Page 71 of Royally Romanov
“Wait.” Finley unclasped the bracelet from her wrist and let it drop into a dainty coil of glittering gold in her palm.
Maxim stared at it. “What are you doing?”
“You take it. I can’t wear it to work, obviously.”
Obviously.“Oui.” He picked it up and tucked it into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Pressed against his heart, it felt heavier than it should have.
With each downward step of the Shakespeare and Company staircase, it grew weightier. He did his best to forget it was there as he bid Scott a wordless good-bye and made his way outside.
Across the street, a group of tourists had descended on the Point Zero marker. Maxim watched them spin around and point in different directions, attempting to differentiate north from south.
For the most part, he’d avoided the spot and its copper plate since he’d left the hospital. He didn’t want to relive whatever terrible thing had happened to him there. He didn’t want to picture the grooves in the cobblestones overflowing with blood—hisblood. That’s what he’d been telling himself, anyway.
Now he realized his reasons for staying away ran deeper. Seeing the geographic marker, even from a distance, brought his memories into sharper focus. He could hear the voices more clearly.
You knew this was the plan all along.
April 20.
It’s time.
Maxim’s gut churned. Today was April 19, which meant April 20 was the date of the Louvre’s opening gala for the Romanov exhibit.
From his trouser pocket, his cell phone rang. Its ringtone pulled Maxim back to the present and offered blissful relief, however temporary.
He glanced at the display.Banque de France.“Allô?”
“Maxim,c’est moi. Gregory.”
A bad taste rose to the back of Maxim’s throat at the sound of the voice on the other end of the connection. It no longer sounded like the voice of his closest friend. Instead, it had the same sinister undertone as the voices in his head.
Memories were rising to the surface faster than he could process them. Bits and pieces, here and there. Snippets of conversations that made little sense. He was desperate to understand it all... desperate to believe he wasn’t the kind of person who would take advantage of anyone, especially someone as special as Finley.
“Salut, Gregory.” He managed to force the words out of his mouth. He felt sick. Sick enough that he needed to brace himself against a nearby café table.
“Listen, I need you to come into the office this morning. It’s urgent. We need your signature on some of the paperwork for your disability insurance.”
Maxim detected a hint of tension in Gregory’s words. He had no idea if his friend was lying or not. It sounded like a legitimate request, but why would the vice president of Banque de France bother with doing such mundane paperwork?
Wasn’t that the sort of thing he’d delegate to an assistant?
Not that it mattered. Maxim needed to see Gregory again. He needed to look him in the eye and try to make sense of the things he remembered.
April 20.
It’s time.
Maxim squeezed his eyes closed. He’d wished so hard to remember, and now he just wanted to go back. He’d give all he had if he could turn back the clock to the night before and stay in that red-velvet bed with Finley until the world disappeared.
Instead, he was standing on the sidewalk in the cold light of day while the world crashed down all around him. “I have an appointment this morning, plus a few urgent matters that need my attention. Perhaps we can meet later this evening?”
“That’s not ideal, but it works. Shall I come by your flat? Maybe we could grab a drink,” Gregory said.
“No. Let’s meet tonight on the Left Bank.” Maxim glanced across the street again and shielded his eyes against the sliver of sunshine glinting off the bronze star embedded into the cobblestone by the steps of Notre Dame. “At Point Zero.”
He hung up without waiting for a reply.
