Page 44 of Royally Romanov
And there it was.
Finley gripped the edge of the chair, holding on for dear life. She felt like she might faint. “Um, as I mentioned yesterday, I’m still trying to establish provenance.”
“Right. That’s your number-one priority now.” Madame Dubois pointed to Simone and Henri, the two assistant curators from the department who’d attended Finley’s signing at the bookstore a few nights ago. “As of now, you two will be helping Finley with final preparations for both the exhibit and the opening gala.”
Henri nodded.
“Yes, of course,” Simone said. As soon as Madame Dubois turned her attention back to the photo, Simone mouthed at Finley. Way to go!
Things were getting worse by the second.
She couldn’t keep postponing the inevitable. Sooner or later, everyone would know about Maxim. They’d know about his amnesia, and they’d know all about his alleged family tree. If Finley didn’t say something...right now... she’d look like she’d been trying to hide the facts.
Probably because she was.
“There’s something you all need to know,” she blurted.
Madame Dubois looked up from the picture. “Yes?”
Finley took a deep breath. Was it her imagination, or could she see her career dying before her eyes? Nope, there it was, going up in spectacular flames. “The photograph was loaned to me by a man named Maxim Laurent. According to Mr. Laurent, it’s a family heirloom.”
“Oui, I know. You’ve said all this before, Finley. Just yesterday, in fact.” Madame Dubois’s smile faded, ever so slightly. “What aren’t you saying?”
Just spit out.“Monsieur Laurent recently suffered a head injury, resulting in partial memory loss. But he claims to remember the picture, and he identifies the girl in the photograph as his grandmother.”
An awkward silence fell over the table. A silence so heavy, Finley wouldn’t have been surprised if it loomed over the entire museum like a mushroom cloud.
Madame Dubois stared at her. Seconds passed before she even blinked. Finley felt her credibility slipping away with each tick of the clock. One by one, the other curators looked away, refusing to meet Finley’s gaze. Even Simone was focusing intently on the floor.
Finally, their supervisor spoke. “So what you’re telling me is that this Monsieur Laurent claims his grandmother was the Grand Duchess Anastasia.”
Finley cleared her throat. “Yes, that’s correct.”
“And you say he’s also suffering from amnesia?”
“Yes.” Why did it have to sound so much like a bad soap opera?
“Does he have an explanation as to how his grandmother ‘escaped’ her family’s execution in 1918?” The air quotes Madame Dubois used around the wordescapedmade Finley flinch.
She shook her head. “No, he doesn’t. He only recently came to know that his grandmother was connected to the Tsar.”
Madame Dubois crossed her arms. “And what about Monsieur Laurent’s parents? Who are they?”
“They both passed away when Maxim was young.” Finley’s face went hot. She prayed no one noticed her casual use of Maxim’s first name. “Monsieur Laurent was raised by his grandmother.”
“You mean Anastasia.” Madame Dubois slid the photograph across the table, toward Finley.
Finley had memorized pretty much every detail of the picture, but she glanced down at it anyway, struck once again by its delicate beauty. She should have been stunned that the research department had verified Anastasia’s identity with facial recognition software. Flabbergasted, even.
She wasn’t.
That alone should have been alarming. When had she begun to buy into Maxim’s far-fetched story?
Finley swallowed. “Yes, the Grand Duchess raised him. She kept her true identity a secret, though. Monsieur Laurent only recently discovered who she was.”
She couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. She almost sounded like she believed Maxim was Anastasia’s grandson.
Didshe believe?
