Chapter 12
Max
For as long as I can remember, Palazzo Belladonna has been my sanctuary.
It’s a place where I can kick off my shoes and relax.
The palace in Villadorata is more like a museum, with all its formal rooms and oil paintings of my ancestors judging me and my choices.
This place, nestled in the mountains, covered in snow in winter and now, at the height of summer, surrounded by wildflowers and beauty everywhere I look, is like an actual home.
I’m not on show here.
I can be me.
The small number of staff at the palace have known me since I was knee high to a grasshopper, many of them still calling me Maxie. It should make me cringe—I'm a man of twenty-seven—but secretly, I love it. They know who I really am, and that’s what matters.
By the looks of things, Toffee adores this place just as much as I do.
The moment she's out of her crate, she gets a serious case of the zoomies, bolting the moment I open her door, only to come careening back when I whistle for her.
Her tail wags like a windscreen wiper in a storm, her tongue flapping as it hangs out of her mouth, her big brown eyes glistening with excitement.
I bend down and ruffle her fur. “This is your new favorite place, isn't it, girl?”
Her answer is to take off once more.
Fabiana strides over to me. She looks all business in her high heels, so out of place here in the country, as they crunch across the gravel, her ever-present notebook clutched against her chest as she films. She's removed her blazer in the heat of the afternoon, and I allow my gaze to trail over her curves, encased in a slim-fitting skirt and blouse.
My belly clenches at the sight of her.
Man, she’s hot.
“Someone’s happy to be here,” she says as she films Toffee madly sniffing the plants, darting between them like she’s never smelt anything so wonderful in all her life.
“She told me she prefers the country to the city,” I say.
“A talking dog? Royalty really does get all the good stuff.”
We both watch as Toffee begins to dig a hole in the middle of the lawn, dirt flinging through the air like little missiles.
“Is she allowed to do that?” Fabiana asks.
“Not exactly. Father would have a stroke if he knew.”
She clicks her phone off. “Good job he doesn’t, although I would have thought you’d be bothered by it. Don’t you have a thing for lawns? Sloping ones, covered in slip n’ slides, that is.”
I let out a laugh. Once I would have taken it as a jibe, now it’s more like her teasing me.
She grins. “It had to be said.”
I shake my head. “Did it really?”
“This place is amazing! And it’s so warm here. I’m roasting!” Pippa exclaims as she wanders over to us. “I thought it would be cooler in the mountains, sir.”
“It usually is. It’s unseasonably warm,” I reply.
She plunks herself down at the edge of the fountain and dips her fingers in the water. “Smell that fresh air! I bet you can drink this water; everything’s so fresh here.” She cups a hand and lifts it to her mouth.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Pippa,” I call out.
It’s too late as she takes a long sip and dips her hand in the fountain for more. “Why not? It’s so refreshing!”
“Is that water safe to drink?” Fabiana asks.
“We can but hope Pippa’s digestive system is made of stern stuff.”
“Let’s hope, for her sake.”
I whistle, and Toffee immediately stops her digging, turning in my direction, her ears pricked up. “Come on, Toffee!” I call, and she comes bounding over to me, only to leap at Fabiana as though she's the one who called her.
By now, Toffee’s dirty paws are all over Fabiana’s skirt, but she doesn't seem to have noticed as she leans down to pet her, or even care.
“Hello, little Toffee,” she says as she strokes her fur.
“Aren't you having a marvelous time already? And look at your dirty paws. Your daddy will need to give you a bath.”
I arch a brow. “Daddy?” I question.
She looks up at me. “Should I have referred to you as His Royal Highness?”
I laugh again as I watch her nuzzle Toffee, my chest filling with warmth. Only a few short days ago, her holding Toffee enraged me. Now? Now, watching how easily she interacts with my dog makes me all the more drawn to her.
Don’t they say dogs are great judges of character? Fabiana sure seems to have Toffee’s stamp of approval—quite literally, all over her skirt.
“Oh, no, Fab! Your skirt!” Pippa exclaims.
To my surprise, Fabiana looks down at her skirt and simply shrugs, not appearing the least bit concerned. “It comes with the canine territory. I had dogs growing up, so I understand.”
Pippa gasps. “But your skirt is ruined!”
“It's just a skirt, Pippa.”
I'm so used to women preening themselves around me, always trying to look like their idea of perfection. Fabiana is a breath of fresh air.
“Where’s my room, please, Max? I’ll go and unpack my things, change out of these clothes into something more appropriate for the country.”
“I'll take you there. You too, Pippa.”
“Thanks, sir, but I think I might take a little wander around the gardens first. I thought I saw a funny-looking baby goat when we arrived,” Pippa replies.
“That’ll be one of Dolly’s kids. She gave birth a few weeks before I was last here. She’s a very proud mum of new triplets,” I say.
“Triplets? Oh, how cute!” Pippa replies. “What sort of goats are they?”
“Shami goats, which is why they have white faces and those long black ears,” I reply.
Pippa’s eyes are bright. “You could use them in a video, Fab. People adore baby goats.”
“Great idea,” Fabiana replies.
“I’ll catch up with you both later. It’s baby goat time!” Pippa bounces away and disappears around the house toward the stables in search of Dolly.
