Chapter 14
Valentina
From the starting position on the obstacle course, I glance back at the imposing red brick mansion.
Surrounded by picturesque mountains, it looks like it’s from the set in The Sound of Music, and I half expect to see Julie Andrews prancing through a field, her arms outstretched, singing her song with gusto.
But this isn't a musical. This is my life, for the next few days at least. I'm about to watch twenty or so teenagers compete in an obstacle race that includes a cargo net crawl and rope climb over a wooden wall, before they have to weave through a series of truck tires, balance on a beam, and finally wade through mud before a sprint to the finish line.
Not my usual Tuesday afternoon.
“Is the next group ready to go?” Rocco asks.
“We sure are!” Dean calls back.
“On your marks, get set, go!” Rocco yells and instantly, the next four participants take off at blinding speed, throwing their bodies at the race like they’re rag dolls. They crawl under the net as Max and the others yell out encouragement.
I find myself watching Max closely, entranced. He’s so different here. So free. He's so absorbed with the activity, showing such a genuine connection with these kids. He's running alongside them, giving them support and advice.
It’s hard to pull my gaze away.
I watch as he interacts with the teenagers with easy charm, his smile so relaxed, so genuine.
The skin around his eyes crinkles, his face lit up as he cheers on the kids as they dive under the net, sprint to the wall, then fling themselves over and land in mud.
He calls each child by name, giving them encouragement, telling them they can do this, that they’re more capable than they could ever imagine.
Something warm and a little wonderful unfurls in my chest.
This is a new side of him, a side I never knew existed. He cares about these kids, genuinely interested in getting the most out of them.
Across from me, Pippa is cheering everyone on with her usual heightened energy.
I watch the final group of teenagers hurtle themselves at the net, crawling like oversized ants on a mission, when Rocco sidles up to me.
“Are you going to write about this?” he asks, his tone less than warm.
“Max has asked me not to.”
“But does that mean you won't?”
I turn to face him, this man who’s clearly in Max’s corner—and equally clearly suspicious of me. He’s a big guy, probably at least 220 pounds, with short-cropped hair and shoulders that could block out the sun. “I want to show the country that he’s more than just a party-boy prince.”
“You mean the way you’ve reported on him for years.”
Heat crawls up my neck, shame disguised as a flush.
“Isn’t that right, Ms. Fontaine?”
I force my eyes to his. “You’re right.”
He regards me with surprise but doesn’t respond.
I return my attention to Max. He’s climbing commando-style under the net to a kid who’s come to a stop. “He’s so encouraging.”
“That kid under the net is new. She came with their older brother, Hudson, for the first time today.”
I watch as Max lies next to her, propped up on his elbows, talking in hushed tones with the teen.
It takes a while, but eventually, she begins to crawl once more, with Max right beside her, and when they climb out the other end, he gives her a high five, and she beams at him like he’s the best thing to happen to her all day.
“The person you talk about in your articles and on your TikToks is just one small facet of who he is, you know.”
“Give me the Rocco perspective on the prince.”
Rocco’s features lift. “He’s a good guy. The best. Sure, he has fun at parties. What young, single guy doesn’t? But he’s got a deeper side, too.”
Max calls out to the girl as she tries to heave herself up the rope. “You can do it, Adella! You’ve got this!”
She tries and tries, sliding down the wall each time, until she lands in a defeated heap.
Immediately, Max crouches down beside her, his hand on her shoulder.
A few moments later, Max himself begins to climb the wall, his strong, muscular arms pulling him up and over as he calls out instructions to Adella.
She follows behind, and when she’s almost at the top, he reaches down and hauls her up and over with one strong arm.
“Look, I get it. You love to write about all the stupid things he does, and I’ll admit, he’s made some pretty dumb mistakes. But you? You’ve reported each and every one of them. Why is that?”
“As a journalist, it’s my duty to—”
“Don’t give me that crap,” he says, interrupting me. “You know stories about him playing the fool will get people’s attention.”
It’s as though I’m being told off for something I already know I’ve done wrong. Max is more than the person I’ve represented him as, and I need to right that wrong, starting from now.
I’m about to respond when Pippa arrives, her phone in hand.
"Fab, have you seen this?" she asks, and Rocco gives me a curt not of his head before he moves away to talk with one of the teens.
“Seen what?” I ask.
She hands me her phone. It's an article from The Post with the headline Royal Correspondent or Royal Mystery?
What the…?
I scan the text, my heart beating fast.
Why was it Fabiana Fontaine who won the contract to document HRH Prince Max?
How did she manage to work her way into the inner sanctum of the royal family when she herself has been such a vocal commentator on Max’s behavior over the years?
Did the palace choose her because she's the superior journalist?
Or did they choose her because she has the inside track on all things royal?
Some may call it uncanny. Me? I call it suspicious…
“I’m sure it's just jealousy, but I thought you should see it," Pippa says. "Other journalists want to get to do what you’re doing here.”
I pull my lips into a smile, feigning nonchalance as I hand her back her phone. “Or just Miranda Thorne.”
But the article has got me on edge. Miranda Thorne isn't just watching anymore, throwing snide remarks my way at a party. She's gone public.
What exactly is she getting at by calling me out on having some kind of inside track with royalty?
A prickle runs along my spine, tiny needles under my skin. I blow out a breath. She knows nothing, I tell myself. My cover is rock solid.
But as the afternoon’s activities wrap up and the kids head to the showers, I can’t help but worry that Miranda Thorne is on a mission, and all I can hope is that she meets a dead end sooner rather than later.