Page 29 of The Crimson Lily
“We can,” he says, his eyes betraying no emotion. “But don’t expect me to get attached.”
I swallow something in my throat. My coffee arrives; I take the cup between my hands and stare into it, disconnected. His words hurt me more than they should have. I’m never going to be anything to Maksim. How silly am I to expect otherwise? How silly am I to eventhinkotherwise?
“Is that why you won’t sleep next to me?” I ask in a little voice.
He leans in, closer to me. He probably noticed the effect his words had on me, but I don’t really care. I’m not ashamed of how I feel, just…disappointed.
“I have two rules, Liliana,” he states. “One: I sleep alone. Two: I don’t get attached.”
I shrug. Sure, if those are his rules, then that’s how we’ll play this game. I don’t respond. I simply sip on my coffee, look into his eyes, and revert to my favorite question during this trip.
“What’s the plan, Maksim?”
He stands from his chair and looks down at me. “Grab yourself some breakfast and come to the room,” he commands. “I’ll show you how it works.”
It takes two hours to hook me up to the whole machinery, and Maksim changes into, literally, a black spy suit with leather gloves, which really amuses me. As he’s adjusting his clothes, we hear someone knocking on the door. I go check, despite Maksim ordering me not to with his piercing eyes, because I have a darn good feeling who it is.
“How did you find the room?” I ask Béatrice and Alejandro with my mouth agape, genuinely surprised, or impressed, that they’re standing here.
“You’re the only suite with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door at 2 p.m.,” Béatrice replies with a cunning smirk as she steps inside.
Alejandro follows her and gives me a loud gasp and wide eyes when he sees me. He casts a furious glare at Maksim, who glares back at them with a scowl.
Béatrice doesn’t let that Bratva man say a thing. She judges me with her big brown eyes. “Liliana, this is not okay,” she comments before turning to Maksim. “What did you do to her?” she asks him with a threatening voice.
He rolls his eyes in response, then looks at me and points a finger. “They areyourresponsibility,” he declares. “If they become a liability, I will make you terminate them.”
Béatrice intervenes before I do. “Tough luck,connard. You drag Liliana into your mess, you have to face me.”
Maksim chuckles, which angers Béatrice even more.
“What did you do to her?” she asks again, pointing at me—why is everyone pointing at me?—her aggressive tone demanding an answer.
“Nothing she didn’t want,” he responds, shrugging, attaching a mini camera to his collar.
I don’t know what to do with these two. I want to check myself in the mirror to see what her distress is all about, butright now, I’m more focused on making sure they won’t get into a catfight.
Which reminds me…
“Béatrice, do you still do Wing Chun?” I ask, recalling the fact that Béatrice Leclerc is actually a martial arts instructor.
That explains a lot. Her taunting and intense behavior matches perfectly with the fact she can throw fists at the speed of light. I’d be worried if I were Maksim.
She looks at me and sighs. She knows I’m diverting her attention away from the touchy subject, but she eventually lets me. “I just started again about a month ago.”
We talk a little more about it while Maksim finishes getting ready. He puts on an earpiece and asks me to run some tests and diagnostics from the laptop—all good, all set. I was pretty quick with understanding how this remote tracking system works. I can follow his live location on a retro map of Paris, can see what he sees, hear what he hears. It’s almost exactly like in spy movies.
I stand with my arms crossed, nervously nibbling on my lower lip, looking at him put on his black trench coat. He passes his hand into his black curls and bounces his gaze to me.
“Is something wrong?” he checks, noticing the worried expression on my face.
“Be careful,” I request without thinking.
I catch his arm before he goes out of the room. I want to kiss him good luck, but find myself silly for wanting to do that. I spot a silver glimmer in his eyes again, which vanishes in an instant. He seizes my wrist, clenches it a little, then lowers it so I let him go.
He’s in. William de Loit’s apartment is, of course, situated in the richest area of Paris. Avenue Mozart. Béatrice andAlejandro lean over my shoulders to look at the laptop, all three of us watching Maksim’s every move. The man fetched a motorcycle from a street adjacent to Boulevard Haussman and traversed Paris at high speed. We even caught a glimpse of the Champs-Élysées and the Eiffel Tower on his way to the 16th arrondissement. Alejandro calmed down in the last hour, realizing this operation is actually quite exciting.
“William isn’t modest, that’s for sure,” Béatrice comments.
