“Well, I’m glad to see you happy,” Nasim said. “When we saw you last year, you looked so harried.”

  “I was. Now I’m not, and I have a companion I love. Makes a huge difference.”

  “Are you planning to go to Mass tomorrow night?” Claude asked.

  “Yes, if you want. Not, if you’re not. I’m a bad Catholic, I’m afraid.”

  “Who isn’t? But Midnight mass at Notre Dame is so beautiful. What about you, Paul?”

  “Are you going, Nasim?”

  “No. For the obvious reasons, and anyway the boys are a little too young to appreciate it.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay here with you. Seeing it last year was lovely, but I don’t need to see it again.”

  “Then we’ll have supper, the boys can open their gifts, and Claude and I will go to Mass, while you and Nasim stay here.”

  That night, in bed, I asked Etiènne if he minded I wasn’t going with him to midnight Mass. “Not at all, my love. I'm only going for nostalgic reasons, not religious. It’s a lovely service but you’ve seen it. This isn’t about my mother and her Catholic obsession, is it?”

  “A bit,” I admitted. “Seeing how much she hates Nasim being Muslim.”

  “Maman dislikes Nasim for being brown, cleverer than her, taking her daughter away to America, apparently encouraging Claude to give up her claim to the title—which isn’t true—and his being Muslim is right at the bottom of the list. Anyway, he’s as Muslim as I am Catholic—pretty much in name only.”

  “I’m not even sure I believe in God.”

  “Your business entirely, Paul. Maman’s a convert to Catholicism and they tend to be the most fervent believers. The rest of us don’t care what other people do or believe.”

  “Do you think Claude might change her mind about the title, if it meant saving the principality’s territory?”

  “Maybe, but it won’t come to that. I have plans to put to her.” Etiènne kissed my forehead. “Don’t worry about this crap. That’s literally my job.”

  “If it makes you stressed, then it’s my business.”

  “It doesn’t, not any more. You’re the reason for that.”

  “I can’t wait until we move. Claude isn’t wrong about the dangers here. Every day we stay is a risk.”

  “I know. I can’t say I feel as relaxed as I pretended to her. But what more can we do?”

  “Spend the rest of the time until the purchase is complete in London or the villa.”

  He stroked my cheek. “You’re serious?”

  “Utterly.”

  “Then we will. We don’t even have to live in France if you’re that worried.”

  “I don’t want to go that far but a few months spending less time here overall would be good. I know you made a deal with the di Pasquas and all the reasons you have for not making this public, but those men being on the loose worries me. Pisses me off too.”'

  “It’s too late to find them now, unless we involve the police.”

  “Not completely. You know Titan House employs a lot of ex-cops, right? There’s a reason for that. The firm does private investigation, including the kind of things the police would otherwise handle. You could ask them or their French equivalent to at least identify those men and find out where they are. I’d have already asked, but I never told Maria Costello the truth about how we got you back, and, um, it’s expensive. Very expensive.”

  He pursed his lips. “No harm in asking about it, though? You would feel happier, wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes, I would.” I tugged him closer and he snuggled in under my chin. “But it’s your choice.”

  “Then ask for me, Paul. Feasibility, costs, all that. Then I’ll speak to her, okay?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You haven’t asked for a damn thing from me yet, and the only thing you do want, is to do with my safety. You’re a terrible person to buy gifts for.”

  “I can’t answer that without sounding like the sappiest romantic in the world. But it’s true. You’re the only gift I want, Etiènne.”

  Etiènne tickled me and made me yelp. “Absolutely the sappiest romantic ever. But thank you. I may be a bad Catholic but I thank whoever’s in charge up there for bringing you into my life.”

  “Maria Costello? Your mother?” I asked innocently, then yelped again as the tickling began again in earnest.

  Chapter 8

  Xmas turned out to be a peaceful oasis in what had been a busy and not always pleasant year. Claude and Nasim stayed with us until after New Year, and made us promise to visit New York for the season next year. Etiènne readily agreed, though I wondered if his mother would forgive being snubbed two years in a row. “We can visit her for her birthday in November, or she can fly to New York again. Maybe if we keep leaving her out of our holiday celebrations because she spoils them, she’ll learn to change her behaviour. She’s not a child, and not senile. She can work it out.”

  I felt sorry for Etiènne’s father though. At least he wasn’t afraid to travel without her, as my mother was without my father. The antagonism between Etiènne and his mother would only grow worse if we stayed together, and I worried about that but not enough to break up with him. He felt the same. By the time he had completed the purchase of a house in Orsay, I knew I would never want to leave him, at the end of a year, at the end of a century. He never gave me reason to think he felt any different.

  Before Xmas Etiènne had put in an offer for a large renovated farmhouse in Bois-le-Roi and it had been accepted. Even though it needed a bit of modernisation, I loved it. It was close to the forest of Fontainebleu, yet we could be in Paris in half an hour by train. We could host Claude and her family when she visited, yet the house wasn’t so large we would rattle around in it. We moved in at the end of February, and immediately, Etiènne relaxed. It wasn’t that he was immune to anyone trying to harm him, but anyone stalking him would stick out like a sore thumb. I installed a suite of security measures, which would help him be safer.

