Chapter 15
Valentina
I find Max on the patio in the late afternoon sun, leaning back on one of the comfortable sofas, reading his phone. I fold my legs under myself and sink down into the cushion next to him.
“I brought you a drink of lemonade,” I say, holding up two glasses.
“How do I know you haven’t poisoned mine?” he asks, his lips lifting into a smile that tickles my belly.
I let out a surprised laugh. “Poison you? Max, if I were going to do that, I’d wait until the end of our month together, not do it less than one week in.” I hold one of the glasses out for him, and he takes it.
“It’s so reassuring to know you’ve thought about this, Fabiana.”
“Murder is probably only my third preferred option right now,” I reply
“Dare I ask what your first is?”
Immediately, my head is filled with the idea of gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him to me, and pressing my lips against his.
I clear my throat. Not happening, Valentina.
“Report you as you are, of course.” I take a sip, savoring the sweet but tart homemade lemonade. “I want to document the youth program.”
He presses his lips together. “We talked about this.”
“I get that it’s your own project, and that it’s personal to you. But the Max I’ve seen today is so very different from the version of you the country sees. My directive was to show the country the real you. This is you.”
Carefully, he places his lemonade on a side table.
“I've seen what happens when the media gets involved with programs like this.
They either sensationalize the kids' stories for sympathy points, or they turn it into some kind of ‘Royalty Saves Poor Children’ narrative that completely misses the point. This isn't about me looking good. It's about them having a safe space. That’s why I’ve never publicized this.”
I chew my lip. “I get where you’re coming from, and I promise you, I don’t want to make this into either a media circus or that narrative. We could have whatever conditions you want.”
He studies my face. "What do you mean?"
“What if we make it about you leading by example? I saw you out there with Adella. You didn’t just encourage her; you did the course with her.”
He shrugs as though doing an assault course is no big deal. “She needed to see how to do it.”
“Exactly! You could do the same challenges as the kids. I could film you with your highs and lows, show that you’re not this perfect, untouchable prince with the occasional poor decision making.” I offer him a wry smile, and when he smiles back, I know I’ve got him.
“That could work.”
I scoot closer to him in my excitement. “I know, right? Ledonia has seen you in the Royal Air Force. They’ve seen you go through rigorous training. But they’ve never seen what you’re capable of. You’re impressive, Max, and not just in your encouragement of the kids. You get your hands dirty.”
He looks at me—really looks at me—and I can’t help but notice the deep, chocolate brown of his eyes is flecked with gold, like autumn leaves before they fall.
Heat sparks low in my stomach, spreading like lava before I can stop it. I swallow hard, pretending to focus on anything else, but he’s already everywhere around me. The scent of him, clouding my thoughts. The way that one look feels like a touch.
All I can think about is how it had felt during our impromptu archery lesson when he was so close behind me, his hands on mine as he guided my arrow, his breath warm on my neck, his voice low and intimate, rumbling through me.
Suddenly, I’m way too close to this man who fills my mind, who’s been living rent free in my head, the man who’s turning out to be everything I didn’t know I was looking for.
But everything I want.
I need to break this spell, and I need to break it now.
So, I do what any sane woman who’s dangerously close to catching feelings for an off-limits man would do. I lean as far away from him as physics will allow, bracing my hands behind me, my spine as stiff as a ruler.
Max’s dark brows furrow as he takes in my impression of a human pretzel, his lips quirking—those lips I have absolutely no business wanting to kiss.
It does nothing to help the situation. My stomach swoops, hard enough that for one alarming second, I almost topple over.
And then, the worst happens. The seat cushion under my hands slides out from beneath me, and I literally tumble to the ground, falling in a heap of limbs like a woodpile.
That did not just happen.
One minute, we’re talking like normal adults and the next, I’m falling to the ground like I’m a heroine in a 90s chick flick.
I scrunch my eyes shut in utter humiliation.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and I open one eye enough to see concern written across his handsome face. He reaches for me, pulling me up, and I stand, dazed, my pulse thudding.
