“My title is a courtesy title, meaning it’s a meaningless title given to the sons of aristocrats.”

“You people are so weird.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So being Baron of Aquilla can’t be made into a job?”

“The title is actually Baron of Laudon. The duchy is Aquilla; the barony is Laudon.” He thought about her question. “I don’t think it can be made into a job. Unlike with the duchy, there are no lands or holdings associated with it.”

“What does your brother do? Is he also a lie-about?”

“No, he works for the mining company.”

“For real? Or is he just on the books?”

“He’s legitimately employed there. We have a non-family CEO, but my brother is the executive vice-chairman and chief science officer, and he sits on the board.”

“Wow, a genuine passion for mining.”

“It would seem so.” Though to hear Sebastien and Father over the holidays, it sounded as though Seb’s passions lay more in this “garden project.” Max had no idea what that meant. He probably hadn’t been paying attention at some point. He couldn’t give a damn about Father, but he didn’t used to be the kind of person who ignored his brother.

“Okay, how about this?” Dani said. “Let’s make a plan to each do one small thing toward our resolutions this week. First week of the new year—baby steps toward divorce and job.”

He could get behind this. But the phrase new year made him remember his point in calling her. He pulled his phone from his ear momentarily to check the time. It was quarter past six. “Oh, damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I got distracted by my ‘woe is me’ routine. And by telling the true story of the Depraved Duke. I was going to make you do a countdown.”

“Eh, it’s fine.”

“All right, well, this is our year, then?”

“Yes. The year of divorces and jobs,” she said through a chuckle. “Doesn’t sound that glamorous when you put it like that.”

“It’s going to be good.” For the first time in a long time, he believed it—that the future was going to be good.

She yawned. “I’m gonna go to bed.”

He felt like he could probably sleep now. He wished he could get the artist out of his room, but he could hardly wake her and ask her to leave. Perhaps he would go sleep on the sofa. “Happy New Year, Dani.”

“Happy New Year, Max.”

Chapter Seven

When he got back to Riems, Max invited Sebastien to the cottage for lunch.

“What’s wrong?” Seb said after they tucked into slices of tomato-leek galette.

“Why does something have to be wrong?”

“You’ve never invited me here for a meal before. So either there’s something wrong or you want something from me. And usually when you want something from me, you text. I’m left to conclude that something is wrong.”