Chapter 16
Max
“Don't get too close to the fire, Shawnee.
You'll burn your stick,” I say as I show the fourteen-year-old how to hold her marshmallow over the open fire.
Let's just say we've had one too many minor fire incidents involving marshmallows and sticks over the last few years for me not to show a newbie how to do it.
“But then it takes ages,” Shawnee complains.
“Good things take time,” I say, sounding wiser than I am. “It’ll be worth it in the end. Who needs another marshmallow?” I ask the group, and a bunch of hands fly into the air.
I hop off the log to collect a fresh bag when Fabiana beats me to it.
“I'll pass them out,” she says. “It's the least I can do, considering my recent tent failures.”
“Singular. Not multiple.”
“Let’s face it, it would have been multiple, given half the chance,” she replies with a self-effacing smile that lights up her face.
“Putting up tents is not in your skill set, I'll give you that.”
“But making s’mores is.”
“S’mores? The American treat?”
She gives an easy laugh. “Are you telling me you've never made s’mores before, Max?” she asks, playfully throwing her hands on her hips.
“I've seen people make them in movies. Why, are they good?”
“Good? They’re freaking amazing.”
“How do you know how to make them?”
“My family stayed on one of the Great Lakes one summer when I was a kid. We made s’mores over the fire every night.”
“S’more skills, huh?”
“Yup. Do you have any graham crackers and chocolate?”
“I know we have chocolate bars because the kids love them, and we have some crackers for cheese, sweet and salty.”
“The sweet ones will do nicely. In the kitchen, I assume?”
“That's right.”
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”
I can't help but watch as she walks away, her form illuminated by the glowing fire. Her short-clad hips sway from side to side as she saunters across the lawn, her ever-present ponytail swinging.
It takes effort to drag my gaze away.
Of all the problems this woman has caused in my life, proving to be off-the-scale sexy has got to be the most unexpected.
But she’s more than just sexy. She’s the whole package. Funny, smart, kind, a little mysterious, and as she reveals more and more of herself to me, I’m finding myself in deeper than I ever meant to be.
It’s not just attraction anymore. It’s something that’s starting to feel a lot more real.
A moment later she returns, her arms heavy laden with packets of crackers and bars of chocolate.
“Did you clean the entire kitchen out of supplies?” I ask, eyeing her stash.
She grins at me. “I think so.” Laying the food items out on a nearby table, she addresses the group. “Who wants to make s’mores? So much better than just plain old toasted marshmallows.”
She's instantly surrounded by eager teens, and I hang back, watching her.
She only just met these kids today and already she has a rapport with them.
She's at ease, as though she deals with moody, sometimes challenging teenagers every day of her life.
And they seem to like her, too. The way she and Cedric got the giggles while working on their tent was… well, it was adorable.
“Once you've toasted your marshmallows, bring them back here and we’ll stick them between the crackers and chocolate. See?” She demonstrates how to slide the stick from the toasted marshmallow, held between the crackers and chocolate.
All eyes are riveted on her. “Et voila! A s’more.
I should taste test this, right?” she asks, and I laugh along with the others.
She takes a bite, and her eyes roll back in her head as she savors the sweetness. She grins around her mouthful. “Delib-fuff!” she pronounces.
And there's that word again, springing into my mind. Adorable. Adorable and fun and kind and witty and clever and gorgeous and hot. So. Freaking. Hot.
Who knew someone talking with their mouth full of s’more could hit me right in the chest?
I don’t want to want this woman, but I do, and it’s getting harder not to act on it.
I make some s’mores along with the rest of the group, aware of how Fabiana is constantly on hand to help anyone who needs it, assisting kids when their marshmallows won't slide off their sticks, showing them just the right amount of toasting to melt it so it turns to liquid goo inside the crackers and chocolate.
Once everyone has had their fill, we sit around the campfire telling stories until it's time for the kids to head to bed.
Fabiana disappears to check on Pippa, and Rocco, Dante, and I make sure everyone is comfortable, unrolling sleeping bags, providing pillows, and all the things you've got to do to get a bunch of teens high on sugar off to sleep.
