Page 63 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
Maxim was right. They couldn’t stay at his apartment.
Finley had put on a brave front, because she knew if she’d let him see just how terrified she’d been when she’d first walked into his ravaged flat, he would’ve stubbornly insisted she leave. She wasn’t about to go away now, no matter how queasy she felt as she took in all the destruction.
“We can go to my apartment.” She stood and eyed the papers that had been dumped unceremoniously on the floor of Maxim’s kitchen. “But first we need to find your birth certificate.”
“Absolutely not.” There was an edge to Maxim’s voice that she’d never heard before.
It was sharp enough to stop Finley in her tracks. “You need it for the DNA test.”
“I wasn’t talking about the birth certificate. I was talking about your apartment. I can’t be there, Finley. Not if means this whoever did this will follow me.”
Finley inhaled a shaky breath. She hadn’t considered the possibility that someone had been following Maxim.
Don’t panic. Donot.
A very real part of her wanted to run. It was one thing to risk her career, but it was another thing entirely to stick around if it meant reliving the worst thing that had ever happened to her.
She couldn’t be a victim. Not again.
But she knew she couldn’t leave him, either. She didn’twantto leave him. She had feelings for Maxim, and those feelings had nothing at all to do with his family tree.
Why is this happening?
She nodded. “Fine. Just try and locate your birth certificate in this mess while I make a phone call. I know a place where we can spend the night. Someplace safe.”
She lifted her chin and tried to ignore the fact that she’d just blatantly announced she intended to spend the night with him.
He didn’t utter a word of protest, but then again, he didn’t have to. His raised eyebrow managed to do all the talking.
Finley flashed him the universal talk-to-the-hand gesture. “Don’t even think about arguing with me. Honestly, it’s like this whole royal thing has gone straight to your head. You’re not a tsar, you know. And I’m not one of your royal subjects. I can make my own decisions.”
A fascinating knot flexed in his jaw, and his eyebrow arched even higher.
Finley suppressed a shiver. Did he have to be so handsome? So divinely masculine? She’d managed to attach herself to the man who had the most communicative eyebrows in France.
We’renota couple. It’s just a royally inconvenient crush.
He stood and walked toward her. Finley was suddenly more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. “Are you at least going to tell me where we’re spending the night?”
She could feel the heat coming off him, like the sun rising over the Seine on a hot summer day. Oh God. This was really happening. Maybe the flutter she felt low in her belly wasn’t nerves after all. Maybe it was excitement.
Her throat grew dry.Excitement. Most definitely.“Um, not yet. Can you give me five minutes?”
“I still have to find my birth certificate somewhere in this mess.” He winked. “I can give you six.”
SCOTT’S REACTION TO FINLEY’Sphone call was predictably suggestive. “Let me get this straight. You want to have a one-night stand at my bookstore with your hot, brooding, potentially royal boyfriend?”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” she whispered.
Given the fact that she knew Scott would likely havean opinionabout her predicament, she probably should’ve stepped outside for this discussion to avoid embarrassing herself instead of just in the next room. But since someone sinister might be lurking in the shadows, she’d stayed in the apartment with Maxim. Humiliation was definitely preferable to danger.
“Besides, aren’t relationships and one-night stands mutually exclusive concepts?” she added.
“Whatever.” Finley could practically hear Scott’s eyes rolling. “You’re taking the man to Shakespeare and Company for the sole purpose of shagging him. Admit it, love.”
