Page 15 of Royally Romanov

Finley winced.

“Sorry.” Scott slipped an arm around her and gave her shoulders an affectionate squeeze. His overcoat smelled like old books and French coffee—two of her favorite things. “I don’t mean to dredge up painful memories for you. Just be careful, Finley. You don’t know a thing about this guy. What was he even doing out there at Point Zero at three in the morning? Think about that for a minute.”

She shrugged out of his hold. “Don’t! Do not blame the victim.”

It came out harsher than she’d intended, but he’d hit a nerve.

Scott gave her a sad smile. “I’m not. I’m on your side here, Finley. Remember?”

She took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then let it out. She was arguing with her closest friend in Paris over a complete and total stranger. She’d clearly lost her mind.

“I know you are.” She smiled back at him. “And I love you for it. I don’t know why we’re talking about this. It’s not even a thing. He’s probably already tossed my business card in the trash. I doubt I’ll ever see Maxim Laurent again.”

Whoever he is.

“Let’s hope not,” Scott said as they stopped in front of her building.

She nodded, punched the entry code into the keypad on the outer gate of her foyer, and dug the key to the inner door out of her handbag. But after Scott said his good-byes, and Finley began the long climb up the spiral staircase to her apartment, she thought about the way Maxim had looked at her. The way his gaze had bored into her as if he’d known her. As if she’d known him.

She thought about the strange pattern of bruises on his skin and the aching hope in his deep voice, the way it scraped her insides.

I came here tonight hoping you could help me... I think you might be the only one who can.

She wasn’t sure what she hoped for anymore.