Page 22 of Royally Romanov
“Yes, royalty.” She looked up finally, eyes glittering like gemstones.
A jolt of arousal hit Maxim low in his gut. If he never found out what happened to him, never unlocked the secrets of his past, it would have been worth almost dying just to see the expression of wide-eyed wonder on Finley Abbot’s face. Being the object of that kind of look made him feel like more than an emperor. He felt immortal, as if maybe his survival hadn’t been purely accidental. Maybe fate had been on his side.
He nodded at the photo. “What do you think it means?”
“Honestly?” The light in Finley’s eyes dimmed. “Nothing, really. It doesn’t change the fact that Anastasia is dead, except...”
Her voice trailed off.
“Except what?” Maxim frowned.
Finley blinked, and her expression went cautiously blank. “Except nothing. What can you tell me about this necklace she’s wearing in the picture?”
She pointed at the teardrop-shaped stone hanging from a dainty chain around his grandmother’s neck. Aside from the picture, Maxim had never seen it before.
He shrugged one shoulder. “Not a thing.”
Finley peered closer at the image, then glanced up at him. “You never saw her wearing a pendant that looked like this one?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Interesting.” She sounded mildly disappointed, which pained Maxim more than it should have. “Still, I’d like to take a look at your grandmother’s things. If you don’t mind, of course.”
Mind?
This was the best news he’d had in days. Weeks maybe.
“I don’t mind at all.” He gave her the address. “How’s tonight?”
“Tonight’s fine. Do you mind if I hang onto the photograph until then?” She stood and clutched the picture to her chest.
Maxim couldn’t have cared less. She could have whatever she wanted. He was finally getting somewhere. “Not at all. Be my guest.”
“Excellent. Then I suppose I’ll see you this evening.” She nodded, all business.
But a flush crept up her neck and settled in her porcelain cheeks, turning them as pink as the flowers on the garden path.
Somewhere beneath his wounds and all his lost memories, something stirred inside Maxim. Something timeless. Primal.
She feels it, too. She might not remember me, but we’re connected in some way.
“It’s a date.”
