Page 68 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

MAX

He is, without a doubt, the most fascinating fop I have ever met.

My reaction to the new arrival in the château’s foyer is immediate and absolute, even weighted against the Versailles dandies who used to press me into vapid bocce matches. Though other aspects of those summer days are fond to recall, I rapidly dismiss all the memories while beholding the tension that takes over Alessandra’s face.

Because of the fop?

Why?

There is nothing daunting about the man. Though he is as tall as a river reed, he seems equally as bendable. He poses with more airs than a court rake with bejeweled buttons, but his manners are far from court-worthy. I am disturbed and defensive by how he scrutinizes my home, one velvet-clad arm pulled in as if to grab for his smelling salts any moment.

“Dmitri.” Alessandra’s voice is as stilted as her posture. “What the living hell? Did somebody die?” She is so adamant, I wonder if more truth than humor drives the quip.

The man pulls her in for a double air kiss. “So nice to see you too, darling.” He steps back and dabs at his hair, affording me the chance to stare at it without repercussions. The coif is unlike anything I have seen, including on courtesans with pompadours styled around everything from bird houses to birthday cakes. It resembles a giant spiked flower—that expired a year ago.

“You know I’m always happy to see you, sugar,” Alessandra tells him, lifting a genuine smile. “But right now, I’m wondering why.”

“Can’t say the same didn’t cross my mind, pooky.” He releases a delicate grunt. “What’s the next town over called? Le Nowhere?”

A sniff dices the air from our left. Pascaline stands in the entry to the darkened breakfast room. “The Loire Valley is one of the most visited places in France, monsieur,” she snips. “Many of your presidents have had their photos taken on those steps just outside.”

“Oh! Well in that case…” The fop makes a wide arc with one hand. “Wait. No. Still don’t care.”

I erupt in a growl while stepping over to grab this peacock by the satin lapels of his ridiculous costume. “Who taught you respect, enculé?”

“Oh, my,” Pasca utters.

“It’s all right, madame.” The fop tosses back his head to rid his face of the hair this time. “I like a man who knows his way around insightful insults.” He curls his hand back in while sweeping his keen gaze over me from top to bottom. “Which part do you like better about me, gorgeous? The cock part or the sucker part?”

“Neither.” Alessandra stomps over, wrenching my hand away. At the same time, she pushes at the man, her hand disappearing into the lacy cascade across his chest. “Obnoxious needs to take a break,” she dictates. “Now.”

“Not the word I would have used,” I say, jabbing my chin. “But sufficient enough, given the—”

“And arrogance needs to take the same hike.” She jabs the same hand into the center of my chest. “And now that we’ve settled that”—she relaxes into a diplomatic pose—“Max, may I introduce you to my manager, PR guy, walking appointment calendar, and aspiring pain-in-the-ass, Mr. Dmitri Thorne. And Dmitri, please say hello to my new…errrmm…friend here in the Loire, Maximillian De Leon.”

I am forced to stow more grumblings as the man waltzes forward and dips a respectful bow. I begrudgingly return the deference. Thank God Mother forced so many etiquette lessons upon me. “Un plaisir.”

The man arches his well-plucked brows. “I’d love to be more than just one pleasure for you, gorgeous.”

“No.” Alessandra jerks him back. “You would not.”

“But darling.” He looks me over with a defined pout. “He’s so very yums.”

“He’s also very mine.” Her glance back at me is rife with so much possession, my blood rushes with an answering call of desire. “At least until we’re out of here.” She shakes her head as if to rid herself of the thought. “Which isn’t for a few more days still, so—”

“Hmmm. About that.” Dmitri whisks around, brandishing a thick sheaf of papers. “I’m sorry to burst your wine-flavored bubble…but actually, I’m not.”

Alessandra frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well…a few days just became tomorrow.”

My chest fills with bricks.

Alessandra’s face fills with confusion. “Huh?”

“Can we just get to the point here?” Raegan pins Thorne with a scowl, continuing the look even as she adds, “Please.”

“Agreed.” Drue emerges from the shadowed room behind Pascaline. “What’s going on, pretty boy? Can’t the fashion world deal for a few days without her?”