Chapter 8
Max
As I slide another arrow from my quiver and pull the taut string of the bow back, I try to push thoughts of Fabiana from my mind.
I acted like an immature idiot yesterday, sending her off all over the palace.
It had felt like a fun thing to do at the time, but I'm not proud of myself.
I was acting out. It was my pathetic protest at having to work with her for the next month.
The truth of the matter is I find her presence here at the palace…unsettling. Yes, that’s the word. And it's not just because she said all those things about me over the years, although that’s bad enough.
It's the effect she has on me.
Yup, the journalist I’ve grown to hate over the years has gotten into my head.
She should be everything I can’t stand. Snarky and smug and totally judgmental, calling me names and looking down her nose at me. But then she walks into the room and, bam! my pulse leaps at the sight of her.
Maybe there really is a fine line between hate and love?
Or at least lust.
That moment in my office when we called a truce, when I held her hand in mine, the soft touch of her skin sent something skittering down my spine. Something warm and enticing. Something I shouldn’t be feeling.
She’s the one woman I should not want.
But man, do I want her.
“Come on, Max. You’re taking forever! We’ve all got to practice, you know,” Amelia complains as she leans against a post, watching me.
“I think he’s got something on his mind,” Sofia says.
“More like someone,” Amelia quips.
I lower my bow and arrow and turn to glare at my sisters, both of whom are looking rather pleased with themselves.
“You two jabbering away isn’t helping me take this shot,” I complain.
“Oh, of course. It’s totally us who are putting you off and not the pretty journalist staying down the hall,” Amelia replies. “Isn’t that right, Sofe? Fabiana Fontaine’s presence here has got nothing to do with Max being off his stride this morning.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’re totally right, Ami,” Sofia replies.
I shoot them both a look. That’s the thing with sisters. They’re always up in my business, commenting from the sidelines.
“She’s nicer than I expected,” Amelia says.
“When did you talk to her?” Sofia asks.
“I met her in the garden yesterday afternoon. She was chasing a certain someone.” My sister shoots me a meaningful look. “Fabiana’s got the most amazing green eyes, did you know?”
As if I’m not tortured by those eyes.
“Although I haven’t loved what she’s written about us over the years, she seemed nice,” Amelia adds.
“You would say that. You like everyone,” I grumble.
“That’s not true,” she replies, indignant.
I lean on my bow, looking at my sister. “Name one person you don’t like, Ami.”
She chews on her lip, her brows pulled together.
“See?” I return my attention to the target.
“Greg Smith! I don’t like Greg Smith,” she exclaims.
“Who?” I ask.
“The one who duped Ami into thinking she was falling for him when all he wanted was her money. You’re well within your rights not to like him, Ami,” Sofia says.
“I might not like him, but really, if it weren’t for Greg Smith, I would never have met my husband,” Amelia says with satisfaction. “Now, are you going to shoot that arrow, Max? I need to go and stare at my baby while he sleeps some more.”
Since getting married almost five years ago now, Amelia and Ethan have been busy making babies, just like Alex and Maddie and Sofia and Marco. I’ve become an uncle several times over, thanks to these loved-up couples, and I low-key relish my role as fun uncle in their lives.
“Go watch your baby sleep, Ami. I might be able to concentrate better if you’re elsewhere,” I say.
“I don’t need to be told twice. Catch you both on the flip-side,” Amelia says before she walks away.
“All right, you. No excuses now. I expect nothing less than a bullseye,” Sofia instructs.
I get myself into position once more, pushing thoughts of Fabiana, my sisters, my nieces and nephews, and anything else that’s intent on distracting me, from my mind.
My breath is even and controlled as I line up my target, the inner yellow circle my sole focus.
I pull back and let go of the arrow, watching with satisfaction as it slices through the air, hitting the target with a satisfying twang!
“Well done, Max!” Sofia exclaims, her eyes bright. “You hit the outer red. You're doing so much better than last time. Have you been practicing without me?”
“Why would I want to practice archery without my bossy older sister to tell me what to do?” I throw her a sardonic smile.
“Very funny,” she deadpans, barely cracking a smile. “You do realize you wouldn't be this good if I hadn't taught you, don’t you?”
I slide another arrow from my quiver. “You just keep telling yourself that, sis.”
I wait as Sofia lines up her target and sends her arrow on its trajectory with practiced ease, hitting right in the center of the yellow.
“Stop showing off, will you?”
She shrugs. “I can't help it. I'm good at this because I practice.”
“Really? You've never mentioned it,” I reply, because if there's one thing you can rely on with my oldest sister, it's that she's a firm believer in the old adage practice makes perfect.