Fabiana arches a brow as we make our way into the house. “Dolly?”
“Dolly Baa-ton,” I say.
Her eyes dance with amusement. “Did you name her?”
“One of the kids from the program a couple of years back. You should hear what we’ve called her triplets.”
“Let me guess.” She taps her chin. “One of them has got to be Baa-bara.”
“Amateur hour.” I shake my head. “They’re Taylor-bleat, Rihabaa, and Ariana Goat.”
“All female pop stars? I’m not sure if that’s utterly adorable, or completely hilarious.”
“Couldn’t it be both?” I whistle for Toffee, and she bursts into the house before us, immediately clambering up the stairs as though she knows where we’re headed.
Moving inside the house, Fabiana looks around at the arched doorways, the terracotta-painted walls, and the high beamed ceiling. “This is just lovely,” she exclaims, and sunshine blooms in my chest.
“It’s my favorite place,” I say simply.
“I can see why.”
“It’s a lot less grand than the palace in Villadorata. That’s something I like about it. Which suitcase is yours?” I gesture at a couple of suitcases that have been placed by the wall.
She raises her eyebrows. “Don’t you have people for that?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m capable of carrying a suitcase up a flight of stairs.”
“The burgundy one, but I’ll carry it.” She marches over to the suitcase and picks it up.
“Why when you have this hunk of testosterone here, willing to do it for you?” I gesture at myself with my thumb.
“Because it’s mine,” she says simply. “And ‘hunk of testosterone’? I couldn’t let that one go.” Her eyes dance.
“My PT calls me names like that. He thinks it’s motivational.”
She snickers. “I see.”
“Don’t make a hashtag out of it.”
“Would I?”
“We both know you would.”
She holds two fingers aloft. “I promise I won’t. Scouts’ honor.” She lifts her case.
“You’re sure I can’t take that?”
“I’m fine,” she insists.
I lead her up the wide staircase, keeping an eye on her. By the time we reach the first landing—some twenty-three steps up—she’s gone all red in the face from the exertion.
I reach for her bag. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Letting out a heavy breath, she raises a hand in surrender. “I’m not quite as fit as I thought. So, here you go, self-named hunk of testosterone. Be my guest.”
“My PT, remember?”
We make our way up to the third floor, where I take her to the room that’s usually Amelia’s. The door creaks as I push it open, and as we enter the darkened space, I pull back the drapes and light floods inside.
“This is so pretty,” she says, looking around at the floral wallpaper, the wrought iron bed, and the writing desk by the window.
“It’s my sister Amelia’s room.”
“The princess has good taste. I can work at the desk, too.” Turning to me, she adds, “I’ll be very happy here for the next two nights.”
“Three,” I correct. “Then we need to be back in Villadorata.” I place her suitcase on the ottoman at the end of the bed as Toffee appears, sniffing her way across the room.
“Should I tip you?” Her luscious lips are curved in a smile, the green of her eyes pronounced by the flush in her cheeks.
And then it hits me. The room may be pristine, yet untouched by her, but knowing it’s hers makes the surrounding air suddenly seem different. In a few short hours she’ll be here, alone, brushing her hair or removing her glasses or pulling the sheets back to climb into bed.
It's a glimpse into her private side I should not be having.
As much as I prefer this version of Fabiana, as much as I feel this increasingly strong pull to her, I should have no business thinking of her as anything but the journalist here to do a job.
And now she’s looking the way she looks, her easy smile lighting up her beautiful face, the outline of the curves of her body visible under her slim-fitted clothes, and it’s clear what I must do.
Get out of here before I say—or do—something that would be wildly inappropriate, possibly even jeopardize the entire project with her.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, my lips tight as I turn to leave. “Come on, Toffee.”
Toffee darts past me into the hallway.
Fabiana places her hand gently against my sleeve. “Thank you, Max,” she says, her voice softer than it was a moment ago, making me want to turn around and collect her in my arms, to tell her how much I want her, how the feelings I have for her are growing and growing.
I can’t.
We may have entered a new kind of relationship over the last day or so, but she’s responsible for showing the country the real me. I can’t act on the way I feel about her and throw all of that into jeopardy.
I Was Seduced by Playboy Prince Max.
The headline appears in neon lights right before my eyes, and it won’t matter that what I feel for her is stronger than I’ve ever felt in my life before.
All anyone would know is that I’ve lived up to my reputation once more.
That I’m all about having a good time. That seducing a journalist, here to do a job, is just part of my shallow, good-time-boy character.
She’d almost expect it of me.
“You’re welcome,” I reply briskly, as I step out of the uncomfortably intimate space into the relative sanctity of the hallway.
She follows me, casually leaning her shoulder against the door jamb. “The kids arrive for the program soon, right? The human variety, I mean. Not the goat.”
I press my lips together. “They do.”
“I’ll come out to meet them. Say hi.”
I nod my head as rapidly as one of those bobble head figurines. “All right.”
Before she has the chance to say another word, I say goodbye and rush down the hallway to my own room.
I wish I’d put her further away from me. The stables would have done the trick nicely.
I close the door and let out a breath, leaning up against it, my heart drumming.
I can allow her to film me and ask her questions, all the while projecting the version of me my parents expect.
I can do this. I’m strong.
All I need to do is keep my head.