Maxence whipped through the prayer before confession, and his throat tightened. He forced the words out with his eyes squeezed shut. “I have committed sins of a sexual nature since my last confession, two of adultery and three of fornication, and many more in my heart, and quite a lot of impure thoughts. And a sin of wrath. And I committed a solitary sin against chastity once. No, twice.”
Father Moses widened one eye and dropped his other white eyebrow. “Maxence, it’s been three days!”
“I’m not proud of it,” Maxence muttered. When he slipped like that and went rogue, his psyche seemed to crumble from within.
“How many other people were involved during this time?”
“Two. Three, if you count the man I punched in the sin of wrath.”
“One for the fornication, and one for the adultery.”
“That’s what happened.”
“Oh, Maxence.” Father Moses shook his head sadly.
After Mass, Max had planned to go back to the hotel and consider what he should do in Paris during the four more days until he would fly away to begin his next charity mission. For a month, Max had been sitting beside his uncle’s hospital bed, reading to his uncle who was on a ventilator after a massive, hemorrhagic stroke.
His Uncle Rainier had always been a vital, energetic man who had kept a full schedule right up until the morning when he’d grabbed the side of his head and collapsed. He was only in his middle sixties, and the stroke had shocked everyone in Maxence’s family. Everyone had assumed they would have at least another decade before the patriarch of the family passed away and the battle for his assets began.
Some families fall apart fighting over inheritance. Maxence’s extended family had already splintered into warring factions long ago.
Even though Max had been home just the day before, he’d since received dozens of emails from cousins and relatives, warning him of developments.
Are you coming to the council meeting? You need to be there.
Odds of Council before Winter Ball: 1:3. €10.000?
Shit is hitting the fan, cuz. Uncle Jules is planning a coup.
But for now, even though Maxence’s Uncle Rainier lay dying in a hospital bed a few hundred miles south of him, Maxence was in Paris at Christmas time, and his favorite café that made truly incredible croissants was just a block away.
Walking the few blocks took Maxence only a few minutes, his long legs covering the sidewalk rapidly.
At the counter, he’d meant to ask for two croissants and a café au lait, but he found himself asking for a half dozen and two café au lait to go.
The South Asian lady working behind the counter frowned that Maxence would be so gauche as to take breakfast and coffee away, where they would doubtlessly become slightly stale or cool and thus cheapen the experience of these superior croissants and this particular café au lait.
Maxence hadn’t even known he was going to order it for takeaway before he opened his mouth, but as he thought back, Dree had mentioned this was her first time in Paris.
One should eat splendid croissants on one’s first trip to Paris.
He liked the little blonde with her funny giggle and enthusiasm, and she should be protected from the coarser elements of Paris and her own questionable judgment.
She might be subjected to inferior pastries and not experience the pleasure of truly phenomenal Parisian croissants.
That would be a shame.
And so, Maxence balanced the pink pastry box and two hot paper cups in his hands and managed to hail a car with an app on his phone.
Driving out to her rented room took longer than he’d thought, and by the time Max got there, he was famished.
And the croissants smelled tasty, too.
Chapter Five
Jesus’s Buddies Dree
“I’m not crying,” Dree said, holding her dead phone in her hand and surreptitiously smearing her wet face on her shoulder.
“You’re crying,” Augustine said, his voice lowered to a growl. He was so hot when he scowled like that, which seemed odd to Dree. Usually, she freaked out when men got mad at her. He asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, you didn’t do anything. You were great. No, you were magnificent.” An amazing fragrance had filled the air while she was talking, something like baking pastries smothered with the best kind of Irish butter that she’d only bought once because it was too expensive. “What is that smell?”
“Croissants,” Augustine said, holding out the pink box. “You said it was your first time in Paris. You should eat croissants in Paris.”
Her lack of breakfast in the hotel room embarrassed her, and she felt like she shouldn’t let him go out of his way to give her something. “I—I appreciate that, but you didn’t have to.”
He shrugged. “My favorite café was near—where I was, so I picked some up. I also promised to buy you a new coat today.”
“You only said that to stop me from going back inside the Buddha Bar.”
His slow smile was sexy as hell. “Yes, but a promise is a promise.”
The weird shakiness in her chest subsided. “I was going to go back down there and see if they found it. I really liked that coat. And if they didn’t find it, like you said, it’s not that cold. It’s just a little ‘fresh.’ I don’t really need a coat.”
“You were freezing last night. I say, do you mind if I come inside? Standing out in the corridor like this is odd.”
“You weren’t supposed to come back,” she told him.
He shook the box again. “But I brought you croissants.”
“Fair enough. Come on in. I mean, it was really nice of you to offer to share your croissants with me, but you don’t have to.” She stood aside so he could come in. “I have coffee.”
“I brought you some of that, too. Do you have a table?”
She locked the door behind him. “I have a countertop.”
He set the boxes and cups on
