Page 57 of Royally Romanov
But this means it’s possible. If the church is right, I could be a direct descendant of the Romanov royal family.
Maxim glanced at Finley and wished he knew what she was thinking. Her gaze was glued to her wrist, where his grandmother’s bracelet hung from her delicate arm. Until then, he hadn’t realized she’d put it on.
We need to talk about your grandmother’s bracelet.
“Monsieur Laurent, you’re probably wondering why the church was so insistent about not accepting the testing of the 2007 remains.” Father Kozlov leaned back in his chair, waiting.
Maxim nodded.
He did wonder about that. He also wondered why this 101-year-old Russian Orthodox priest whom he’d never met before was being so candid. Or why he was even giving Maxim the time of day.
Just how well had Father Koslov known Nadia Laurent?
The priest leveled his gaze at Maxim. “We didn’t accept the results because we knew the real Anastasia had survived. We’ve known as much for years... since the very beginning, in fact. Once she escaped, she had to go somewhere. Somewhere far, far away from Russia. So she came here. To Paris. To Cathédrale Saint-Alexandre-Nevsky.”
Maxim gripped the arms of his chair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. For weeks now, he’d been searching for answers. Praying for them. Now that he’d finally found the most important answer of all, he was having trouble accepting it.
“My grandmother,” he whispered.
“Yes, you’re absolutely correct. I’m talking about your grandmother. She came here seeking asylum and we gave it to her. We also gave her a fresh start...” The priest paused. Smiled. “... as Nadia Laurent. If the story she told us all those years ago is true, you’re not actually a Laurent, Maxim. You’re a Romanov.”
The journal wasn’t a product of delusion, after all. It was real. All of it.
Je suis Maxim Romanov.
