Page 74 of Royally Romanov
He switched his phone to silent and buried it in his pocket as a young couple wearing skinny jeans and beanies hopped onto the copper star in the center of the Point Zero marker. The girl wrapped her arms around the boy, and he lifted her clear off her feet before planting a kiss on her mouth that was just a tad too passionate to be appropriate for a popular sightseeing destination during Paris rush hour.
Maxim couldn’t help but smile, even though the sight of them made his chest feel like his heart was being squeezed in a vise. There were practically as many customs and rituals tied to Point Zero as there were arrondissements. Young lovers typically favored the one that promised eternal devotion to couples who kissed above the copper plate.
He turned away, giving them a moment of privacy. Without intending to, he let his gaze stray to Shakespeare and Company, directly across the street.
The cherry tree in front of the bookshop was in full bloom. Pink blossoms swirled in the air, and the fairy lights strung from the store’s green trim twinkled against the setting sun, giving the quaint corner a poetic charm that made Maxim’s heart ache even more.
If what he suspected about himself was true, he could never go back there. Not with Finley. Not after what he’d done.
“Maxim.” Gregory tapped him on the shoulder, and bile rose up the back of Maxim’s throat.
He swallowed it down and turned to see Gregory standing behind him, clutching a file folder to his chest. It bore the Banque de France logo, which sparked a small glimmer of hope in Maxim’s consciousness.
Maybe he was wrong about what had happened here. Maybe his memories couldn’t be trusted, and Gregory had actually needed to see him about a simple insurance form.
“Bonsoir,” he said tightly. “I see you’ve brought the paperwork.”
Gregory let out a bitter laugh. “Save it. We both know I’m not here to discuss insurance papers.”
The tiny spark of hope withered and died. Maxim’s head spun. He felt like he was falling down a deep, dark hole.
Her name is Finley Abbot. She’s an assistant curator at the Louvre. American.
Get close to her, and you’ll get close to the treasure.
Gregory’s eyes narrowed. “When did you figure it out?”
Maxim took a deep breath and lied as best as he could. “Last night.”
There was a kernel of truth to it, but he still didn’t have all of his memory back. Far from it.
“Then you remember this, obviously?” Gregory thrust the folder at Maxim.
He took it, dreading what he might find inside.
Sure enough, the article fromLe Mondeabout Finley was right on top. Maxim’s gut churned as he looked at the picture he’d seen so many times in his dreams. How could he have been so wrong?
He’d made love to her.
He never should have touched her, and instead he’d buried himself inside her until she’d cried out his name.
“We had a deal, Maxim. Fifty-fifty. I did all the heavy lifting. Hell, the whole thing was my idea. The only reason I chose you is because you look so much like Nicholas II.” Gregory paced back and forth in front of the marker. Behind him, its copper center shimmered beneath the blazing Paris sunset.
Maxim flipped through the folder. It contained more information about the exhibit, as well as a thoroughly annotated copy of the Century Rule, the law Finley had been so upset about.
She’d accused him of faking his background so he could take advantage of that piece of French legislation, and he’d denied it. He’d denied it, and then he’d kissed her.
I’m not a Romanov. I’m some kind of monster.
He felt dizzy, and his head throbbed. He was going to be sick right there in front of Notre Dame Cathedral.
Gregory continued ranting in a tone just loud enough for Maxim to hear. “How was I to know you’d begin to believe the lie?”
The notebook.
Maxim looked up, and pinned Gregory with a glare. “You broke into my apartment last night, didn’t you?”
Gregory shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
