Page 44 of The Princess and the P.I.

The next night, Maurice slid the hotel key into the slot, the green light flashing its quiet permission into Fiona’s suite.

He had been trying—really trying—to manage expectations.

Fiona’s. His own. About the play party, about the case, about what they were even still chasing.

But the line between investigation and obsession kept blurring.

The tox report should’ve been a relief. Closure, or something like it.

But it didn’t sit right, and no one was any closer to dropping Fiona’s charges.

They were banking on Sara. On her secrets.

On whatever names or leverage she was dangling from this damned manuscript everyone was terrified of.

Maurice ran a hand over his jaw, the stubble sharp against his palm.

Maybe they didn’t need her anymore. Maybe the tox report was enough to bury Thorpe.

Maybe the play party was a bad idea, one step too deep into murky waters.

But then again—what if they were wrong?

What if the real monster hadn’t even entered the frame yet?

He was braced for chaos—Fiona with a crime board of Post-its and conspiracy maps scrawled across the walls—but instead, Fiona emerged from the bedroom looking…

calm, centered, dangerous. She was dressed in some of the clothes his sisters had picked out, and he liked it.

A snug black cashmere sweater dress with a braided texture that made him want to skim the soft material along her waist and hips with his fingertips.

Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Will we ever be alone again? Clean break.

Maurice made another note on the board, speaking out loud. “Fiona and I found out three things in the tearoom: One, Sara and Mark think Fiona is a church operative and not to be trusted.”

Fiona added, “And two, Sara is working with someone right now who Mark refuses to engage with. I think that means there is a secret big dog. Let’s call them ‘Lord/Lady X,’ who’s pulling the strings.”

Maurice nodded, then added a big, decisive 3 to the board. “Sara just publicly torpedoed the sale of the company with a half chapter of this tell-all, and Mark is unraveling.” He turned toward Esi, tossing the marker down with a little too much energy.

“So, Dr.Esi, help us out.” He yanked a file from his backpack, shaking off thoughts that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with Fiona in that damn dress.

Walking over to the side of the board labeled “Medical Shit,” he circled it hard enough to make the board wobble.

“The tox report on Robert shows what again…‘drug cocktail’?”

Esi snapped up the folder. “Good news, right?” she said.

“He died of something,” Fiona insisted, pacing. “He was slick—his skin was sweating like he was boiling from the inside out.”

“Seizure?” Esi offered, jotting something down.

“He was shaking, mumbling, ‘What the hell?’ over and over,” Fiona said, her eyes flickering with memory.

“Confusion.” Esi tapped her pen thoughtfully. “Heatstroke? Extreme hypoglycemia? Focal seizures?”

“Can we test for that?” Maurice asked.

“Why?” Esi snapped, the doctor’s mask slipping. “If there’s no murder, there’s no charge. My sister walks free.”

“And whoever actually killed Robert walks free too,” Maurice countered. “What’s to stop them from tying up loose ends? They’ll come for the people who know too much.”

“Mark looks capable of killing anyone,” Fiona added. “You should’ve seen him. He was livid.”

“If I were a betting man,” Maurice said, “Robert isn’t the last body this killer’s going to drop.”

“And you’re both heading to a masked party, where anyone could be setting you up?” Esi asked, incredulous.

“A setup’s only dangerous if you’re unprepared.” Maurice shrugged, a glint in his eye. He meant for Esi to hear this. “We’ll turn it around. I’m sure Fiona’s got something planned. I’m looking forward to her little honey trap.”

Fiona gave him a little look, swift and hot. Brown eyes under black lashes, parted lips—a secret between them.

When she sat down in the living room, he followed her, like some loyal, exhausted dog. He thought better like this, though—with Fiona. He liked the versatile detective he could be with her. His oldest, corporate sister would call it synergy.

He rubbed his temples, trying to restore order to his brain chemistry.

Fiona leaned toward him, then stepped back. Like she was remembering their conversation in the wardrobe. The problem wasn’t her. It was him.

