Page 82 of Royally Romanov
I quit.
The words echoed in Finley’s head, words she’d never imagined she would say. Yet they’d slipped so easily from her mouth.
Because time was running out. If she stayed at Palais Garnier to defend herself, she might never see Maxim again. She had a choice to make—the Louvre or Maxim.
But it wasn’t really a choice, was it? She didn’t even have to think about it. She chose Maxim.
She’d been choosing him all along.
Finley had let herself believe she’d been following him down a crazy rabbit hole for the past few days because she cared about the Romanovs. But the Romanovs didn’t have anything to do with what had happened between them the night before. And they had nothing to do with the way she’d touched his broken, beautiful body in his kitchen and wanted to weep inside. She’d made her choices because she cared about a man, not a royal family that had died out over a century ago.
She cared about Maxim, even after the things he’d told her about what he remembered. Which could only mean one thing...
She’d fallen in love with him.
Oh God.
She was in love with Maxim. The realization hit her like an arrow straight to her heart.
But she’d known him less than a week. People didn’t fall in love that quickly, did they? It was crazy.
She’d just stolen a Fabergé egg and quit her job at the Louvre, though. So she was either in love or she’d lost her mind. Probably both.
“You quit?” Madame Dubois laughed. “You can’t be serious. No one resigns from the Louvre.”
Finley shrugged. “I just did.”
Madame Dubois gaped at her. Finley couldn’t have cared less. She gathered the skirt of her ball gown in her hands, sidestepped her boss—correction, herformerboss—and pushed the bathroom door open.
Finley half-expected to be detained on her way out of the grand foyer, but Madame Dubois had apparently given the all-clear because the soldiers stayed put. She ran the full length of the glorious room, beneath the watchful gaze of the colorful Paul Baudry murals on the ceiling overhead.
The crowd at the gala had tripled in size since she’d last seen Maxim. Guests clogged the doorways and spilled into the hallway. Finley squeezed her way between clusters of elegantly dressed patrons, hoping against hope that Maxim hadn’t yet made his way out of the building.
The farther she got from the grand foyer, the thinner the crowd became. When she reached the grand staircase, it was completely empty. Her stilettoes echoed against the cool white marble as she flew down the first flight of stairs toward the massive landing with its Baroque statues perched in each corner.
Maxim wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
You’ll find him. You have to. Don’t panic.
Too late. She was most definitely panicking. Why had she wasted time trying to fit the charms into the rosebud? If she never caught up with Maxim, she’d only have herself to blame.
She rounded the corner to sprint down the final sweeping set of stairs, gripping the railing so she wouldn’t trip over her high heels. That was the last thing she needed.
She’d made it nearly halfway when someone called her name. “Finley?”
She froze. “Maxim.”
He stood at the foot of the staircase, beneath an enormous archway dripping with opulent marble swirls and floral reliefs. Finley’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He looked so perfect standing there, brooding and tragic, like a literary figure she’d known on paper for years and longed to meet.
They stood staring at one another for a beat before she could make her legs move again. Maxim’s eyes glittered with the same dark determination that had been there when he’d announced he wasn’t a Romanov. But somewhere in their sapphire depths, she could see something else.
Hope.
It propelled her forward, even as fear fluttered through her. She had no doubt about who Maxim was, but that didn’t mean he could forget who he’d been.
She came to a stop on the last step, but still had to look up at him since he was so much taller than she was. It was the closest she’d been to him since she’d kissed him good-bye the morning after they’d slept together. A five-o’clock shadow lined his chiseled jaw, and there were worry lines on his brow that hadn’t been there before.
He looked utterly exhausted.
