Page 33 of At Midnight

She sucked in a deep breath to calm the crazy tremorsin her lungs.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see that Sophie was watching her and clutching her hands together in front of her chest.

Whatever you want, tell me, and it will be yours. Anything you want. A charity dedicated to one of your African ventures? It will be done with a larger endowment than you’ve ever controlled before. Anything. Just name it.

She wanted her own money back,damn it.

But she thought it was interesting that he was going with bribery rather than blackmail or threats.

Even with the media coverage of our divorce—

There had been media coverage?

Flicka hadn’t been able to access anything except major news networks on the television. She’d supposed that the quickie Las Vegas divorce of a deposed princess wouldn’t make CNN’s international coverage.

The divorce also involved a prince of Monaco, though. They might have covered that.

But Flicka hadn’t been able to watch the news for more than a few minutes at a time, and she’d seen nothing at all during the first few days she’d been in Geneva. She’d probably missed it.

It wasn’t like they were anyone important.

If Flicka had been someone important, people would have noticed that she’d disappearedand hadn’t shown up at a bunch of social engagements for the last three months.

Pierre had continued,—I can respond and quiet the media. Monaco won’t recognize the legality of the Las Vegas divorce, so we can go on just like it never happened. Or we can remarry in a private ceremony, whatever you want. Regardless, you could have your charities, your causes, your friends, your social life, andwe could rule Monaco just like we’d planned. This doesn’t have to be the end. We can reconcile. We can get through it together.

Please, Flicka. Whatever you want.

Come back to me and Monaco.

He had typed his name below as a signature.

One thing that Flicka noticed about his message was the pragmatism of it, which didn’t surprise her, but what was shocking was the complete lack of anythingemotional.

Pierre didn’t say he missed her.

He hadn’t said he loved her.

His whole email was flattery, bribery, and the ask.

It was just another business deal for Monaco.

Flicka crumpled the printed email in her hands. Sharp corners of the paper poked her palms.

Sophie asked in a low, concerned voice, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Flicka said. “Yes, indeed. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to respondto him? I can do something. I can figure out some way, if you want to.”

For just a moment, Flicka considered it. If Pierre and his Secret Service descended upon the Mirabaud mansion on the outskirts of Geneva and took her away, it would be an escape from her kidnappers.

She could walk away from the Monegasque Secret Service. She’d done so dozens of times, and then she’d be free.

A door opened,and a tiny voice asked, “Flicka-mama?”

Standing in the doorway to the guest suite’s second bedroom, rubbing her green eyes, stood the reason why Flicka wouldn’t even consider her own rescue.

Alina said, “Flicka-mama? Hungry.”

Flicka said, “Alina-honey,Grand-mamanis here. Let’s order up some tea and cookies.”

Alina’s green eyes brightened, and she grinned. “Cookies?”

“Yes, darling. We canhavecookies.”