Prince: Royal Romantic Suspense (Billionaires in Disguise: Maxence Book 5) Blair Babylon (ebook reader screen txt) 📖

could. That’s the only reason why a nobleman would go up to a gate like that, right? Because he was so desperate to end the war that he would do anything?”

“Perhaps the real message of the statue is that you can’t tell by looking at someone whether they’re malicious or not. Or perhaps just a warning that all the Grimaldi are malicious at heart.”

Dree tucked her hand in his elbow. “I don’t think all the Grimaldi are malicious.”

“You don’t know us well enough yet.”

They strolled down the steep ramps that led to the base of the castle, and they ended up walking on a sidewalk high above the Mediterranean and Monaco’s harbor. Brilliant sunlight shattered on the waves and threw shards across the water.

The breeze coming off the water freshened, flapping Max’s shirt against his chest. Dree pulled his suit jacket more tightly around her shoulders.

“Cold?” he asked her.

“You can take the girl out of New Mexico, but you can’t take New Mexico out of the girl. I’m a little chilly.”

Maxence wrapped one arm around her while they walked, cuddling her against his side. He shortened his stride, and she matched his steps.

She asked, “Are you supposed to be out alone like this? It seemed like we were escaping from the palace.”

“I’m good at ditching my security detail,” he said.

“I’m surprised you’re allowed to.”

He laughed. “For the time being, I’m the acting sovereign head of this tiny, tiny nation, and I can go for a walk if I want to.”

“But isn’t it dangerous for you to go off on your own?”

“It’s dangerous for me to walk around without any security protection because my malicious Grimaldi relatives might decide to assassinate me, and it’s dangerous for me to trust my bodyguards too much because they might have been bribed or blackmailed. Indira Gandhi was killed by her bodyguards. So was Xerxes the First, Caligula, Eric XIV of Sweden, a president of Somalia, and half the Roman emperors. In Monaco, it’s safer for me to be on my own and whereabouts unknown.”

Dree grimaced. “If it’s that dangerous, why do you ever come back here?”

The question splashed over him like a rogue wave. “I came back in November because my uncle was dying. He was the closest thing I had to a father. But I came back for school holidays when I was a child and teenager. My friends liked to come home with me because I live a few hundred yards from a casino and had almost no supervision.”

“But it seems like you came back pretty often,” she said.

“I grew up at a boarding school up in Switzerland and attended college elsewhere. Once I graduated from college, however, I needed a reason to leave Monaco. Otherwise, as the spare heir after my brother, I needed to be seen at galas and charity events. My schedule was prescribed. However, if I assured them that I wanted to be a priest and needed to study for a doctorate and work on charity missions, no one asked why I wasn’t in Monaco. Now that I’m the heir apparent, I can’t leave again. I’m more of a prisoner than a prince.”

She laughed. “Poor little rich prince can’t leave his castle. And yet it’s pretty easy for you to escape your gilded prison cell, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “I’ve had a lot of practice. And when you’re the prince, there are fewer questions than when you’re a teenaged heir.”

“Well, okay then, Mr. Prince, sir.”

Coming from Dree Clark in her perky little voice, Max liked the sound of that. A smile grew on his face, and he was just another guy taking a walk along the ocean with a woman he wanted. He was having too good of a time to let anything else worry him.

As they toured the casino, Maxence lived vicariously through his funny little friend, who was seeing the Monte Carlo casino for the first time.

“Oh, wow! Look at all the cars parked out in front!”

Indeed, supercars of all stripes—Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Aston Martins, Porsches, the odd Koenigsegg—fringed the lawn in front of the casino.

They went inside. “It’s so gold!”

The cavernous entrance was built to look like a palace, to emphasize the royal aspect of Monaco and the casino. In some ways, the casino looked more like a palace than the Palais Princier de Monaco. Gold-veined marble columns suspended the walkways above. The color was not the tacky gold-plated shine of the nouveau riche, but a semi-matte lustrous finish that came from real stone polished by master artisans and centuries of good taste.

Maxence passed money through the bars of the cashier’s cage, paying the entrance fee, and he dug around in his wallet and found an old UK driver’s license in the name of “Anthony St. Exsuperus.” Arthur had provided him with it one summer when they’d tramped around England incognito.

Dree showed them her driver’s license from the States.

She exclaimed, “Oh, slot machines! I could probably play those! That’s not real gambling.”

“You’ve really never gambled before?”

Dree shook her head, flipping her blond curls around her face. “My grandpa tried to teach some of my friends and me to play Twenty-One, but my mom caught us and yelled at him for corrupting our morals. She told the pastor, and he had a talk with grandpa about ‘the young and impressionables.’”

“Do you want to try a slot machine?”

She shook her head, her curls almost vibrating. “I’m afraid I’d lose the money.”

Maxence laughed, found a hundred-euro bill in his wallet, and fed it into a slot machine.

“No, no, don’t!”

He tapped the button to spin the wheels, and the machine rattled and paid out a hundred and fifty euros.

“Oh, that’s dangerous,” Dree said, shaking her head. “I can see how people become addicted to that.”

The décor of the room called the Salle des Amériques was orange-red and the ubiquitous gold, though the walls were a softer brown. Slot machines blazed blue and violet and clanged incessantly. He told her, “The slot machines are some of the most lucrative gaming in the