I'm lining up for my next shot when an all too familiar voice interrupts me. “Good morning, Your Royal Highnesses.”
Fabiana Fontaine, the woman who seems to have taken up permanent residence in my mind.
Startled, my fingers release the arrow, which falls short of the target, slicing into the dirt.
“Bad luck, sir,” she says.
I turn towards her. Just like yesterday, she looks that particular combination of smug and hot she does so well, completely out of place in her skirt and blazer, like one of those sexy double agents from WWII.
“You put me off,” I grumble.
“Max, play nice,” Sofia warns. “How are you finding things in the palace, Ms. Fontaine?”
Fabiana does a low curtsy, which is no small feat in her pencil skirt. “It’s been a very interesting experience so far, ma’am.”
“There's no need for formalities,” my sister replies. “We’re all off duty here.”
I harrumph, and both sets of eyes land on me. “What?” I ask as though I'm entirely innocent of scoffing when we all know I did.
“I suppose you mean Ms. Fontaine is working,” Sofia replies pointedly.
Sure, that’s what I meant.
Fabiana holds her phone aloft. “Okay if I take some footage?”
“Of course,” Sofia replies for me. “That’s what you’re here for.”
“Thank you. I'd love to capture both of you if I could?” She steps over a tree root in her high heels. “Ready when you are, sir.”
There's something in the way she says the word “sir”. It's respectful, sure, and appropriate since I'm a member of the royal family, but it's got a teasing, sexy undertone that sends an involuntary shiver through me.
“Why don’t you call him Max?” Sofia asks. “Sir is so formal.”
“It’s the way I’ve always been told to address a member of the royal family. Your Royal Highness first, and then sir or ma’am next. Ma’am.”
Sofia laughs. “Call me Sofia.”
“Only if you call me Fabiana,” she replies.
“Deal. And call Mr. Grumpy here Max.”
“I rather like ‘Mr. Grumpy,’ actually,” she replies, her sparkling eyes alighting on me once more.
“Thanks a lot, Sofe,” I grumble. The last thing Fabiana needs is more names to add to her already bulging arsenal.
“Are you going to shoot, Max? Or just glower at Fabiana?” Sofia asks, calling me out.
Sisters.
I collect another arrow and line up my shot, all too aware that Fabiana is watching my every move.
“Don't forget to breathe,” my sister instructs.
I gulp in a breath, hoping Fabiana doesn't notice, and then release my arrow. It hits the target, but only just, slicing into the white outer ring.
I lower my bow as Sofia says, “Better luck next time.”
“Were you not aiming for the yellow in the middle?” Fabiana asks, and I’m certain she’s mocking me.
“He was. The yellow at the center,” my sister replies helpfully.
Fabiana pulls her brows together. “That's a shame. Do you want to have another try, Max? I can film it again.”
An idea hits me.
“Why don't you have a go?” I say, proffering my bow. “Let's see which color you can hit, shall we?”
Fabiana places her hand over her chest. “Me?”
“Why not? I'll even film you, if you like,” I reply. “You can make a TikTok out of it.”
She shakes her head, her ponytail swooshing from side to side, and I do my best not to notice how pretty she is in that girl next door kind of way. “I don't think so. But thank you all the same,” she replies.
“Why not? Chicken?” I goad.
She straightens her back, her lips tight. “Not in the least.”
“Oh, I think you are. I think you're afraid you'll miss the target altogether.”
She lifts her chin, and I note with satisfaction that it seems to be my turn to get under her skin.
Sofia shakes her head at me, her lips pursed. “Why don't you use my bow?” she says to Fabiana. “I need to go anyway, and Max’s bow will be far too big for you.”
“That’s so kind of you.”
Sofia hands Fabiana her bow, sliding her quiver of arrows from her shoulder strap. She pauses, studying Fabiana's face with a slight tilt of her head. "Have we met before? You seem familiar somehow."
Fabiana's smile tightens. "You probably know me from my social media posts. I would certainly remember meeting you, Your Royal Highness."
"Sofia," my sister corrects absently, still looking at her with that thoughtful expression. "That must be it. I suspect I’ll only be in the way if I stay.” She shoots me a smile.
“Thank you, Sofia,” Fabiana says.
“And don’t listen to Max. He’s just annoyed that he missed his last shot while you were filming. Aren’t you, brother?” Sofia asks.
Something like that.
“Have fun, you two. And Max? Be nice to our guest.”
Fabiana bites back a smile. I'm certain she's enjoying my being bossed around by my older sister.
I’m certainly not.
As Sofia makes her way back to the palace, she turns to me. “Your sisters are wonderful.”