Page 37 of The Princess and the P.I.

It was only eight a.m., and Maurice’s phone was hot from all the notifications and calls. Fiona’s father’s home had a smattering of reporters outside, thinking that she was still there.

Maurice had slept on his Fiona couch, and now he had a crick in his neck and stale breath. He leaned over in the office bathroom, letting the hot water run until it steamed the mirrors.

Fiona challenging him on his grudge with Ryan was…unexpected. Maurice hadn’t pegged her for someone who’d point out his bruised ego, much less have the audacity to bite into it. A lioness in mouse clothing.

“Hm.” Tameka leaned against the counter, arms folded tight, her lips twitching like she was about to say something dangerous. “Got yo’ ass.”

Maurice frowned. “She didn’t get anything.”

“Oh, she got you. You still over here mad ’cause Ryan don’t text you ‘Good morning, beautiful’ or some shit. And it stops you from doing your work.”

“That’s not—” Maurice stopped, exhaling sharply. “That’s not what this is about.”

“You ever think,” Tameka started, and he knew she would make a point he couldn’t dodge, “what might’ve happened if you leaned on the cops in my case? I could be an Instagram influencer by now.”

“You would still be dead, I fear.”

“Sure, but maybe fancy dead like Elvis or Tupac. People wearing ‘Gone but Not Forgotten’ T-shirts. You know? But you wanted to prove a point—waiting months for lab results, doing your own expensive-ass background checks, acting like you ain’t need help,” Tameka continued, shaking her head.

He clenched his jaw, the words biting deeper than he wanted to admit. She wasn’t wrong. Hell, Fiona wasn’t wrong either.

“I was just—” he started, but Tameka cut him off.

“If you try to lone wolf this, I don’t like your chances.”

Maurice wiped the bathroom mirror and she was gone.

—

After freshening up, he was back at Fiona’s door.

He had made it eight whole hours before his body started twitching, before his brain began plotting ways to be in her space.

A new record. He was worse off than even his sisters suspected.

And his sisters suspected a great deal. When Fiona went to jail for grand larceny, he’d probably have to buy the cell next door just to maintain a baseline level of functioning.

Maurice let himself in, moving through the suite with ease. He was halfway to the kitchen when Fiona’s sister rounded the corner and nearly jumped out of her skin.

“God, you’re going to give someone a heart attack.” Esi clutched her chest like she was genuinely considering adding him to her malpractice insurance. She was drinking something thick and green, and wearing a floral dress.

“Morning to you too.” Maurice shrugged off his jacket and picked up the hotel phone. He dialed room service, ordering coffee and an obscene spread of pastries. He did not ask if she wanted anything, and he hoped she would take offense and leave.

“Fiona doesn’t like all that pastry nonsense,” she said. “She’s more of a plain oatmeal girl.”

Maurice met her eyes. “She likes it with me.” He didn’t know why he felt so territorial, or why it extended toward Fiona’s sister, but there they were.

“You get off on this, don’t you? Fiona running after you like some starry-eyed intern. Bringing you coffee, filing your papers. You probably let her pick the lunch spot so she feels important.”

“You really don’t know your sister.”

Esi’s eyes narrowed, just a fraction. “What I don’t know is what kind of arrangement you and my sister have.”

“The kind where I’m trying to keep her out of prison.” His eyes flicked over her.

Esi stepped closer, close enough that he caught a faint trace of her perfume. “Look, you—” Her eyes shot back to Fiona’s bedroom. “You don’t understand what all is at stake here. Fiona needs to stop this.”

Esi looked genuinely afraid.

“Has someone threatened her?” Maurice’s stomach tightened. “Esi—”

But she retreated at the sound of her sister’s footsteps.

Fiona tumbled into the room then, breathless, triumphant, her phone held high like the Statue of Liberty. “She bit!” she gasped. “Sara invited me—to a party.”

Fiona just whizzed past her sister like she was furniture.

The thin straps of her nightgown slipped off her shoulders, and the fabric floated around her. Her hair spilled out wild and free, in four quarters like she had been mid-stroke of the brush before she ran in.

See, this shit…this was why Maurice made it a point not to be here in the mornings. He liked to be long gone before she woke, before she could disarm him like this, unguarded and untamed.

“Details,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even. But if an oxygen mask could fall from the sky, he would thank God above.

She perched on the edge of the couch, already typing furiously on her phone.

“She just sent me a link to her group,” Fiona said, still breathless. She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Effing Reddit detective work.”

