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I pull the opal friendship ring he gave me a few months ago from my left hand and slide it on my right. He replaces it with an antique opal and emerald ring, kissing my fingers one by one.
“Forever,” I mutter just as Les and Sean crash into the room.
“Sunday roast is on the table,” Sean trumpets, totally oblivious, while Les eyes us thoughtfully.
We smile and Max helps me up from the couch. Arm in arm, we walk to the dining room, my new ring shining on my finger.
In the dining room, the family is assembled around the table, everyone standing at their place. As we walk in, slow clapping starts. Then whistles and cheers.
“They all knew?”
“Of course they did.” He slides his arm around me and pulls me close, pressing his lips to mine. “When you marry me, you get my family too.”
“Package deal,” Brian calls out. “Buy one, the rest come free.”
ChapterTwenty-Six
Paris
Max
Micki, fresh in from Chicago, greets us with a blood-curdling yell inside the gated courtyard of the Pavillon de la Reine, our home for the next few nights. She’s here to attend the awards dinner. Dr. Marten’s boots hammer on the paving stones as she jumps up and down. Her blonde hair flies in all directions.
Cress smiles at her best friend, but JL lights up like a bonfire night celebration. A glow of joy surges through me as I imagine the beginnings of romance blooming.
“Ahem!” Allan taps me on the arm. He’s like a glue stick. “My contact at the Sûreté, Inspector Poulliot, will be here soon to discussion security arrangements for the awards dinner. Helpful ait’s down the way.”
I glance around and touch Cress’ arm. “I’ll check us in.”
She looks around, then nods before she moves toward Micki, who squirms out of JL’s embrace to meet her.
I turn toward Allan. “What time, exactly? And where?”
He points to a corner of the square. “Carette, over there.” Then he glances at his watch. “About twenty minutes. Enough time to put the bags in the room.”
“You’re staying here?” MI6 rarely allows such luxurious digs.
“They have tasked me to stay in close contact with you. This is as close as it gets.”
“Hmmm.” I narrow my eyes. “Should I expect you to move into the room with Cress and me?”
His mouth purses as if he’d sucked a lemon while he delivers his one-word reprimand. “Max.” The icy fog in his voice envelopes me like a shroud.
“Not my boss, Allan. Remember?” I snap, as a short, lean man approaches briskly. He looks straight ahead, focused on us. I am immediately on my guard, and I check for Cress. She stands near the entrance to the hotel with Micki and JL. They are staring at the interloper. JL moves toward me, and I shake my head no. The stranger holds out a hand with a disarming smile.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Grant.” Head tilted, he studies my face. The corners of his lips curve upward.
“You’re early.” Allan is grumpy as hell at Poulliot’s early arrival. My mood mirrors his. As if walls are closing in and time is getting short.
Allan musters a modicum of politesse. “Max, Inspector Poulliot of the General Directorate for Internal Security.” He stands legs apart and braced, arms crossed against his chest, gaze swiveling back and forth from one face to another.
I hold out my hand. “Max Grant.” We shake.
Clad in a distressed black leather jacket, T-shirt with obscured text, distressed jeans, and trainers, Poulliot is about thirty-five with short blond hair, fashionable stubble, and red-rimmed eyes with noticeable bags. He rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms, his gaze intent.
“I think we should move to Carette now for a coffee and a chat.” He’s hoarse and I wonder if he had a late night and too many smokes.
My eyes swivel toward the desk. JL has his arms folded across his chest. Cress shifts from one foot to the other. “May I?”
