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

Because Maxence hadn’t spoken to Valentina since he’d been back in Monaco, he threaded his way through the crowd to talk to her first.

He’d almost reached Lady Valentina Martini, and indeed Valentina had glanced up at him with one eyebrow lowered, when a light hand touched his arm. A soprano, feminine voice asked, somewhere near his shoulder, “Maxence? Imagine meeting you here.”

Max glanced down, not showing his irritation at being waylaid, and found his acquaintance from school, Kira Augusta von Prussia. Her pearl pink gown was almost as pale as her porcelain skin, and her hair was so fair, it was silvery. Alfred Hitchcock would’ve called her an icy blonde, as he had Max’s grandmother.

Maxence said, “Kira? I heard you were up in the Netherlands working as a cultural attaché.”

Her slim arms wafted into the air, and Maxence bent to kiss her on both cheeks.

Her cool lips brushed his skin. Up close, her flawless skin made him wonder if she was one of the stark white mannequins positioned around the room that had acquired a dress.

Kira said, “I was bored. I thought I would come down and see if there was anything in Monaco that was more exciting to do.”

Maxence gestured at the room. “There’s certainly something more surreal.”

Firefly drones floated overhead, spelling out “Monaco welcomes you” as they rippled in the air.

“It certainly is more interesting than anything in the Hague.” She tucked her arm through his, a surprisingly intimate gesture from the ordinarily reticent Kira von Prussia. A few months ago, he would’ve thought he was going to get laid. She said, “I was thinking about you the other day.”

Such a forthcoming admission from the icy blonde. “I appreciate that you remembered me.”

“I was thinking about the time when we were in upper school, on that field trip to Paris to see the Louvre yet one more time?”

Several of those occasions came to the forefront of Maxence’s mind. “Was that the time you and Marie-Therese got drunk at the hotel bar, and when the chaperones made you stay in your room instead of letting you go to the Louvre, you guys got drunk again from the minibar in protest?”

Her serene smile did not move, not even in amusement. “I meant the time when that group of us sneaked out of the hotel and went to the jazz club.”

Ah, he did remember that. Afterward, music that had been processed and idealized for recordings seemed like an entirely different artform than live music. Maxence hadn’t missed a chance to see any live concert ever since. “You can’t go wrong with Parisian jazz.”

“We sat in a booth together.”

“I guess we did.”

“I hoped all night that you would kiss me, but you just listened to the music.”

Maxence had seen just about everything in his life, but being hit on by the unobtainable Kira Augusta, Princess of Prussia, threw him so much that he had to concentrate on walking, lest the toe of his dress shoe drag on the thick carpeting and he end up flat on the floor, an enormous tree fallen amongst the neon lilies.

A photographer snaked over to them, reared up to shower them with white from her flash, and slithered back into the crowd.

Maxence said to Kira, “I never knew you felt that way. I’m surprised you haven’t said anything in all these intervening years.”

“After we graduated from Le Rosey, it seemed we all jetted off for college in different directions, and then you truly left everyone behind to go to seminary in Latin America.”

“That’s true, but—”

“Once you enrolled in seminary, I would never have made my feelings known.”

Wait, were they talking about feelings? “Kira, I—”

“But now that you’ve returned to Monaco for good—”

Maxence turned and looked down at her. Her expression seemed serenely amused, but all of Kira’s expressions were serenely something. “I’m only here to settle the election of a new sovereign prince, and then I’m leaving again.”

She blinked, a perfectly posed portrait come to life. “But you’re the heir to the throne. You’re going to be the sovereign prince.”

“It’s a complicated story, but I have no intention of taking the throne.” They had reached Valentina Martini’s small group. “Lovely to see you again, Kira, but I need to have a conversation with these ladies.”

Kira floated back into the neon flowers, gently slipping between the people in the crowd without a ripple.

That was odd.

Maxence did not like odd.

Previously in his life, odd usually meant someone was going to try to stuff him in the back of a black SUV.

But he turned and faced Valentina Martini, one of his candidates for the throne. “Lady Valentina, how lovely to see you here.”

Valentina Martini’s gown was navy blue silk, almost black in the dim illumination from the twisted tubes of colored neon, with silver embroidery vining her left side. She hadn’t inherited the black hair and black eyes of their Grimaldi ancestors but was blond and blue-eyed, descended from other Nordic stock who had married into the House of Grimaldi. Lady Valentina was—Max traced his family tree in his head—his grandfather’s older sister’s granddaughter, which made them second cousins.

Lady Valentina looked him up and down before extending her hand to shake. “Prince Maxence, I heard you had arrived in Monaco once again.”

“Those rumors are true. I’ve been trying to get an appointment with you.”

“I’m terribly busy with the charities I support, Prince Maxence.”

Her charitable work might give him some insight into her interests and capabilities. “Very noble of you. What are your sponsored charities, by the way?”

She pursed her lips together before she answered. “Pinniped Rescue of Monaco, and Polo for Disadvantaged Youth.”

Those are weirdly specific charities. “Pinnipeds? Do you mean like the Mediterranean monk seal? So, you work with endangered marine life?”

“Sure.”

Maxence continued, “I’m not sure how polo helps disadvantaged youth. It’s certainly not a sport they could continue without significant support, and I’m not aware of professional polo teams that they could be recruited by. What is the model behind