“She’s not what I expected,” Rocco says once the last of the kids is tucked up in their sleeping bags.
“What do you mean?”
“In her articles, she comes across as snarky and rude, sometimes simpering, but I think she’s seeing something different in you.”
“What’s she said?”
“Only that she can see you’re not the guy she’s reported on all these years. Do you trust her?”
If Rocco had asked me that question only a week ago, my answer would have been a resounding no. I would never have trusted the Fabiana Fontaine I knew from her articles. Not in a million years.
But this Fabiana? The multi-layered woman I'm seeing now? She's a different creature altogether.
“I think I do.”
“You think, or you know?” he questions.
And therein lies the million-euro question. Despite everything I thought I knew about her, everything she’s written about me, my gut tells me I can. Maybe it’s the way she looks at me, like I’m not a headline. Or the way she softens when she thinks no one’s watching.
“Just…watch your back, okay, Max?”
“I will,” I reassure him.
Rocco and Dante say good night and disappear into their respective tents, and I sit by the fire, lost in thought, when Fabiana sits back down beside me.
“How’s Pippa?” I ask.
“Doing a little better. She’s sleeping now. I had some electrolytes in my suitcase, so she’s been sipping those to rehydrate. Nicole’s been doing a great job looking after her.”
“She’s amazing.”
“Is that right, Maxie?”
She’s grinning at me, and it makes me laugh. “A childhood name.”
“I think it’s sweet. It’s obvious they love you.”
“It’s mutual.”
A log on the fire drops, sending a shower of sparks into the dark night air.
“Tell me how the program came about,” she asks.
“I started it when one of my charities took me to a women's shelter. I met damaged children and their mothers, families forced to escape difficult situations. They showed the kind of strength and resilience I'd never needed in my life.”
She nods, allowing me to continue. “There was one kid in particular.
Bruno. He was only twelve or thirteen, but his eyes showed experience way beyond his years.
He and his mum and younger sister had been living in the shelter for about 3 months.
His mum didn't speak much Ledonian, so he took it on himself to navigate the benefit system so they could get what small amount of money the government offered.
“But you know what struck me the most? It wasn't his maturity. It was the way his eyes were constantly assessing adults to work out if they were a friend or otherwise. I got the distinct impression he’d encountered too much of the otherwise.”
“Poor kid.”
I swallow, remembering how my conversation with him had stuck with me for weeks. How I’d felt compelled to do something, anything, to help him and others like him. “Kids ought to get the chance to be just kids.”
Something passes across her face. “You're right. You can never get those years back. Once innocence is lost, it's lost forever.”
I watch her for a beat. Is that from personal experience? Did something happen to her in childhood that meant she had to grow up faster than she should?
“Is there a story there?” I ask tentatively.
“No story,” she says, and her tone is a touch too light. Forced, even.
It leaves me with more questions than answers.
“You’ve learned about my past. Tell me about yours.”
“Oh, it’s all pretty standard stuff really. School, family dinners, the usual. Nothing as exciting as growing up in a palace, that I assure you.”
It’s as though she’s hiding something, but I’ve no clue what it is. “Are your parents still together?” I ask, wondering if the thing that made her grow up fast was divorce.
“My mom passed away when I was little,” she replies, her eyes concentrated on the fire.
My heart aches for her. “I’m so sorry, Fabiana.”
She lifts her shoulders. “It was a long time ago. It was just my dad and me.” She breaks off. “I spent a lot of time with my grandmother growing up. She taught me a lot about the world.”
It's clear she doesn't want to talk anymore about her dad, and I'm not going to push it. As much as I want to know more about her, I want her to open up when she's ready.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
Her features relax. “She’s the best. We live in the city together. She’s my strongest advocate, always telling me I can do whatever I put my mind to. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing her since I was twelve.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I’ve been busy.” She takes a breath and turns to face me. “So, tell me. How did you go from a conversation with Bruno to starting this program?”
