Page 53 of Royally Romanov
They weren’t bells, though. They weren’t even charms. The four trinkets dangling from Finley’s wrist were Peter Carl Fabergé’s lost secrets from the Imperial Romanov Easter eggs.
The cabochon ruby from the Rosebud egg was there, along with the egg’s other missing surprise, a tiny gold crown studded with diamonds and rubies.
Beside the crown was another ruby. This one had been cut into the shape of an egg. It hung from the bracelet next to a miniature tiara covered in pavé diamonds. These two treasures were the missing surprises from the Jeweled Hen egg, the first of all the Romanov eggs.
Finley couldn’t take her eyes off of them. She was so full of adrenaline that she could barely even put one foot in front of the other.
All told, Maxim’s “old charm bracelet” was probably worth tens of millions of dollars. But it had also belonged to the Grand Duchess Anastasia...
And that made it priceless.
AS IT TURNED OUT,finding Maxim wasn’t the hard part—spotting his brooding figure cutting across the Place du Parvis in front of Notre Dame was rather easy. The difficult part was following him as he disappeared into the Saint-Michel metro station and boarded a train while trying not to be noticed. Especially since Finley had Gerard in tow.
She probably should have left her dog back at the bookstore. She’d brought him along as habit. Scott wouldn’t have let her leave without him, anyway. As preoccupied as he was with her love life at the moment, he didn’t want her traipsing all over Paris after dark by herself. He was still spooked by what had happened to Maxim. Everyone was.
Fortunately, the metro was crowded with an abundance of rush-hour commuters who Finley could hide behind. She sandwiched herself among a cluster of sharply dressed businessmen and did her best to blend in as she stared at the back of Maxim’s perfect head and wondered where they were going. Although she supposed technically, he was the one doing the actualgoing. She was merely stalking.
Oh, how the tables had turned.
The train stopped and started enough times for Finley to have to keep switching positions in case Maxim turned around. When they reached the Charles de Gaulle Étoil station, he finally stood. The doors of the train opened, and he disembarked.
Finley’s heartbeat kicked up a notch as she scooped Gerard into her arms and followed Maxim out of the station and onto Rue Daru. She figured she might be less conspicuous without a French bulldog trotting alongside her.
But as soon as the gilded onion domes of the Cathédrale Saint-Alexandre-Nevsky came into view, she knew precisely where Maxim was headed. She set Gerard on the ground again and hastened her steps. It no longer mattered if Maxim saw her now. Let him try and get rid of her. She wasn’t going anywhere.
The cathedral was the oldest Russian Orthodox church in Paris, and despite its status as an official historical monument, it was somewhat of a hidden treasure. Rue Daru was narrow enough that it was almost easy to overlook the neo-Byzantine cathedral tucked among the Frenchmanoirs. And that would’ve been a shame, because the church was gorgeous.
The front of the cathedral boasted one of the largest gold-leaf frescoes Finley had ever seen. It shimmered in the lavender twilight, like a Klimt painting come to life.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said to Maxim’s back once he was just a few steps from the church’s massive glass doors.
His slowed to a stop and turned around. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He looked less than thrilled to see her, which Finley tried not to take personally. Tried, and failed. “Tell me you didn’t just follow me, Finley.”
“I didn’t just follow you here, Maxim.” She offered him her most saccharine smile.
He let out a massive sigh, and completely ignored Gerard, who was straining at his leash in an attempt to throw himself at Maxim’s feet. “You can’t be here.”
“Too bad. Here I am. We need to talk about your grandmother’s bracelet.” Finley was hyperaware of the weight of it on her arm. On the train, she’d caught herself staring at the dainty bracelet multiple times, despite every effort not to draw attention to it.
She kept thinking if she looked at it hard enough, she’d realize she’d mistaken it for something it wasn’t. An old woman wouldn’t walk around for decades with four of history’s most priceless lost treasures dangling from her wrist, would she? She wouldn’t spend her entire life lying to her own family about who she was.
She might if she were Anastasia.
“It’ll have to wait for another time. Go home, Finley. I have an appointment. An appointment for which I’m already late.” Maxim’s gaze flitted to the door, where a group of people in robes moved behind the glass.
“I’m not about to go home after I just followed you halfway across Paris. I know exactly why you’re here.” She aimed a purposeful look at the massive gold onion dome at the tip of the church’s tallest turret.
So quintessentially Russian.
Finley had always loved Russia’s affinity for onion domes. Their shape reminded her of smoke from a candle billowing toward the sky.
Maxim looked at her long and hard. “Do you really?”
“Of course.” His appointment had something to do with the church’s claim that Anastasia’s DNA results had been falsified.Obviously.
Maxim’s brow furrowed as he continued studying her like she was a test he’d neglected to prepare for. For a man who was already late for an appointment, he no longer seemed to be in much of a hurry.
Finley narrowed her gaze at him. “Wait a minute. I know why you’re here, but you don’t, do you? You found the name of the church written on a scrap paper in your apartment or something, but you can’t remember why it’s important.”