  But the best news of all was that Titan House had managed to identity the men, both Italian, who’d abducted and assaulted him. Since Etiènne could positively identify them, and the details of his injuries had been recorded by the doctor who attended, a conviction seemed likely if they were extradited. However, prosecuting the men would mean going after Armando di Pasqua too, thus inviting him to retaliate. The Titan House investigators had spoken informally to the gendarmes, and it was felt that if the men were arrested and charged, then they could be offered a deal whereby they pleaded guilty and made statements to be kept on file as to who had hired them, they would serve much smaller sentences. With those and the covert recording of the confrontation with Margherita, di Pasqua could be extradited and prosecuted if he caused any more trouble. We discussed the pros and cons for nearly two weeks. The risk to Etiènne was high either way.

  In the end, Etiènne gave Titan House’s report to the police, and made a clean breast of why he was worried about pursuing anyone over his abduction. The police agreed to keep the report on file, and if the men—or Armando di Pasqua—re-entered France, they would be arrested and questioned. Etiènne could decide what to do if that happened. He and I were happy that if the men stayed out of the country, and away from us.

  “And so the bully wins,” Etiènne said to me after the final meeting with the police.

  “I think there are four million euros’ worth of argument against that. Even for someone like him, that’s going to sting. Anyway, he didn’t win. He wanted to defeat you, ruin you. You proved in so many ways that he did nothing of the sort.”

  He kissed me. “Only because of you.” He took my hands. “Paul, I know we said a year, but I don’t want to wait any more. Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Will you marry me?”

  He smiled. “Yes, of course. Let’s get things moving so we can marry before we go south for the dive season. I can ask my lawyers to handle all the paperwork for you.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “No need to thank me. I’m being greedy. I want to call you mine.”

  “You don’t need to marry me for that. I think this calls for celebratory sex.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  I put my arms around his waist. “And today, my prince will come.”

  He groaned and rested his head on my shoulder. “Oh God, Paul, that’s awful. Never say that again.”

  “Can’t use my fingerprints joke either, then?”

  He lifted his head to glare at me. “No. No jokes about my damn title. I hate the thing.”

  “Won’t I be a prince too when we get married?”

  “Yes. You still aren’t allowed to make prince jokes. I’ve heard them all. Or nearly all of them. Public schoolboys are merciless.”

  “Poor Etiènne.”

  “Poor Paul, if you keep this up. Bad puns have a negative effect on my libido.”

  “Oh. Consider all puns, jokes, quips and smartarse remarks about princes, kings, titles and crowns erased from my data core.”

  “My libido is suddenly back online.”

  “Then let’s take it for a run.”

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  to: hhjean_claude @donadieu.net

  cc: hhmarie@donadieu.net

  from: eldonadieu@cdelfoundation.org.uk

  Subject: Announcement

  My dearest Papa and Maman

  I trust this finds you well. I am writing to announce that I married Mr Paul Villeneuve of Paris and London on May 31 in a small civil ceremony in Bois-le-roi. After the dive season finishes, we plan a larger celebration for family and friends at our house in September, if we can find a date suitable for you. I understand from Édith that the weekend of September 9-10 is clear? If that is good for you both, I will go ahead and make arrangements. Claude is planning to fly over once the date is firm.

  I don’t need to introduce Paul to you, of course, as you both know him. He is of excellent character, as you are aware, and not only has been a loyal and professional bodyguard while employed, but is now is indispensable as my research assistant. I look forward to you getting to know him better as your son-in-law.

  It is my intention to designate him my heir to any title I may inherit in the fullness of time, as well as my entire estate. This has been discussed at length with Claude and she is perfectly content. I also intend to request the trustees to settle on him a sum at our marriage equivalent to that granted to Nasim. Although Paul is entitled to the courtesy title of Prince upon our marriage, he does not intend to use it. We have decided to unite our surnames and will be known as Etiènne and Paul Villeneuve-Donadieu.

  After discussions with Claude, she has agreed that in the absence of any other heir to any titles I may hold at my death, I may designate Sébastien and then Vincent as my heirs. There is nothing in our or French law which requires heirs to be Catholic, and since my only concern with the retention of the title and principality is the preservation of sovereignty over our marine possessions, I believe these arrangements are adequate, though as Papa understands, we must take steps to solidify protection of these waters through the cooperation of the French and Spanish governments. In this Paul and I are united, and will continue to work with you to achieve this.

  I hope you can find it in your heart to be glad of my good news, and that you will be able to attend our wedding celebrations.

  Your loving son,

  Etiènne

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  to: hhjean_claude@donadieu.net

  from: eldonadieu@cdelfoundation.org.uk

  Subject: My engagement

  Dear Papa

  Many apologies for the Vesuvius-like eruption of anger you will have to bear when Maman receives the news of my marriage to Paul. I hope once the dust settles, we can move past this tiresome episode and concentrate again on the work of the Foundation.

  Paul sends his good wishes, as do I, and we sincerely hope you can come to the party in September.