Maurice didn’t know how to recalibrate. Couldn’t figure out what this version of them was supposed to be, post–sleeping buddies, post-couch.

“Remember—not too much information in front of Esi,” she finally said. Maurice was thankful she had landed somewhere safe.

He sighed. “Fiona, I think someone’s pulling Esi’s strings, yeah. But she’s still a doctor. And a trap can work two ways.”

“She’s here to watch,” Fiona said, her eyes flitting toward her sister, who was mid-call by the kitchenette.

Maurice tilted his chin up. “Then let her report what we want her to report.”

Fiona didn’t look convinced. She slouched into the couch, rummaging in a canvas tote tucked behind a cushion. “I found a book—” she said, almost shyly.

“I’m not reading another sleep hygiene book—” He looked back at Esi again, who was pacing on the phone.

“No, it’s not that. It’s a graphic novel about, um, grief and guilt. It won a lot of awards.” She showed him the beautifully illustrated cover. He ran his hands over the title, Mazebook .

See, this was the type of shit he couldn’t…“Will you read it with me?” he asked.

She reached over and shook a second copy.

And suddenly it was incredibly hard to swallow.

“Yeah, I’ll check it out,” he said, blinking away the sting in his eye.

Maurice was dangling by a fingernail off some windy-ass cliff, and he knew it.

“Fiona, I need you over here,” Esi said and glared accusingly at Maurice. Fiona blinked like she, too, had been someplace else—maybe with him, on that gusty cliff.

“So back to business.” Esi bit hard into a banana and Maurice winced. “You have that sex party with Sara…I think we should redirect our attention to pulling this off tonight. You two are going to stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t know how to act.”

“My sister has been to a handful of play parties and has offered to help us,” Fiona said.

Maurice lifted his head slowly. “I’ve never needed help with sex or parties. Combined, I’m double the fun. I think I got this.”

“Do you know how one should comport oneself at a sex club? Do you have your test results?” Esi asked.

Fiona and Maurice held the white papers up high.

“Have you read the consent rules?” she asked.

“Front and back,” Fiona said.

Maurice only shrugged and begrudgingly pushed himself off the couch, rising and stretching to his full height.

“Do you know how you would approach a partner for sex?” Esi asked.

Maurice’s eyebrow rose, and Fiona’s mean-ass unflappable sister blushed.

Maurice pulled a cheese Danish apart and handed Fiona half. When she took a bite, he watched with an intensity that bordered on obscene.

Esi snapped her fingers, and Maurice’s eyes popped away from Fiona and the cheese Danish. “You think all of this is silly, but there are rules, and you all will be flat on your ass in the first half hour if you don’t play by them,” Esi said.

“She’s right, Maurice,” Fiona said. “This is just as delicate an endeavor as any of the other fieldwork we did.”

“You both are overcomplicating this,” Maurice said.

“ Are we overcomplicating it?” She pointed to Maurice’s bag filled with mics and listening devices.

“First of all, you can’t walk into a place like that with all this gear.

Mics, clicky pens, whatever-the-hell spy toys you’ve packed.

Most of these events require you to shower first anyway.

If you want intel, you’re going to have to rely on memory. Old-school.”

Maurice gave the recorder in his pocket a mournful pat. What kind of surveillance-hostile gulag is this?

Esi continued, “You should also check the dress code. They could require that you be nude in certain areas or wear lingerie. Fiona, what were you planning on wearing?”

Fiona rested her hand on her hip, smoothing her black dress. And it was such a soft and sexy little flick of her wrist that Maurice swallowed.

“And these.”

Fiona went to her closet and pulled out the Sailor Pluto boots.

Esi’s eyes widened with greedy delight. “How did you get your hands on Jimmy Choos?” She yanked one boot from Fiona and shoved her foot inside, and something about it made Maurice wince. Like the wicked stepsisters trying to shove their feet into the glass slipper.

