Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
With laughter bubbling from Abigail, she turns in a circle so we can all admire her wedding gown.
Suddenly Max calls out, “She’s too gorgeous for you, Nikolai.”
My eyes glue themselves to the man by my side, and I drink in the sight of him being relaxed and comfortable because he’s among his kind.
He notices I’m staring at him and wraps his arm around my shoulders. Pulling me closer so I’ll lean against his side, he whispers, “Thank you for coming with me today.”
The ceremony continues, and when Nikolai and Abigail are pronounced husband and wife, I send a wish into the universe that, just maybe, there’s a chance things can work out between Max and me.
Like most women, I’ve dreamed of getting married but never has there been a man I considered to be the one – not until Max.
When everybody gets up, he pulls me to my feet and wraps an arm around my lower back. Leaning closer, he asks, “You okay?”
I nod quickly, and smiling at him, I say, “It was a beautiful ceremony.”
He tilts his head and stares at me for a few seconds, his eyes searching mine. “It feels like you’re hiding something from me.”
Patting my hand against his chest, I widen my smile. “I’m fine, Max. There’s nothing wrong. Let’s follow everyone to the reception.”
Once again, I squash my worries deep down and focus on the celebration.
Once we leave the island, I’ll take some time to sift through my emotions and decide how to handle things going forward.
Chapter 27
Max
Attending Nikolai’s wedding was a breath of fresh air. It was good catching up with my friend again.
But it also burst the bubble Cami and I have been living in.
Before the wedding, we closed ourselves off from reality and got lost in each other. But now reality is knocking on the door, and things will change soon.
Next week Maurice will become Prime Minister of France, and I’ll either have to take Cami back to France or kidnap her.
I’m leaning toward kidnapping her but ripping her away from her father won’t do me any favors.
Christ, Maurice will never give his blessing. No sane father who loves his daughter would agree to her dating an assassin.
“Max, it’s starting,” Cami calls from inside the cabin.
The SUV needed an oil change, which kept me busy for a while.
Heading into the cabin, I say, “Let me just wash my hands.”
While I’m scrubbing the grime from my fingers, I hear the TV’s volume increase.
Olivier De Rothschild is having a presidential debate against the opposing party, and Maurice is there to support him.
I dry my hands, and walking back to the living room, I take a seat next to Cami.
I have zero interest in politics, but Cami wants to watch the debate in the hopes of getting a glimpse of her father.
She snuggles into my side, and pulling a bag of pretzels closer, she nibbles on one.
The announcer talks about the candidates' history and what he thinks will be discussed today. He mentions De Rothschild will probably use Maurice’s push for a greener country to gain more votes.
It’s not even been ten minutes, and I’m bored.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I check my emails and bank accounts before signing in to St. Monarch’s database.
Suddenly Cami grabs my thigh and excitedly says, “There he is.” She frowns as she stares at the TV. “I’ve told him not to wear that suit. The light gray makes him look old.”
I don’t even bother looking as I check if any information has been found about the threat to Cami.
The request shows there’s nothing new, but before I exit my dashboard, a message uploads.
Information requested found.
My phone starts to ring, and seeing the number from St. Monarch’s, I get up from the couch and answer, “Levin speaking.”
“Mr. Levin,” Director Koslov says. “I’m giving you this information via a personal call because it’s time-sensitive, and you’re my godson’s best friend.”
“What have you found out?”
“The target is no longer Camille DuBois but Maurice DuBois. Today.”
Jesus Christ.
“Who has the hit been assigned to?” I ask. Knowing who the assassin is will tell me when and how it will happen. We all have our own personal brand.
“I can’t give you that information. I suggest you hurry.”
“Thank you.”
I end the call, and walking back to the living room, my eyes lock on the TV as I dial Maurice’s number. The call connects, but it keeps ringing until it goes to voicemail. “It’s Max. Get out of there.”
I don’t say anything else, and instead, I redial the number.
On the TV screen, I see Maurice and De Rothschild walk up the steps toward the stage, waving at all their supporters. I watch as Maurice stops on the side while Rothschild takes his position behind the podium.
Fuck.
“Answer your phone,” I growl as I listen to the incessant ringtone.