Page 78 of Royally Romanov
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The DNA test results didn’t come in until late the following day. By the time he got the call, Maxim had already packed up most of his Paris apartment. He couldn’t stay there anymore. He couldn’t stay in Paris, period.
There were too many memories in France now. The memories he’d tried so hard to recapture had brought him nothing but grief. Grief and shame. It was time to start over. For real this time... and by his own doing, rather than as a result of nearly losing his life.
On some level he knew leaving was about more than needing a fresh start. If he stayed, he wouldn’t be able to keep himself away from Finley. Dropping off the bracelet with Scott had nearly killed him, and yet he knew it had been a coward’s way out. The truth of the matter was that he wouldn’t have been able to give it to her himself. He couldn’t have forced the wordadieufrom his mouth if he’d tried.
He hoped he wouldn’t have to say it tonight when he saw her again. He doubted he would. She was probably furious with him now. Good. He deserved it. He deserved more of her disdain than she realized.
Maxim had hoped the test results would arrive earlier in the day, so he could put to rest any concerns about his intentions prior to the gala at Palais Garnier. He would’ve preferred to take care of things at the Louvre. He even considered leaving without saying a word about either the DNA test or the exhibit, but he couldn’t do that. Finley deserved closure, and he owed her that much.
He tucked the envelope with the DNA results in the inside pocket of his suit jacket as he climbed the massive staircase at the entrance of the opera house.
To Maxim, walking inside Palais Garnier always felt like entering another world. His grandmother had taken him here regularly when he was a boy, and he could still remember how awestruck he’d been by its opulent décor. It had been like walking inside a wedding cake.
It still was.
He did his best not to dwell on that particular analogy as he climbed the stairs and made his way to the grand foyer where the Louvre gala was taking place. The last thing he needed was to picture Finley in bridal white. But when he caught his first glimpse of her dressed in spun-gold tulle, he couldn’t have imagined she’d ever look more beautiful, even if she were walking toward him to the tune of the wedding march.
The ball gown floated around her, and her hair was styled in a sort of half-up, half-down chignon that almost made her look as though she’d just glamorously gotten out of bed. Arousal surged through Maxim with an urgency that nearly brought him to his knees.
This was a bad idea. He shouldn’t be there. He stood for a beat—at war with himself—and debated whether to stay or go. Then Finley’s gaze strayed toward him, and it was too late.
She stood beside an older woman Maxim recognized from his visit to the Louvre a few days ago. He seemed to remember the woman as Finley’s boss, which was probably a good thing. She’d been concerned about the Century Rule. Maxim suspected her worries over the matter had put Finley’s job in jeopardy. Maybe now he could put those worries to rest and do one good thing before he left.
He made his way toward them, trying not to focus too hard on the hurt etched in Finley’s lovely features. Hurt that he’d caused. But he couldn’t seem to look away. Maybe he needed to punish himself. Or maybe he wanted to memorize everything about her before he said his final good-bye.
More probably, both.
“Monsieur Laurent.” Finley’s boss greeted him with a strained smile. “I’m Marian Dubois, head curator of the Louvre’s decorative arts department. We met the other day. How nice of you to join our little gathering this evening.”
The tone in her voice indicated the direct opposite.
“Bonsoir.” He nodded at Madame Dubois, then turned his attention to Finley, who’d gone alabaster white. “Good evening, Finley.”
“Why are you here, Maxim?” She crossed her arms, and he noticed a flash of gold on her wrist.
He blinked. She was wearing the bracelet. Even after the terrible way he’d treated her, it dangled from her wrist like a glittering symbol of hope.
Stop. It ends here. Now.
“Apologies for interrupting your party. Don’t worry, I’m not staying. In fact, I’m leaving Paris tonight for good. I’m moving to London. But before I go, I wanted you to know about this.” He pulled the envelope from his pocket so Finley and Madame Dubois could see the hospital’s official seal stamped on its cream-colored surface.
Finley grew very still, while Marian Dubois glared at him. “I suppose this is the part where you announce that you’re a Romanov and all the art here tonight really belongs to you?”
“No.” Maxim shook his head and stared down at the floor. He couldn’t look at Finley. He couldn’t bear to see the look in her eyes that would surely be there once he finished what he had to say. “On the contrary, I failed the DNA test. I’m not a Romanov at all.”
“What?” Finley’s voice broke, and Maxim heard a world of heartbreak in that subtlest of sounds.
She’d believed in him from the very beginning, and he’d turned out to be a disappointment. A fraud. He’d let her down.
In more ways than she knew.
Maxim slid the envelope back inside his pocket. “Your exhibit is safe. I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. It wasn’t my intention.”
He took a deep breath as he prepared to deliver the final blow. Then he looked at Finley one last time—really looked at her. He took in every detail of her luminous eyes and her cherry-pink lips.
