Page 71 of Duke, Actually

“No,” he said, flashing a grin. “Not at all. Hang on.” A minute later, he reappeared in his own pajamas.

After dinner, she read him the opening pages of her novel.Her novel.Such a strange thing to think. It wasn’t that unusual for professors of English to detour into fiction-writing, but she had honestly never thought she would join their ranks.

“I love it,” he pronounced when she was done, and relief overtook her.

“I don’t know what happens beyond this. Maybe I should stare at that Matisse painting for a while.” The painting in question played a central role in her first chapter. “I’ve googled it, of course, but maybe I’ll go see it in person. It’s in the Museum of Modern Art in San Francisco.”

“Oh, hang on.” He popped up and started scanning bookshelves that lined two walls. Not finding what he was looking for, he gestured her to follow him.

She trailed him to his bedroom, which like the rest of the cottage, managed to be both posh and modest at the same time, the walls covered with oil paintings, but unlike the stuffy portraits of ancient von Hansburgs she’d seen in the main house when they had dinner there last night, these were exuberant landscapes and colorful still lifes, a few of them in need of straightening.

There was a bookshelf next to the bed. He bent next to it and scanned the titles on the tall lower shelf. “Aha!” He produced a book of paintings by Matisse and flipped to the index. “Maybe it’s in this. What’s the name of the painting?”

“Woman with a Hat,” she said.

He squinted at the index. “Yes! Here it is.” He shuffled through the pages until he found it and turned the book toward her. “Not as good as the real thing, but better than on a screen.”

He plopped onto his bed, which was unmade but piled with the same posh-looking linens and duvets as upstairs, extended his legs, and patted the mattress next to them. She snorted—slumber party with the baron—but stretched out next to him. Max Minimus jumped on the bed, too, and Max shifted to accommodate him as if this was a thing the two Maxes did.

Wait. Had Max been patting the bed to signal her or her dog?

Well, whatever. She wasn’t letting her dog get ahead of her in the pecking order.

They looked at the painting together and talked a bit more about the book. Then, as promised, he translated his grandmother’s letters for her, and they talked some more about what their discovery meant—for the mine project but also for the historical record. Eventually, she started getting sleepy. Ugh. She had to heave herself out of bed and up the stairs to the attic. “I should go.” She didn’t want to. She didn’t want to go anywhere—upstairs or to the wedding or back to New York and the job she was lucky to have. But life wasn’t a fairy tale. “Come on, Max.”

Max Minimus lifted his head, looked at her, and tunneled back into Max Maximus’s armpit. Max Maximus smirked.

“Max.Come. Time for bed.”

She spoke sharply enough that he did, but she could tell he wasn’t happy about it.

She wasn’t, either.

Chapter Fourteen

Max was aware that when he looked back on Dani’s visit to Riems, he was going to think of it like a movie montage. She usually got up early and worked on her book. When he and Max Minimus got up an hour or so later—yes, Max Minimus continued to appear in Max’s bed in the middle of the night—they took coffee and breakfast up to her. Then they’d spend the morning working.

After lunch, they’d hike or visit Riems. After dinner, which they generally had in front of the fire in the library, though once they ate with Sebastien in the main house, she might work some more, but there was usually a point at which she climbed down the ladder and they ended up talking late into the night.

Early on the fifth day of Dani’s stay, he woke to the sound of her coming down the ladder. It was dark, and a glance at his phone told him it was fivea.m.She appeared in silhouette in his doorway. “Max,” she whispered.

“Hello,” he’d said back, at full volume.

“Oh!” He’d startled her. “Sorry. I’m just trying to get my dog. Lately when I wake up and he’s not there, I get up and write,but I can’t keep it up. I’m too tired.” He wasn’t surprised. They had been staying up late and she’d been getting up early. “But then, stupidly, I couldn’t fall back asleep because apparently even though I’m exhausted, I’m emotionally dependent on a seven-pound Yorkshire terrier to actually fall asleep.”

He tried to make Max Minimus go with her. He really did.

All right, he didn’t try that hard.

When the mutt responded to her summons by yawning and burrowing deeper into Max’s armpit, he could have removed him. Picked him up, handed him to Dani, and shut his door behind them.

Instead, he scooched himself, his armpit, and the dog it contained to one side of the bed and threw back the covers. When she hesitated, he started to get up, aiming to hand over Max Minimus, but she shocked him by getting into the bed. They didn’t touch. They didn’t talk. She just rolled over and went to sleep.

And so did Max.

A few hours later, he opened his eyes to find her staring at him. They were on their sides facing each other. She smiled. He did, too.

“I thought you were an insomniac,” she said.

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