Page 66 of Prince

Max nodded. “Good.”

Chapter Eighteen

The Pigeon Tunnel

Maxence

Afew 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’tstop.

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 wouldstaypersuaded 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 afternoons. Hardly any of the tables will be open. We could go tonight.”

She shook her head, bouncing her soft curls. “I don’t want to gamble. I’ve never gambled in my life. I just want to see it.”

A bad idea came to Max, but it was a very common bad idea of his, and he was pretty good at it. “Let’s see if we can duck out of the palace and just walk over by ourselves. I’m sure security won’t mind if we’re out of bounds for a short time. It’s only a twenty-minute walk.”

Part of getting away with things is looking like you’re not getting away with things, and so Maxence and Dree ambled out of his office with him striding ahead and dictating notes to her, which she dutifully transcribed onto a tablet she held in her arms as she struggled to keep up. He loved to watch when she teetered on her high heels like a bobbly little doll.

The pale gray dress she wore clung to her sumptuous curves, her wasp-waist bending as her hips swung.

Gorgeous, but conspicuous.