Page 18 of Royally Romanov
He pulled Maxim into a hug.
Maxim let himself relax as best he could. So he hadn’t been alone all those days after all. He had someone. He had a friend. A friend he couldn’t remember, but a friend nonetheless. He’d take what he could get.
Gregory released him, jammed a hand through his hair and aimed his gaze at the stack of file folders on Maxim’s desk. “I hate to say this, Maxim. But if you don’t remember who I am, you’re not ready to come back to work at Banque de France. As a senior-level employee, you have a generous disability policy. I encourage you to use it. Give it some time.”
“I understand. I simply thought that if I came here and took a look around, it might spark some sort of memory...”
He looked away.
Maxim felt foolish admitting as much out loud, especially since this visit to his workplace had confused him far more than it had helped.
“Sure, of course. Stay as long as you like. If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.” Gregory graciously pointed in the direction of his office and lingered in the doorway for a final moment. “It’s really great to see you, mon amie. Take care. Let me know when you start feeling more like yourself again.”
Maxim glanced at the papers spread across his desk. None of the names or numbers on the charts sparked even the faintest memory. Most of the documents were dated nearly a year ago, which was somewhat alarming. He hoped he hadn’t spent the last few months in his office fanatically scribbling notes about the Romanovs in his journal.
But he was beginning to wonder if he had. Where was his work? What had he been doing at this desk in recent weeks?
And how would he possibly know when he started to feel more like himself again when he no longer knew who he’d been?
“THERE’S SOMEONE HERE TOsee you.” Marian Dubois, the head curator for the decorative arts department, stood with her arms crossed in Finley’s doorway.
Not that it was exclusively her doorway. She shared it with the other six assistant curators in her department. So at best, it was maybe one-sixth her doorway. But hopefully that would change after the successful debut of her Romanov exhibition. No American had ever been promoted to full curator at the Louvre, but Finley aimed to be the first.
A girl could dream.
The room, located in the Richelieu Wing of the Louvre, was a maze of crisscrossed tables piled with carefully labeled and catalogued artifacts. It was controlled for both temperature and humidity, and required a key code for entry and exit.
When Madame Dubois entered and made her announcement, Finley closed the window on her computer and looked up. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t try and find the photographs Scott had told her about—the ones from the attack at Point Zero. She’d managed to keep that promise last night after she’d gotten home from her book signing, but first thing this morning, she’d caved. The photos were all over social media. There was even a short video on Instagram.
It showed a man lying facedown on the pavement, surrounded by blood. Around him, people stared. A few screamed. It was eerie. Horrific.
And it terrified Finley to her core.
She had to stop looking at the images. They were bringing back all sorts of feelings she’d tried long and hard to forget. Once her screen was blessedly dark again, she searched Madame Dubois’s gaze purely out of habit. She rarely received visitors, and every piece of art she’d assembled for the Romanov exhibit had been in France for weeks. She’d even flown to St. Petersburg and London to escort the rarer pieces back to Paris herself.
No one had a reason to come looking for her. Unless...
Don’t be ridiculous. You gave the man your business card less than twelve hours ago. It’snothim.
But Madame Dubois was looking right at her.
Finley swallowed. “Someone’s here to seeme?”
“Oui, Finley. You.” Her boss nodded. “He’s waiting for you in the second floor portrait wing. He can’t come anywhere near this room. He doesn’t have clearance.”
Her visitor didn’t have any security clearance at all? That ruled out every single one of the Louvre’s two thousand employees.
It’s him.
Her stomach did a little flip. “Then I’d better get going.Merci, madame.”
Her boss nodded, and her gaze swept the items on Finley’s table. “Don’t forget this afternoon I’d like to review the major pieces for your exhibit, just to make sure everything is in order. The gala is in a matter of days.”
“Oui, madame.”
Seemingly satisfied for the time being, Madame Dubois exited the room. Once she’d gone, it was all Finley could do not to bolt from her chair.
The Louvre was the biggest museum in the world. The tour guides and docents were fond of telling visitors that the museum was so immense that it would take one hundred straight days to see every piece of art in the Louvre’s extensive collection. And that would leave a mere thirty seconds to look at each one. The museum’s galleries took up over half a million square feet, which meant that making her way to the portrait gallery was easier said than done.