  Love,

  Etiènne

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  to: eldonadieu@cdelfoundation.org.uk

  from: hhmarie@donadieu.net

  Subject: Re: My engagement

  Etiènne, this is unconscionable! Marrying your bodyguard? Why not your butcher, or your housekeeper? And he’s not even Catholic? How can you do this? Claude’s boys are being raised without any religion at all. This is no way for the House of Donadieu to conduct its affairs. The Grimaldis may sleep with their servants. We do not.

  Call me as soon as you receive this.

  Maman

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  to: hhmarie@donadieu.net

  from: eldonadieu@cdelfoundation.org.uk

  Subject: Re: My engagement

  Chère maman

  The “House of Donadieu” is too pretentious a way to refer to our little family, and all this drama is over the title to a lump of rock in the Atlantic.

  I believe passionately in the splendid conservation work Papa’s parents began, and which you and Papa, and now I, continue with so much success. But I’m really not interested in our ‘house’, or its name, or its ‘affairs’. I’ll gladly surrender any claim to the title immediately if you will please give up haranguing me on this subject. If you don’t want me to do that, then please desist anyway. You have not the slightest chance of making me regret my decision to marry Paul, but you have every chance of my abandoning the Foundation and the family estate just to be free of this constant, overbearing criticism.

  You have no idea what a good man you have gained as a son-in-law. I hope one day you will give him the chance to show you. But your opinion of him changes mine not at all.

  Maman, I am awfully close to cutting all ties with you for the sake of my mental health. I don’t wish this. Paul does not, and I know Papa does not either. I beg you to show some sense here.

  As for sleeping with the servants, you should be grateful that I at least managed not to get myself pregnant by one.

  I would prefer not to call you until you can discuss this politely.

  Etiènne

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  To: eldonadieu@cdelfoundation.org.uk

  Grom: hhjean_claude@donadieu.net

  Subject: Re: My engagement

  My dear boy

  You underestimated the force of the eruption. It was more like Mt Tambora than Vesuvius.

  However, I’ve weathered worse. I’m concerned your mother may anger you into disinheriting yourself. Please don’t. As for her threats to do so, she hasn’t the power or the authority to do so, and I would never allow her to have it. She’s a marvellous woman in so many ways, but on this subject, she’s a menace to herself and those around her.

  The discussions with the French on how we could best preserve the marine reserve in the event of the title becoming vacant, as ever, move slowly. Things now look a little more promising, but we have some way to go before I can relax about it. One can never trust politicians, unfortunately, so we need to keep the title and the principality safe for at least this coming generation. It’s one of the rare good arguments for a hereditary system, but that brings with it these tiresome worries about who exactly inherits. Like you, I would prefer to be a full time conservationist and forget about the title completely. Perhaps I’ll achieve that in my lifetime. God grant me many years to do so, so I can hand things over to you and your husband with a clear conscience.

  I plan to attend your wedding party even if I have to do it alone. Wild horses couldn’t stop me. Your young man always impressed me in his role as your guard, and I’m sure he’ll do just as well as your husband.

  Don’t fret about your mother. Too much time in London always makes her too obsessed with minutiae. I think it’s time we took another long cruise.

  Love to you and Paul,

  Papa

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Dear Claire

  I hope a letter from me won’t be too unwelcome. I’m writing to say what I should have said when we divorced.

  I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a poor husband and partner to you. I’m sorry for being so self-absorbed and not caring about your worries and needs. I’m sorry for not giving you the children you wanted. And I am so, so sorry for how I treated you when you left.

  I hope you are happy now, and that your children are doing well. You deserved better than me, and you deserve to be happy now.

  I recently remarried, and I didn’t want to start a new life without recognising that I had behaved badly in my old one, and without telling you that I know how much you did for me and how much you tried to do.

  I wish you and your family all the best for the future.

  Affectionately yours,

  Paul

  ~~~~~~~~~~~

  Etiènne watched me post the letter into the letter box. “Feel better?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know if she’ll read it, or it’ll come at the worst time, or she’ll see it as some kind of insult. It’s a bit selfish after all. It’s all about me and what I want. I don’t know where she is in her life now. I should do. I should have cared enough.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder and we started back down the road to our house. “It’s done now, and I think it was the right thing to do. Now, are you ready for this party on Saturday?”

  “Definitely not,” I said, shuddering. He grinned at me. “Your mother still hates me.”

  “But she’ll behave because of her noblesse oblige, trust me. Papa likes you, Claude likes you. My friends like you. I adore you.”

  “I would hope so, Monsieur Villeneuve-Donadieu.”

  “But of course I do, Monsieur Villeneuve-Donadieu.”

  “Then all we need to do is hope it doesn’t rain.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You really think that’s all that can go wrong with a hundred people coming to a garden party?”

  “You’ve ordered plenty of booze, the party organiser is handling everything else, Claude can manage your parents, and if we need to, our bedroom has a lock on it. So the only thing we need to care about is the Seine flooding, and that’s out of our hands. Also, we’re already married and nothing will change that, not even the worst tantrum your mother can throw. So I don’t care what else happens, so long as no one dies or gets hurt. Let them drink until dawn. I’m snatching you away on the stroke of midnight.”