Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) by Blair Babylon (best ereader for comics .TXT) 📗

He had one more phone call to return.

On his phone screen, a number—no name, just a number—was repeated three times at the top of the list of missed calls.

Max thumbed the glass.

While his phone rang, he leaned back in his desk chair and swiveled it around to watch the wintry sunset turn the terra cotta walls of the fortress to flame.

The twilight of the day.

A suitable time for an ending.

A click.

A woman asked, “Maxence?”

“Flicka,” he breathed.

And there was a pause.

A pause like that one could last a lifetime if they let it. They both knew she’d broken his heart, once upon a time.

And they both knew why he wasn’t right for her. Flicka liked being in control, not losing her mind and self.

But that wasn’t why he’d called.

Maxence asked her, “Should I have taken you out of that house in Geneva?”

Her voice rose like begging. “No, no, Max. That’s not why I called. You couldn’t have done anything more. Anything would have caused them to shoot us. Besides, Pierre knew where I was. He had more resources and power, and he couldn’t do anything until they moved us. They’d have shot Alina and me before his commandoes blew the door.”

His soul was shredding as he spoke. “It felt wrong to leave you. It still feels wrong.”

“You did everything you could, Maxence. You did the right things at the right times because it got us here. I’m okay now.”

“Are you?” he asked, a catch in his voice.

“I am. I married him.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. Just in case the first one didn’t count. Or just in case Pierre’s trumped-up divorce did. And so Wulfram could give me away.”

“Oh,” Maxence said, staring as the sun’s fire licked the world outside his office window.

“And now you’re going to be the Prince of Monaco. It reminds me of when we used to talk in school about how we were going to burn down the world. Something was going to happen to my brother, which I fully expected to happen because Wulfie prepared me for it every day of my life, and so I was going to be the princess of Hannover. And I offered to kill Pierre for you.”

Maxence wouldn’t joke about something so close to the truth. “We had dark senses of humor as children.”

“And now you’re going to be the prince, Max. Are you going to burn down the world?”

“No,” Maxence said. “No, to it all. I’m not going to take the throne.”

“But you’re next in line. And you’re there. Christine said you’d returned to Monaco, and my calls aren’t going directly to voicemail anymore.”

“I’m renouncing. I’m here to settle everything so I can leave.”

“Then you’re still serious about the priesthood.”

“Yes.” Maybe not.

“I thought that might be—a retreat.”

“From what?” But he knew her answer.

Her voice was gentle. “From me.”

Outside the window of his medieval castle, fire consumed the world. “Of course not.”

Flicka said, “Maxence, we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“I just want to know if we’re all right. I need to know that we’re all right. We’ve done so much good together, leveraging our charities to have more impact and working off of each other’s media presence. And Max, I would hate to lose you as a friend. We’ve been through too much together. I need to be able to call you. I need to know you’re all right.”

Dree had just come back into his office. She wheeled in the tea service to the other side of his desk and fussed with the napkins, making sure everything was perfect.

An evening ray of Mediterranean light glowed on her alabaster skin and struck fairy lights in her golden hair. She looked up and saw him staring at her. Her smile started as a little shy, but then she grinned because she’d caught him gawking.

Maxence smiled back at her and said to Flicka, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’m going to be fine.”

He hung up the phone a few minutes later.

Four cups of steaming hot chocolate stood on the solid silver tray.

Dree said, “I wasn’t eavesdropping.”

Oh, she was funny. “Of course not.”

“The receptionist gal told me to tell you that your next appointment is here.”

He pressed the call button on the desk phone. “Two minutes.”

The woman’s voice said over the phone, “I’ll try, but—”

He clicked the intercom off. “Two things,” he told Dree.

Her eyes darted to the sides like she might find them.

Maxence held up his phone. “I’ve had a text from Isaak.”

She brightened. “Yeah?” And then something made her pause. “I mean, is he okay?”

“He and Batsa are still in Nepal. Isaak commandeered one of Quentin Sault’s jeeps after we got on the helicopter, and they drove back to the last village with a nurse. He brought the premature baby’s mother to the hospital in Chandannath. The baby is doing very well, and her mother has named her Chirasmi, which means ‘a long life.’”

Dree sat in the chair, her hand covering her mouth. “So she’s okay.”

“She’s fine. You did it. Isaak and Batsa are starting up their preemie pod charity, and they need your signature on the patent paperwork.”

She started giggling. “Okay, cool. I still can’t believe it worked!”

“And one more thing.” Maxence leaned back in his chair and fished in the pocket of his trousers to retrieve an old-fashioned, oversized metal key, a black, finger-length rod with a fleur-de-lis at one end and a notched square at the other, more like a Christmas decoration than a functional security device.

The iron flaked in places, leaving a red speck of rust on his thumb.

He handed it to her across the desk.

“What’s this?” Dree asked, turning it over in her scarlet-tipped fingers.

Maxence cleared his throat. “As my admin, you’ll need access to my apartment here in the palace.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, her bright sunniness lilting in her voice.

“Access to my apartment, at any time,” he said, almost choking on his words.

She nodded so fast that her chin vibrated. “Uh-huh.”

His voice dropped deeper in his throat. “Day