Page 60 of Royally Romanov
“It suits you,” Maxim said.
And even though every rational thought in her mind told Finley she was plunging headlong into trouble, she’d never felt more like a princess.
She tugged her hand away. “I’m not keeping it, obviously. It just seemed safer to wear it than to drop it into my bag.”
“Understood.” The dimples in his cheeks flashed, and Finley’s stomach did a little flip.
She was losing it. Clearly. Being royal shouldn’t increase his sexy factor a single bit. If anything, it should make him less appealing. Who was she kidding, though? He was already about as appealing as he could get, crown or no crown.
It was just so strange, though. Finley had spent the past year and a half immersing herself in Russian history. She’d read everything she could find about the Romanovs. She’d spent months pleading with museums all over the world to let her gather together what was left of their possessions. She’d touched the gifts Nicholas had given Alexandra. She’d held those glittering treasures in her hands.
Breathless, she’d walked the halls of the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg, where Nicholas II and Alexandra had gotten married. Where they’d held grand imperial balls and waltzed from room to room. Where they’d ruled. Then she’d gone back to Paris and written down everything she’d seen and experienced. She’d poured everything she had into her book. She ate, drank, and slept the Romanovs twenty-four hours a day. She’d been chasing them through decades of history, only to have Maxim find her in the present.
Maxim Romanov.
It felt predestined, somehow. Like fate.
Or destiny.
But Finley had never believed her life to be guided by some unseen force. She’d been hurt. She’d lost herself for a while, and she’d only begun to find her way back. Life wasn’t a Cinderella story. She didn’t have a fairy godmother waiting in the wings to make everything better. She was making things better herself.
If anyone could make her believe, though, it just might be Maxim Romanov. Especially here, beneath the onion domes of Cathédrale Saint-Alexandre-Nevsky, where she stood bathed in stained-glass watercolor shadows while Russian chants filled the air.
She blinked. Hard.
“What now?” she asked.
She could barely breathe. He was going to send her away again. And this time, she wouldn’t be able to talk her way back into things. He had the Russian Orthodox Church on his side now. He no longer needed her.
“Now?” He reached for her hand again and just as she thought he was about to unfasten the bracelet from around her wrist, he lowered his head and pressed a tender kiss to the back of her hand. Finley’s heartbeat slowed to normal. She could finally breathe again. “Now we should probably go find my birth certificate. How does that sound?”
We.
The cathedral’s bells began to chime. Finley could feel them ringing from the soles of her feet to the top of her head.
She nodded. “It sounds like a plan. I’m in.”
THE PARIS STREETS SHIMMEREDwith glittering light and wine-soaked conversation from the crowded sidewalk cafés as Maxim and Finley made their way toward Boulevard St. Germain with Gerard trotting ahead.All the while, Maxim tried to convince himself that he wasn’t making a terrible mistake. Finley shouldn’t be there, walking beside him. Her fingertips shouldn’t have brushed against his when the walkway grew narrow and the passersby became so thick that they’d nearly bumped into each other. Her hand, warm and lovely, shouldn’t have somehow ended up in his again.
He wanted to touch her.Reallytouch her. Not just her hand, but also her pillowy lips, her elegant neck, and the decadent curve of her hips. He wanted to touch her everywhere. He wanted it so much he couldn’t even look at her without getting hard.
What had he done?
Maxim told himself that taking her back to his apartment wasn’t dangerous. He had answers now. With any luck, it’d only be a matter of time until he could prove exactly who he was. Once he could, the police would surely take his case more seriously.
But that hadn’t happened yet, had it? He was inching closer to the answers he so desperately needed, but he wasn’t there yet. He still had no idea who’d attacked him or who had tried to break into his apartment. His life could be in danger, and if it was, that meant Finley’s life was at risk as well.
He’d acted selfishly, and he knew it. But he couldn’t bring himself to push her away. Not again. Not when she peered up at him through thick lashes with belief shining in her emerald eyes. Not when she’d looked at him that way all along.
Finley had helped him when no one else would. She’d had every reason not to, but she’d helped him just the same. And now he felt almost whole again. Not like the old Maxim. That person still seemed like a stranger to him.
Someone altogether different. A new man. A man he quite liked.
“Maxim?”
He turned toward Finley with a start and realized they were standing outside his grandmother’s apartment building.Anastasia’sapartment building.
My grandmother was the Grand Duchess Anastasia.
