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On an eye roll, she shuts the door behind her.
CHAPTER15
CAMILLE
This morning I’m taking my sweet time in the shower. If the palace staff follows the same routine as yesterday, a sumptuous breakfast will be waiting for me spread out across two big trays on the bed by the time I emerge. The beverages will be served in pretty thermos teapots, and the food under silver cloches to keep everything warm.
That’s how the inhabitants of Château des Neiges and Falcon’s Nest enjoy their breakfast—in bed. A folded-up copy of today’sMount Evor Herald,Le Figaro, and theWall Street Journalwill be delivered at the same time as the food and drink, a set for Louis and a set for me. I suppose it’s to make sure we don’t fight over who reads what first.
I don’t expect us to fight, but it doesn’t mean we’ll be chummy.
Why, why did he have to insist on seeing me naked last night?
We were having so much fun! I was completely into it, aroused the way I hadn’t been in ages. If ever. The series of furtive hookups I had after Jeannette’s death, mostly in the guy’s car, didn’t come close. After a few more minutes, I might’ve freed his cock and demanded he find a condom. In the unlikely event he didn’t have one, I might’ve given him a blow job, and then let him return the favor. That’s how horny he’d gotten me.
But no,his lordshiphad other plans. He wanted to see me naked. My refusal to undress simply didn’t register. Louis couldn’t envision doing it my way. He wanted it his way. And what Louis wants Louis gets, right? That’s how the rich boys destined to become powerful dukes are raised.
I turn off the shower, pull a big white bathrobe on and wrap a towel around my head. The best way forward is to act as if yesterday never happened. It should be easy enough. All I need to do is tell myself that the kisses Louis and I shared under the mistletoe and then at the hotel were just as fake as the wedding band on my finger.
As expected, my breakfast is waiting for me on the bed. Louis must’ve let the server in, and then moved his own tray to the salon. I can hear him discussing work-related stuff with someone on the phone from the sound of it.
I climb onto the bed and pour myself some coffee from the fine porcelain pot. I’m about to pick up a slice of fresh-baked, mouthwatering bread when I notice a large brown envelope next to this morning’s papers. I unwind the string and button closure and open it. Inside, there’s a multipage document stamped Confidential. It’s the fire investigator’s report.
I can’t believe it!
Not only did Louis heed my request from last night, but he woke up early this morning, made phone calls, and had a copy of the report couriered to our suite. Mr. Entitled is making it clear that he respects our deal regardless of our discord.
Forgetting about breakfast, I peruse the report. It describes in minute detail what Adam Von Dietz told us. The evidence that the fire was arson is overwhelming. I read the section dedicated to the six victims. No MESS agents are mentioned. If one of the guards who died in that fire was indeed a spook, the investigators probably didn’t have the clearance to know it.
The last pages are the signed contributions of the coroner who examined the bodies. Six pages, one per victim. Very similar findings for all of them and nearly identical conclusions. They all died of asphyxia caused by smoke and carbon monoxide inhalation. I close the report.
But something bothers me. It’s a teeny-weeny something like a baby mosquito, but it’s definitely there. I reopen the report and go over the coroner’s reports. They look fine. Don’t they?
And then I see it, the baby mosquito.
Grabbing the report, I rush to the salon.
Louis looks up from his croissant. “What’s wrong?”
“This report! That’s what’s wrong.” I dart to the sofa.
He scoots over to make space for me.
I plonk myself down. “I worked as a print technician four years ago.”
“I remember seeing something about it in your file.”
“Specifically, I was a prepress operator,” I say. “I operated the machines while the typesetters handled the layout, but I was also asked to check the products post print for overall accuracy.”
“OK…”
I open the coroner’s next to last page dedicated to one of the guards, Pierre Housard. “Notice the typeface.”
Louis nods.
I show him the report before, and the report after. “See the difference?”
He shakes his head.
