozzi, a Swiss multibillionaire,” she says. “He warned me you’d want to buy something from me, and to delay until he arrived and made a counteroffer.”
White-hot rage shoots through my veins. My vision clouds. My hands ball into fists, itching to punch something.
With an enormous effort, I calm myself enough to say slowly and distinctively, “Whatever he offered, I’ll double it.”
She chews on her lip, glancing behind her. “It’s too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“I signed his contract. Monsieur Ozzi has the cellar at his disposal for the rest of the day. His people are digging it up as we speak.”
My jaw hurts from how hard I’m clenching it.
Elise narrows her eyes at the other woman. “How did Monsieur Ozzi find out about the cellar? Until this morning no one knew about it besides Monsieur Delaroche and myself.”
“I…” She swallows hard. “When I called him back after you left, I told him.”
So much for laying your cards on table.
What a fool I was! Instead of pressuring her to sign a contract on the spot and securing the cellar, I fell for her “lunch appointment” excuse and left, safe in the knowledge we hadn’t been followed this time around. But I was wrong. Kurt had tailed me again, albeit more discretely than two days ago. And he outsmarted me.
I fucked this up so bad!
I, Crown Prince Theodor, heir to the Valois-Montevor throne, failed where my two younger brothers succeeded. And I have only myself to blame for it. Virginie Mesnil played dirty, but I should’ve expected it. MESS failed once more to cover me—but again, I should’ve been more prudent. Elise has been beyond reproach.
This whole debacle is on me.
The front door opens, and a familiar sixty-something saunters out. His thick silver hair is combed back, and his clean-shaven face is smug.
He stops at a safe distance from me, surrounded by four armed bodyguards. “Delaroche, it’s been a while!”
I’m surprised for a split second that he bothers protecting my fake identity before Elise and Virginie Mesnil. But then I realize that my cover aligns with his game. It isn’t in his interest to spread the word about a hidden country he’s working hard to make disappear.
“How?” I keep my voice controlled, refusing him the satisfaction of my helpless rage. “I’m just curious.”
He turns to Virginie Mesnil. “Will you leave us, please?”
With a canned smile, she scampers into the house.
Kurt shifts his gaze to me. “Do you seriously expect me to reveal my source?”
“We’ll expose him without your revelations.”
“Good luck with that!” He sneers. “You know what? I’ll give you something because I’m feeling generous this morning.”
I cross my arms over my chest.
He points at Elise. “As soon as I was informed about her, I had her mother’s and grandfather’s apartments bugged.”
Elise phoned them from Vosier-en-Bas.
Because I hadn’t told her not to. I was preoccupied with the search for my men, with the quest for the key, and with my lust for her that I failed to provide for all contingencies. If Darrel had been there, he would’ve anticipated the risk. He would’ve stopped her or instructed her on how exactly to conduct the call, what to say, and what to keep to herself. But he wasn’t there. He will never be there again.
