Page 357 of The Romance Adventure

“It tells us that Kurt Jerkovic had a vested interest in this area. Glandman and his Platinum Shores empire are thriving, but whatever happened to ‘ole Kurt?” my husband asks vaguely.

“Guys, CJ gets some major credit for puzzling that out. He practically translated the diary himself.” Harley turns to me. “I’m not sure how much he’s told you⁠—”

“Yeah, is this all just going over your head?” Isla slices her palm over the crown of her head.

Wearing a half smile, hoping that I remember some of my role-playing skills, I say, “I’m trying to put it all together.”

“As mentioned, Chip left his journal to Ryan. He kept saying that he couldn’t read it. Not only was the penmanship old-fashioned, but it was written in Portuguese—well, the first half was written by none other than Márcia Sousa in her native language,” Harley says.

“You speak Portuguese?” I ask CJ.

He shrugs. “A bit.”

“He’s being modest. The guy is fluent in Portuguese as well as Arabic, Italian, Dutch...” Harley counts off on her fingers. “I’m forgetting one.”

There’s more?

“Mandarin,” Isla supplies. “I love mandarin oranges.” Seated together on a low wall, she turns to Royal. “We should get a tree.”

He lovingly pats her thigh.

“Don’t forget French. Madame de Pupadour would be insulted,” Lally says.

“That’s right. CJ speaks French too,” Harley says.

“You do?” My stomach swims. Perhaps the ice cream wasn’t a good idea.

He looks bashful for less than a moment before he snaps his fingers. “That’s right. Jolie, you were telling me about the estate in Toulouse and that it once belonged to Madame de Pompadour.”

Lally’s expression brightens and then just as quickly fades. “I don’t recall a historical account of her owning a property there.”

I plaster a smile on my face, hoping this detour in the conversation gets lost and we reroute to the topic at hand.

“Guys, we’re getting off track,” Harley says.

I silently thank her.

She continues, “Forget about CJ’s surprising linguistic ability. We were more astounded by the original owner of the journal.” She falls quiet, possibly because I’m staring at my husband.

This development concerns me. I assumed English was his primary language and his Spanish was passable, but that was it. I can hardly wrap my head around the fact that he can speak French specifically and what that might mean about private conversations I’ve had that I didn’t think he could understand.

“The diary belonged to the Devil’s Charm,” Ryan says.

“The captain of the Maré Carmesim,” my husband says with perfect pronunciation.

My breath catches in my throat. They have a lot more intel than I fathomed. It was a mistake to spend so much time scouring Europe and searching shipping records, historical accounts, and turning over assets associated with Kent Von Dräger. I should’ve been here all this time, also because it’s where CJ is.

Then again, I did get the last piece of the map. If they’d just talk about that instead, I could find out where they keep the others.

“Anything recent about Kurt Jerkovic?” Magnus asks CJ.

Royal huffs. “Let’s not encourage our brother to involve himself with shady characters.”

No, let’s not, but it isn’t until I think about just how shady Kurt Jerkovic is that I wonder why CJ knows so many languages.

My husband looks around as if making sure no one is listening. I try to remember the exact circumstances that led me to trace him to Malaga, but my memory falls short and all I can think about is the night we danced away.

“Kurt Jerkovic is an international financier, an art aficionado, and fancies himself a philanthropist,” CJ says.