“I’m…yes, thanks.”
The blood in my veins has now been replaced by thick, gooey mortification. I turn and pick the seat cushion from the ground and slot it back in place, silently cursing it.
“What happened? One moment you were on the sofa, and the next… not.”
“I, err…” I search my brain for a plausible excuse. “I was stretching, and I didn’t expect the cushion to give way.”
“Stretching,” he repeats, his tone impassive.
I lift my chin. “That’s right.”
That mouth quirks once more, his eyes dancing. “Perhaps we should get you a yoga mat next time? I’m sure I can rustle one up for you.”
“A mat. Yes. Good idea.”
Get me out of here!
I’ve never been so thankful to see a group of teens begin to spill out of the house and onto the patio.
Max tells them they need to start pitching their tents, and a few of them grab onto his arms, hauling him along with them.
He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles, and I throw him a quick wave.
After I’ve regained what dignity I have left, I trail after them.
I watch as they work together putting up tents, chatting and laughing together.
If I hadn’t known these kids were from difficult backgrounds, I would never have guessed it.
They seem to like one another, and Max in particular, who chats freely with them, laughing at their jokes and cracking some of his own.
I sidle up to Pippa, who’s looking distinctly green around the edges.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She's holding her hands over her belly, her mouth down turned. “I’m not so good.”
Before I have the chance to say anything, she darts behind a tree. I follow after her and find her doubled over on the ground. I crouch down beside her, placing my hand on her forehead. “Pippa, you're burning up!”
Her response is to groan, holding onto her belly some more.
“I'm going to get you out of here.” I pull her to her feet and throw her arm around my shoulders so I can support her. She’s floppy and unsteady on her feet.
“Thanks, Fab. You're fab. Do you get it?” she says weakly as I lead her across the lawn toward the house.
“I get it but save your strength. Where's your room?”
She tells me, and I walk her up the steps to the patio, pausing only for her to lose more of her lunch in one of the potted plants on the patio.
“What's happening?” Max asks as he jogs over to us.
“Pippa’s not well. I'm taking her to her room. Can someone fetch a bowl and some water for her?”
“Of course.” Max instructs one of the staff to do just that. “Here. Let me take her,” he says, not pausing for my response as he lifts her into his arms like a romantic hero from a particularly romantic episode of Bridgerton.
I follow them up the stairs, and once we reach her room, he gently lays her down on her bed. A member of staff appears with a bowl, a glass of water, and a stack of towels.
“Did she eat something that could be causing this?” Max asks.
“I’ve no idea.” I shake my head. And then it dawns on me. “The water! From the fountain. She drank it a few hours ago,” I reply.
“That’ll be the culprit.” He turns to the woman. “Can you keep an eye on her? Report back to me? I need to get back to the kids.”
“Of course, Maxie. Whatever you need,” she replies with the same maternal smile Chef Margot gave him back in the palace kitchens.
Maxie? I file that one away for another time.
“I’ll stay,” I offer.
“It’s all right,” Nicole says. “You go and help the prince.”
I give Pippa’s hand a squeeze. “Feel better, Pippa.”
“You're fab, Fab,” she murmurs, her eyes half closed.
I smile. “You'll be fab again in no time. Promise.”
With Nicole assuring us that she won't leave Pippa’s side, I follow Max from the room.
“That was nice of you.”
“You’re the one who got all heroic and carried her up here.”
“Yes, but you're the one who found her and took action.”
“I just hope she'll be okay. Poor thing.”
“She'll be bouncing off the walls again soon.”
We return to the group, and Max immediately begins to work with the kids as they erect their tents around a central firepit.
“Are you here to help, miss?” asks a boy of about thirteen or fourteen with bright blond hair and freckles.
“Sure. Just tell me what to do. And call me Fabiana, okay?” I reply.
“Sure. I'm Cedric.” He bounces on his feet as though he's got too much energy to contain within his young body.
