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

“Such hyperbole, Uncle Jules. The Parlement français would send a registered letter to annex us, not tanks.”

“Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that. Once the French National Assembly begins delving into our treaties with them and they get their claws into Monaco, they might not let go.”

Maxence was careful not to roll his eyes, but he kept his gaze level. “I am not concerned that France would commit an act of war to take over less than two square kilometers. We have too many wealthy citizens who enjoy our lack of income tax. We would not want for friends in the World Court.”

Jules bounded out of his chair like a portly French bulldog with a sudden case of the zoomies. “I leave it to your discretion, Prince Maxence, but don’t wait too long to call a meeting of the Crown Council. Some might find it suspicious, like you’re attempting to hold onto unelected power longer than was right. You may not want people’s votes, but it seems that you do want your influence felt.”

Maxence allowed himself to smile benignly as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“So, it is settled then. You and Marie-Therese will cohost the Sea Change Gala.”

“It appears I have been conscripted,” Max said.

Jules inclined slightly from the waist. “I’ll take my leave then. Thank you for a pleasant conversation, Prince Maxence.” He straightened and turned his head to look at Dree. “And it was a pleasure to see the lovely Miss Andrea Clark again, too.”

Maxence did not allow his expression to change and shook Jules’s hand before he left, even though Max’s blood had become a rushing river of ice slush through his body.

When Jules had left the room, Dree looked up at Max, her blue eyes laughing. “Ahn-DRAY-uh. Can’t anybody pronounce my name properly in this place?”

Maxence nodded, preoccupied.

She said, “And I can’t believe you’re taking your cousin to the prom.”

Jules’s entire visit had been a pretense for that one moment when Jules revealed that he had information about Dree, which meant that he knew she was worthy of gathering information about. Saying her name had been a direct threat. His uncle Jules was a venomous snake coiled inside a deceptively harmless-appearing garden gnome, waiting for a soft, fleshy hand to pick it up. “Dree, I’m going to have to ask you to be more careful. I’m worried because Jules knows you’re important to me.”

She smiled. “I’m important to you, huh?”

He met her eyes. “You know you are, and I need you to be careful when you leave the palace.”

Dree shrugged. “I don’t go that many places. When I do, it’s with Chiara and the other girls from below stairs. I’m in a crowd, just another anonymous girlie in a group of girlies.”

He considered whether he should task a security detail for her, but he didn’t trust his security team, either. Plus, surrounding her with bodyguards would affirm her importance.

Damned if he did. Damned if he didn’t.

“I’m careful,” she told him. “I promise.”

Max nodded. “Good.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Pigeon Tunnel

Maxence

A few days later, Maxence and Dree were working in his office. She was scribbling nonsensical notes while he subtly interrogated his relatives about who they would consider a suitable candidate for the throne of Monaco.

The succession was vitally important.

The future of Monaco and the welfare of its citizens were at stake. His family was responsible for these people’s lives and well-being.

His concern became intense focus, and his words acquired force when he spoke to Crown Council members about their votes in the next council meeting during their appointments.

He knew he was doing it, but he couldn’t stop.

With persuasion, one of his uncles decided that straying from the customary line of succession was a splendid idea, and he assured Maxence that he’d cast his vote with Max’s coalition.

Another one of his cousins started nodding along with Max’s ideas and agreed with Maxence about everything, absolutely everything.

Max needed to dial it back a little.

But he was closing in on a majority of the votes. His notes assured it.

If only his relatives would stay persuaded and elect a moral, effective sovereign.

He’d met with nearly half of the Council’s members. With Alexandre’s voting bloc, he was confident he could elect whoever was best.

Lady Valentina Martini still hadn’t arranged a meeting with him, though. Max had seen her across the room at an event he’d been obligated to attend a few nights before, but she’d managed to dodge him. Perhaps because he was the new prince in town, thick crowds had thronged Maxence. Every time he’d tried to move toward Lady Valentina, he was intercepted and hadn’t managed to reach her before she’d retired for the evening. She was an elegant woman, her golden hair laced with silver, Her father had been a Norwegian prince, a superfluous fourth son of their king.

Most of Max’s other appointments that day were mere business or diplomacy. Maxence didn’t mind all the little meetings that he knew drove other people simply batty. He liked people, and he wanted to talk. The minutiae of Monaco interested him.

Max’s mind was an empty well that demanded water. Debating other Jesuit scholars during his Ph.D. had been one of the most fulfilling times of his life. Discussing policy crackled in his brain the same way.

One meeting bled into another, into another, and another.

Maxence learned about the mechanisms that kept Monaco humming.

But that afternoon, in an odd coincidence, three meetings in a row canceled. None of them related to the election, so there was nothing to get paranoid about.

Ergo, Maxence’s whole afternoon had become unscheduled.

He asked Dree, “Is there something in Monaco you’d like to see?”

Dree thought about it, tapping one scarlet-tipped fingernail against her chin. His shirt rubbed raw lines on his back. “I’d like to see y’all’s James Bond casino.”

Max checked his watch, which read two-twenty. “It’s only just opened for gaming. Very few people go in the