Page 1 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
ONE
He should have been dead.
That’s what they told him, anyway.
The doctors in Hôpital Hôtel-Dieu in the fourth arrondissement of Paris didn’t mince words. He’d been told time and time again how lucky he was to be alive. The internal bleeding alone should have killed him. His head injury was just icing on the cake.
He didn’t feel so lucky—he felt like hell. Every bone in his body hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It even hurt to blink.
According to themédecin, the sharp ache that pierced his side every time he inhaled was the result of a rather impressive collection of broken ribs. But the ribs were nothing compared to the unrelenting throb in his head. He’d never experienced a headache so excruciating. The pain was so severe he could see tiny sparks of light when he closed his eyes. The medication they were giving him left a bad taste in his mouth. Chemical and bitter. It was as though he’d licked one of the drainpipes in the dank recesses of Paris’s underground sewers. Not that he’d ever licked a drainpipe before...
But possibly he had. Maybe it was one of the memories that had become lost when he’d been mugged. Overnight, so much of his life had slipped through his fingers. Days. Weeks. Months.
Years.
Licking a drainpipe seemed like something that would leave an impression, but how would he know when he couldn’t seem to remember his own name?
“Bonjour, monsieur.” The morning nurse padded into the room and swished the curtains open. They’d been keeping his room dark while his head healed. Lights off. Curtains closed.
But today the outside world was rainy and gray, so apparently he was being rewarded with his first glimpse of Paris in two days. Raindrops pattered against the glass, blurring the horizon like a Monet painting.
“You have a visitor.” The nurse smiled as she injected something into his IV drip. The wave of warmth that crept down his body told him it was more pain medication.
Dieu merci.Thank God.
He took as deep a breath as he could manage and swiveled his head a fraction of an inch to meet her gaze. “A visitor?”
Someone had come looking for him. At last.
“Oui.” She straightened the already-straight sheets on his bed and staunchly avoided looking him in the eye. “Un policier.”
A policeman. Not exactly the visitor he’d been hoping for.
Where were his friends and family? His coworkers? Hadn’t he been seeing someone recently, too?
Or maybe he hadn’t. He honestly had no idea.
But why did he keep seeing the same woman in his dreams? Thick waves of long, blond hair. Full, generous lips. Eyes that carried a lifetime of secrets.
He closed his eyes, conjuring up her image again. She wore the same black turtleneck, cigarette pants, and elegant stilettoes she’d worn in his dreams. Her fringe skimmed her eyelashes. He felt a strange and dangerous pull.
Who was she? And why wasn’t she here?
“Bonjour.”
His gaze flitted to the doorway, where a man in a plain dark suit holding two leather notebooks fished a police badge out of his pocket and held it up for inspection.
A detective. Marvelous.
“Puis-je entrer?” He slid the badge back into his coat pocket.
“Oui.Come in.” He supposed he’d have to talk to the police eventually. He’d been the victim of a crime, apparently. A particularly violent crime. They’d want answers.
Unfortunately, he didn’t have any.
“How are you feeling?” Thedétectiveunbuttoned his suit jacket and rested a hand on the back of the lounge chair in the corner of the room.