“This could have been a text,” Maurice said, shoulders lowering.

“Okay, okay.” She held out her phone, screen angled toward him, but he didn’t miss the flicker of her thumb swiping something off the display—a splashy teal-and-red logo that he recognized all too well.

HNA: Happily Never After . He was intimately aware of that particular brand of sensational podcast storytelling.

He swallowed, trying to hide the uneasy twist in his gut.

“Next season is Tameka,” he said quietly. Six months of being pried open by true crime freaks. “Have you been talking to them?” he asked, voice tighter than he intended. “They’ve reached out to some of my old associates, trying to corroborate precinct stories.”

Fiona’s gaze flashed hot with hurt or maybe indignation. “I have never talked to them.”

Esi smirked. “I would. They need to know the whole truth.”

“Maurice.” Fiona touched his shoulder. A warning. Don’t obsess.

Maurice met Esi’s gaze. He did not trust her. “And what’s the whole truth?”

“That the church knows exactly what happened with Tameka. That she wasn’t the first and that the police and detectives involved were negligent.” She let the last bit hang.

“We were.” Maurice walked toward Esi with his hand on his chest. “But I’m not now, and if you know something—anything—”

Esi looked flustered and took a step back. “I…” She pulled at her shirt. “Fine time to grow a conscience right before you’re about to be lit up all over the country,” she said.

“Esi.” Fiona’s voice was a thunderclap. “I have a major break in the case. My case. The one you claim to care the most about. I don’t know what’s going on with you.

But if you mention that name again in this suite, if you purposely upset this man, you’re going to be on the other side of the door.

I mean it. Now both of you, listen up.” She snapped her fingers and they both obeyed.

Maurice blinked, startled by the fluttering rush of pride in his chest. She was defending him . Not passively either—neck rolling, eyes flashing, defending him. Against Esi, no less, the sister she seemed legitimately terrified of.

She turned to him then, and the fire didn’t dim. “Maurice, listen to me. Even if you ran a perfect investigation, those folks would still rip you apart. I know that community. They all think they would have handled it better, faster. That’s the allure. You cannot get sidetracked. This is my life.”

“It’s not just your life, Fiona. That’s what you fail to understand. What you do ripples out to the whole family, and we pay for it,” Esi said. “ I’m paying for it.”

Maurice felt it like a needle under the skin. What did she mean, I’m paying for it ?

Room service arrived, and Maurice was too happy to have an excuse to exit the tension between the sisters.

By the time he returned, the tension was still vibrating in the air, but the fight had cooled to a simmer.

He stayed at the edge of the room, slid into a chair by the window, and pulled open the spotless stainless-steel cloches.

Without looking up, he offered Fiona a cluster of grapes. His version of a peace offering.

She took one with the solemnity of a communion wafer. Nodded once.

A fragile détente.

He didn’t speak for a while, then said gently, “So. You got in with Sara?”

He asked it out of ritual, almost. A way to resume the rhythm. But his mind was still chewing on Esi’s words. On what she hadn’t said.

Something was breaking beneath the surface of this family. Whatever broke them was still breaking them.

“Oh, yes.” Fiona brightened, eager to show her big win.

“I DMed her from a burner account—‘So glad to be back in the DMV!’ Very casual, very ‘I brunch with mimosas and secrets.’ She’s stunning, right?

So I figured she’d be at bougie places, and I messaged, ‘You still go to that hot little spot?’?” She was dancing with the phone.

“And she sent me a link to a private group.”

“Tenacious Fiona,” he said softly. “Like a dog with a bone. Let me see the details.” He held her wrist, twisting her phone toward his face. In truth, he wanted her near him, a little closer.

“Is this it, Fiona?” His tone dropped ominously. Lord, this woman was trying to kill him. “Navy Yard Play Parties…? Fiona. I don’t…”

“Eh…You truly outrun wisdom, sister,” Esi scoffed in their father’s accent.

“No. Don’t try to pooh-pooh it now. This is a real lead. Our only lead for Sara!” She spoke like she felt something slipping away.

“Do you know what a play party is?” He sounded a little wolfish even to his own ears, but he regretted it because it was just enough for Fiona’s confidence to sputter.

“Sure.” She fumbled with her phone, trying to surreptitiously google it.

“It’s an adult party, Fiona,” Esi said.

Maurice’s eyes met hers. “A sex party.”

She shrugged, a violent attempt at nonchalance. “It’s still a real lead. I added all her friends first, then started chatting her up. It was brilliant.”