“What won’t work?” Griffin asked, perplexed. He glanced between the two men and Maylee.
The cook said something in French, and the waiter nodded, translating. “Etienne, he says the pain is gone this morning.”
Maylee beamed, proud. “I’m so glad to hear that. Tell him to be more careful when pulling the bread out of the oven next time. I—”
“Excuse me,” Griffin cut in. “What are you talking about?”
That warm smile was turned on him, and Griffin felt momentarily dazzled. “Burn talking,” Maylee said. “Mr. Etienne here,” she said, gesturing at the cook whose name she’d just butchered, “had a very nasty burn on his hand, so I offered to take a look at it.”
“Why?”
“I’m a burn talker.” Maylee folded her hands on her lap as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “It’s a gift. My mama can talk the warts off anyone, but I’m only good with burns.”
“I . . . see.” Folk healing. How . . . strange.
“It worked, my lord,” the waiter said. “The burn has bothered Etienne for days, to the point that it made it difficult for him to work. But Ms. Meriweather worked on his hand and fixed it right away. Which is why—”
Maylee raised a hand again, smiling. “Remember—no thank yous or it won’t work anymore.”
The men nodded and, after a few more moments of chatter, they glanced his way and then left.
And again, Griffin was surprised.
“Sorry about that,” Maylee said with a small smile. “I asked them not to come up while you were seated, because I know you said you hate hovering.”
“I do,” he admitted, and glanced around the empty private dining room. He could hear people in the next room over, but theirs was blissfully quiet. “Is that why we’re here instead of in the main room?”
Maylee nodded. “Last night, I talked to the manager a bit to learn some about the place.”
Griffin was surprised at her thoughtfulness. “Oh?”
“Yes, and I told him how much you value your privacy and asked what we could do to make sure that you wouldn’t be bothered during such a stressful time. We discussed a few things and among them, we suggested that you dine in here if the room isn’t in use. No one wants their breakfast interrupted,” she admitted with a careful bite of her eggs. When she finished chewing, she added, “I told them that if you were able to enjoy your meal in peace, you’d probably stop by and tell the kitchen staff if you enjoyed it. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous. I know they’d love to hear from you. You’re a big deal to them.”
Trade a few minutes of compliments for peace and quiet while he dined? It was genius. He pulled his book out again. “That’s very thoughtful of you. And yes, I am enjoying having a nice quiet breakfast. Thank you.” With another bite of toast, he flipped his page and continued reading about the exploits of Edward Shackleton.
“I’ll move over to this other table and work so I don’t bother you,” Maylee said, picking up the laptop.
He looked up from his book and glanced at the laptop, then at her. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her to stay, but he nodded instead. “Thank you. You have the schedule Kip left?”
“It’s all right here,” she said. “I’ll give you a rundown of the day when you’re ready to go.”
He nodded again and returned to his book.
The dining room was silent, and Griffin sipped his hot tea as he ate his breakfast and read. The sunlight poured in through a nearby window, and it felt like an island of calm in this moment. Occasionally, he would look up and see Maylee working on the computer, taking notes on her sticky pad, or occasionally chatting with one of the staff nearby. They were always smiling and happy to see her.
All so bloody happy around his assistant. He wasn’t sure if he found that interesting or irritating.
***
Maylee’s first day in Bellissime was an exhausting one.
Once they’d finished breakfast, she’d given Griffin a brief overview of his schedule for the day. For someone who didn’t visit the country much and wasn’t getting married, he sure did have a heck of a social calendar. There was a museum visit, a fitting at the royal tailor, an afternoon tea with a dignitary of a neighboring country, a visit to a charity of something or other, a photo op with another viscount, and an interview for a gentleman’s magazine that dealt exclusively with archaeology and exploration, which she learned was one of Griffin’s passions. And it was her job to herd him along and ensure that he got to them all on time.
It had been a struggle, but Maylee was proud of herself for keeping things going. At one point, she’d panicked to discover that the venerable Kip had double-booked Griffin to tea, so she’d had to smooth a few feathers, make some phone calls, and reschedule his appointment with his mother for the next day. She hadn’t told Griffin, because she knew he’d give her that particular down-his-nose look as if it was her fault.
But she’d managed it. She’d spent the day with her phone pressed to one ear, laptop on her thighs, and waiting in the limo as Griffin went to one social appointment after another.
It was obvious he didn’t like any of this; his mood got fouler as the day went on, though he was always polite and gracious to the people waiting for him. It was just Maylee and the driver, Mr. Sturgess, who received the brunt of his unhappiness.
Between Griffin’s appointments, Maylee had to also juggle incoming press requests to interview Griffin, more requests to visit local charities, and somehow make arrangements in regards to the wedding. She had to make calls to the palace to speak with the Royal Wedding Coordinator—who hadn’t wanted to talk to her at first, thanks to her accent—so she could find out what clothing colors should be avoided for royal appointments, and when and where the rehearsal dinners, wedding breakfasts, and the like would be held. The locations were secret, Maylee was told, because the press would get a hold of the information and descend like a horde.
She couldn’t argue with that. The moment they saw the seal on Griffin’s limo, they were followed everywhere. She really had to talk to that man about an inconspicuous ride.
But at least the worst was over and Griffin had only snarled at her once (when his tie was askew and he was about to drive up to his tea appointment). She’d fixed it without so much as a thank you from the man. Not that she blamed him—if she was feeling frazzled by his schedule, she could only imagine what it felt like to be the pony in the dog and pony show.