Page 54 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

Raegan lays a gentle hand on Pascaline’s shoulder. “And it’s what you think too?”

“What I thought,” Pascaline rasps, and swings her head back and forth with resignation. “Until ten minutes ago.”

I say it for her. “When you saw Maximillian.”

She stills her head. Swallows hard. I can feel a little of her conviction waning, as if she expects to be waking from a dream any second. To be honest, I’m grateful for her hesitation, despite how I rise and join Rae at her side. After a couple of seconds, I let my long sigh guide her gaze back in my direction. I make sure she sees the message of my regard. I know exactly how you feel.

“Go on,” Raegan finally encourages her.

Pasca looks up at the portrait of the first Maximillian. “At first, when you all came out of the elevator, I simply thought it was a strange coincidence.” She works her hands against each other again. “He seemed so similar to the painting…but living in a castle that is centuries old, one learns to accept bizarre occurrences at times, oui?” She drops her hands but purses her lips. “But when he called to the dog…”

“Chevalier,” I supply.

“Still a weird name,” Drue grumbles.

“And not that dog’s name,” Raegan asserts.

“No.” Pasca points a determined finger at the portrait. At the animal lying at the man’s feet. “It is that dog’s name.”

“Oh, hell,” Drue mutters.

“I knew it,” Rae pronounces.

I don’t say a damn thing.

I can’t.

I’m only able to force down a painful gulp. My throat is nothing but a pinhole, shut down like a dam after a massive rainstorm.

A storm in which I’ve been dancing, oblivious and delirious, with the most perfect lover I’ve ever known. A man who hasn’t just penetrated my body over and over again. A human who has climbed into my psyche too…

Who has seen into my soul.

Who has understood it all.

Who has adored and valued and treasured it all.

As nobody else has.

Because he’s a lunatic who fancies himself a reincarnated prince from two centuries ago?

Or because…he really is that prince?

I can’t fathom either one of those answers.

Not yet.

I only know there’s one way to start getting there. I have to hear the whole truth. About all of this. “All right, Pasca. Tell us, then. What really happened to Lord Maximillian De Leon?”

Chapter Eight

Max

Of all the astounding things I have experienced today, this is one of the best.

“These are called…sweatpants?”

Henri De Leon shrugs. “Oui.”