“May still be too conservative,” Esi said, jumping around trying to fit her foot into the boot. “Damn!” she finally exclaimed and pulled the boot off.

“Okay, your sisters did a good job on Fiona. What are you wearing?”

Maurice looked down at his lap, knowing full well where he had drawn their eyes. “This.”

Esi once again blushed. “Should be fine,” she said, a little too fast, a little too high-pitched. She changed the subject, grasping for control. “You two might want to come up with a safe word just in case things get a little too realistic.”

“What do you mean?” Fiona and Maurice asked together, too in-sync to be anything but performative.

“I mean, it can get hot and heavy in those places, and you need to be able to draw each other back if things get out of control. You need to establish whether it’s safe for others to touch you—”

“No,” Maurice said, peeling an orange in a single thick curl. “No one else is touching you—or me.”

“You may have to do things to get into specific rooms, like levels. So be aware of what your limit is.”

“Do things to each other?” Fiona’s voice cracked a little.

“Or to yourself, or with other people”—she looked at Maurice—“with people watching. And look, Maurice, I’m just going to come out and say it. Because it’s actually important to how you handle this event. My sister’s a virgin—”

“Esi, what the heck!” Fiona looked like she was choking on a fish bone.

Maurice squinted, looking for fear or anxiety in Fiona. “We don’t have to do this, Fiona. We don’t have to do any of this.”

He might call the whole thing off.

“We kind of do have to do this.” Fiona looked at her sister like she could kill her.

But Esi wasn’t revealing anything Maurice hadn’t already deeply suspected.

“I worked this angle for six weeks. It’s finally paying off, and we are going to see it through to the end. ” Her tone left no room for argument.

Esi looked surprised. She had never met this Fiona. She glanced between them. “I’m only saying this for your understanding.” She gestured to Maurice. “If things get out of hand there, it may not be the type of place she wants to have a forever memory of.”

Fiona waved her hands, putting herself at the center of a conversation her sister was trying to square her out of.

“All of this is a moot point, because we’re not going there to actually explore the edges of our sexuality”—she cut a glance at Esi—“but to get information.” Fiona rushed on.

“Maybe even close this case.” She looked flushed.

“Sara has the most information. She is the center of everything, and this is nearly two months of detective work.

“But I do…” Fiona’s voice faltered for a second, and when she looked up at him, it was his turn to blush. “I do think we need a safe word. If you get unwanted attention or I do.”

“Princess,” he said with no deliberation.

“Say the word, and I’ll come.” He smiled, showing his canines.

“Or I’ll stop.” Maurice pressed his thumb into the navel of the peeled orange and pulled it apart in the middle.

Tiny microbursts of citrus spray wet his fingers.

He remembered pushing his thumb into her mouth.

He felt silly for once again not thinking about the different experiences they might have in this type of venue.

How could she get out of a dangerous situation?

“Should I also bring Nina?” He patted his gun.

“No! See—” Fiona glared at her sister. “No, it doesn’t require all of that. Just read the brief, and both of you should stop trying to commando this party. I am the lead,” she said, “and nothing will happen unless I want it to. The rules are no insertions—”

“Nothing inside.” Maurice nodded. “No tongues, no digits, foreign objects.”

“Yes, and no extractions,” Fiona said. “Fluids, solids.”

“Okay, so nothing out or in, got it.” Maurice lunged for the door. “I may have to go change out of this outfit.”

Maurice couldn’t get out of the hotel room fast enough.

He was reactive to every slight thing Fiona did or said.

This time it was the way she looked away from him when she said no insertions .

God, he had a semi because she looked away.

He suddenly wished there was a pill called dead dick .

He needed an emergency prescription or tonight was going to be a disaster.

Through the door he heard Esi warning Fiona.

“Fiona, under no circumstances do you go down a bad path with that wolf tonight. He will eat you and floss with your nervous system afterward. Promise me you’re done with him.”