The Prince I Love to Hate: A Steamy Romantic Comedy (The Heir Affair Book 1), Iris Morland [best reads of all time TXT] 📗

Jeanne brought out coffee and some pastries before settling onto a red chair. “How can I help you?” she said.

I looked at Olivier. He looked at me. I finally began. “Olivier says he sold an antique clock to your husband.”

At the mention of her husband, Jeanne’s expression turned sad. “Many people sold many things to him. But I’m no longer in the business.”

“We’re merely seeking information. Who did your husband sell it to?” said Olivier.

I brought out the documents that my da had sent to the estate, showing Jeanne the photo of the clock that was enclosed. “Do you recognize it?”

Jeanne peered closely. “Non, I do not.” She shrugged, returning the papers. “My husband, he sold and bought so many things. He would know, if he were here.”

“Is there any possible way we could have you look for any information regarding who he sold the clock to?” Olivier leaned forward. “It’s extremely important.”

“I can’t disclose private information,” Jeanne said, rather sadly.

I took a deep breath, my hands shaking a little. “Olivier here is searching for the clock because his mother wants it back. I’m searching for it because we have reason to believe my father has it.” I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I thought for my entire life that my da was dead, but in the last year I’ve discovered that he’s not. Finding this clock will mean reuniting with him.”

I gazed into Jeanne’s eyes. “If you could have one more day with your husband,” I said softly, “wouldn’t you do anything to make that happen?”

Olivier stilled next to me. This was a gamble I was taking. Either Jeanne would find it in her heart to help us, or she’d tell us to go to hell and get out of her house.

As the silence lengthened, I worried that Jeanne was considering how she’d throw us out. Or she hadn’t understood what I’d said. I was about to ask Olivier to translate when Jeanne rose from her seat and gestured for us to follow her.

Olivier shot me a look. “You’re full of surprises today,” he leaned down to whisper in my ear.

I didn’t have the brain capacity for a clever reply. I was just praying that Jeanne was going to help us, not take us to the back room to be mauled by a rabid bear or something.

“Do you think she understood?” I said quietly to Olivier.

Apparently, my voice wasn’t as quiet as I thought, because Jeanne replied, “Yes, I understood.”

I blushed scarlet. Olivier chuckled, which made me elbow him in the side. He let out an annoyed “oof,” and we were nearly about to start wrestling in this poor woman’s hallway when Jeanne led us into a tiny room that functioned as part office, part guest room.

“I don’t know if my husband bought or sold this clock of yours,” she said, “but I can look in my files.”

Olivier replied in rapid French. I could tell by how quickly he was talking how excited he was. After explaining that he’d sold the clock to her late husband Charles, Jeanne began to look through her files.

It took little time to find the information. It seemed way too easy, just like this cottage was way too pretty.

Stop looking for monsters that aren’t there, I admonished myself. Be happy it was this simple.

“Here,” she said briskly, handing Olivier a single piece of paper.

I stood over Olivier’s shoulder. The document was in French, of course, but even I couldn’t make out any identifying information. “Wait, is there a name on this thing?” I asked.

Olivier let out a sigh. “It gives the name of an antiques dealer in Berlin.” He pointed. “But no name.” He looked to Jeanne. “Is this all you have?”

She shrugged. “Oui,” was all she said.

When we left Jeanne’s cottage after thanking her profusely, we headed back to our hotel. On our respective phones, we began researching the dealer located in Berlin. Despite our best efforts, though, all we could find was a phone number that was disconnected along with an address.

“Of course,” said Olivier after we’d returned to our room, the sun beginning to set now. “We can’t just call and ask about the clock.”

I was brushing out my hair and putting it into a braid. “I think we’ll need to go to Berlin.”

“That goes without saying.” Olivier busily typed into his phone. “I’ll book the tickets. Go get us something to eat, will you?”

Annoyance made me reply sharply, “How about I buy the tickets this round and you get us something to eat, oh princely one?”

Olivier raised a single golden brow. “Why so touchy?”

There was no reason for my bad mood. We’d gotten the information we wanted, but perhaps it was that I’d be stuck with Olivier even longer. I gazed at him in the mirror, feeling my heart sink into my toes.

Staying with him any longer was dangerous. But what choice did I have?

“I’ll buy the tickets,” I repeated.

“I told you I’d finance this trip of ours.”

“You have, and I’m grateful. But I want to be able to contribute.”

Olivier got up and stood behind me in the mirror. I’d already braided my hair, and he moved the braid over my shoulder. “You never leave your hair loose,” he said.

“It’s way too long. I need to get it cut.”

He pushed a few stray tendrils away from my neck, and I nearly came out of my skin. “Don’t cut it. It’s too lovely to cut.”

Normally I would’ve told any guy to pound sand with a comment like that, but right then, I wanted to untie my braid and have him play with my hair. As our gazes met in the mirror, heat poured through my veins.

I turned around. “You’re way too bossy,” I said, but the words were too quiet to sound like a reprimand.

“I’m a prince.” He played with the end of my braid. “I’m supposed to be bossy.”

I could feel the warmth of his body, standing so closely. He’d