“Great to meet you, Cedric. Do we need to put up a tent?”
“There’s one over there.” He gestures at a zipped-up bag near a large willow tree.
“Let’s do it.”
I collect the bag, and together we carry it to where Cedric wants to set it up.
I pull out poles and pegs and what must be the tent. I twist my mouth as I survey all the pieces. Most of the other tents are up already, so it can’t be that hard. Can it?
“Okay, Cedric. Where do we begin?” I ask.
“Have you ever put a tent up before?”
“Nope. But there’s a first time for everything, right?”
When I was little, our vacations would consist of us visiting my family’s lake house, staying in our condo overlooking the Med.
We travelled through North America when I was about nine and made it as far south as Australia the following year.
I’ve seen tents, but that was as close as I’ve ever gotten to one.
Right now, I’m hoping I can bluster my way through this.
I mean, how hard can it be?
I stare at the pile of green fabric and metal poles scattered across the grass.
"So, which end is up?" Cedric asks, holding a curved pole at arm's length as if it might bite him.
I grab the instruction sheet and squint at diagrams that look more like someone’s idea of abstract art than anything. "Okay, it says here that the first step is to insert pole A into sleeve B.”
A quick search for the items shows me nothing is labelled either A or B.
Fat lot of good these instructions will be.
Cedric has somehow managed to thread a pole through what is clearly meant to be the door. The tent now resembles a deflated balloon animal.
"Maybe we should start over?” I suggest, watching him wrestle with the tangled mess.
“Wait, I think I've got it!” Cedric yanks hard on the fabric. The entire structure collapses on top of him, leaving only his sneakers visible.
I search for the opening, lifting it up to see Cedric peering up at me. “We’re not very good at this, are we?” I say.
He giggles, his shoulders beginning to shake. It’s infectious, and before long, I’m giggling, too, both of us breaking into peals of laughter at our total ineptitude.
Max approaches us, and I do my best to hold in my laughter, but there’s something so ridiculous about this situation—the collapsed disaster of a tent, the fact I just fell off a sofa to avoid having to get too close to him, not to mention that he’s now looming over us like a giant, silhouetted against the sun.
“We’re trying our best here, but it’s not quite going our way. Is it, Cedric?” I say.
Cedric’s response is to snort-giggle, his face turning beet red. He sets me off again, and the situation isn’t helped when Toffee leaps on top of the tent and instantly disappears, only for her head to pop back up a moment later, wild-eyed and excited.
“Do you need some help?” Max offers.
“Do we need help, Cedric?” I ask, and we both snort-laugh once more. Looking back up at Max, I try my best to pull myself together. “We’re trying, but it’s not exactly going to plan here.”
“Fabiana’s never put a tent together before,” Cedric says.
“Cedric! You’re totally ratting me out!” I protest.
“All right, you two. Hop up. Let the tent master sort this out,” Max says. He cracks his fingers.
“Tent master?” I question as I help Cedric from the tent.
“I’m a man of many talents,” he replies.
We work fast together, the three of us, me handing Max the items he asks for, and soon enough Cedric’s tent is standing proud alongside the others. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Max as he works, his movements sure and competent.
Something shifts in my chest, sharp and unexpected. I tell myself not to read anything into it, but I'm in dangerous territory with him. The man I'm seeing now—patient, kind, great with kids—is the kind of man I could so easily fall for. Not a prince, not a title, just... Max.
But that's the problem. He can never be just Max, and I can never be just Valentina, no matter how much I might want to be.
Between us lie years of family history, a web of lies about who I really am, and the simple fact that princes don't fall for journalists who've spent their careers mocking them.
No matter how much my heart wants to forget all of that when he smiles at me, no matter how right it feels when we work together like this, the reality remains: I'm Lady Valentina Romano, daughter of a disgraced lord, pretending to be someone else while developing feelings—real, undeniable feelings—for the son of the king who destroyed my world.
Some chasms are simply too wide to bridge, no matter how much I might want to try.