“In many ways, yes.”
I frown. “Why have I never heard of it?”
“That’s how it should be. Only heads of state, high-ranking diplomats, nobility and a few initiated people around the world know of its existence.”
And you expect me to believe that?
“We’ll revisit that part later,” I say. “Go on.”
“Mount Evor is in a terrible predicament. My country will lose its sovereignty and legally cease to exist, unless we recover a precious document by January 1 of next year.”
“What document?”
“The authentic version of the addendum to our founding treaty, signed between King Robert II of France and Princess Philomena Theresa of Mount Evor around the year 1000.”
“Okaaay…”
“There’s a prophecy about nine long-lost keys,” he carries on. “Together, they open a vault which, we believe, contains the addendum.”
“Uh-huh.”
“We’ve recovered six of the keys so far. A few weeks ago, the oracle named me the seventh key seeker. And you, dear Laura, were foretold to be my Key to the Key.”
I stare at him, my brain struggling to catch up with the ludicrousness of what he’s saying.
He runs a hand through his hair. “Our pairing on the show wasn’t a result of the ‘compatibility formula’ the experts created. It was Pedro who orchestrated it.”
“Pedro Montfort?”
“Yes. He’s an Evorian secret agent, and he’s been working with me from the start.”
I let out a brittle, humorless laugh.
“My mission is now complete,” Antoine concludes. “I can finally get back to my businesses and other responsibilities.”
“Congratulations.”
“Laura. Sweet cheeks.” He brushes a strand of hair away from my face. “I did my duty. And you helped me. Please know that you will be generously compensated for your cooperation.”
“Compensated?”
“Yes.” He leans forward, his tone excited. “The Royal Bank of Mount Evor is making deposits as we speak. Bitcoin, dollars and euros across several accounts. Three million euros in total, two from the Crown, and one from me.”
“What?”
“I added a million,” he repeats, misinterpreting my disbelief, “to offset the draconian taxes that France will make you pay on your reward. Taxes are so low in Mount Evor that our bureaucrats can’t even begin to imagine the rip-off that goes on over here.”
I know his words have meaning, but my brain fails to grasp it. It’s as though Antoine was suddenly speaking to me in Japanese.
“You can quit the bank, if you wish.” He beams. “Just think about it—you can design costume jewelry full time!”
I mumble something even I don’t understand.
He chatters on, “And I’m going to lobby Prince Richard during my audience tomorrow for you to receive the Royal Mount Evor Order of Chivalry.”
“Nice,” I nod on autopilot.
No clue what he actually said. It sounded like more Japanese words. I heard them, but didn’t understand them. My neurons are too busy wrestling with a realization so excruciatingly painful that my mind refuses to let it in.