It’s an obvious deflection. I’m not going to press her. I'm hopeful that one day she'll trust me enough to tell me everything about her.
Baby steps.
“I wanted to set up something I could be involved with personally, not just a box-checking exercise or raising money. And let’s face it, there are only so many slip n’ slides to throw yourself down.”
Her laughter is soft, and it warms my belly. “I’ll start filming you tomorrow. What’s first on the agenda?”
“We’re heading out for a climb.”
“Perfect.” She moves a little closer, and it isn’t clear whether it’s to take advantage of the fire or to be nearer to me.
Although I know what I want it to be.
We're close enough that I could reach out and touch her, and around us the atmosphere feels charged, like the air before a thunderstorm.
In the firelight, her features soften, and for a fleeting second, I have the strangest sensation that I've known her face for longer than just this past week, not just from her videos and photos.
I shake the thought away.
She looks at me with those impossibly big, gorgeous eyes, and I find it increasingly difficult to remember why keeping my distance seemed such an important thing to do.
Because right now, as the dying light of the campfire catches the gold in her hair, I want nothing more than to discover whether her lips are quite as soft and pillowy as they look, whether she would feel quite as good in my arms as I suspect she would.
Suddenly, I don't want to just think about it anymore. I lean towards her, watching her face carefully.
When she doesn’t pull away, I have all the sign I need.
I reach out and cup her face in my hands, and she lets out a light whimper, the soft skin of her cheeks making my heart beat faster. Her lips part, her chest rising and falling with increasing speed, her scent filling the surrounding air.
“Fabiana,” I murmur, her name slipping out rougher than I mean it to, weighted with everything that’s grown between us since the day we met.
She goes perfectly still, her body tense. “I should…the kids might…I’ve got to…” she stammers before she springs to her feet, this usually articulate woman suddenly incapable of completing a single sentence.
What just happened?
Dazed, I look up at her.
Did I read the signs wrong? Does she not feel this thing between us?
“Of course,” I say, my voice hoarse with desire. I clear my throat. “I’m sorry, Fabiana. I…overstepped.”
“It’s fine. Really. But I should head to bed.” She backs away from me before she turns on her heel and begins to march off toward the house.
I’m an idiot. A total freaking idiot. I’ve pushed her away when all I wanted to do was pull her closer, to show her how I feel about her. To come clean and finally lay it on the table.
I jump up and follow her.
I’ve never experienced rejection before, and I’m not sure what to do.
“Fabiana, wait,” I say, catching up with her in a few short steps.
“It’s late, Max, and I have work to do,” she says without breaking her stride.
I reach out and place my hand gently on her forearm, and she snaps her attention to me, her face a study in alarm. “Fabiana, I really am sorry.”
“About what?” she says with a breeziness we both know is totally forced.
“We almost kissed back there.”
“If we had, it would have been a mistake.”
“Would it?” I ask softly.
She lifts her chin. “Yes, Max. It would.”
“I thought it would have been…nice.”
Kissing Fabiana would have been an entire universe more than just nice, but I can tell she’s completely spooked, and the last thing I want is to upset her further.
“Nice,” she repeats, and for just a moment, her mask slips and I see something that looks like longing on her face. “This can't happen, Max.”
I place a hand carefully on her forearm, and she sucks in a breath at the contact. “Is it because we’re working together?"
“Yes, and…no.”
I make an exasperated sound. “Help me understand, because there is something between us, isn’t there? I feel it, more and more each day.”
She places a finger over my mouth, her skin briefly brushing my lips. “Don’t. Please. There are things you don't appreciate about me.”
“You can tell me anything. Anything. I want to know. I want to understand you.”
She lowers her head, and I want to fold my arms around her, tell her it’s okay, tell her that whatever it is, I can take it.
“I can’t,” she murmurs. She takes a step back, and I let my hand drop from her arm. “Good night, Max.”
I’m not going to fight her on this. She’s made it clear that even though I know she wants this, she’s fighting it, fighting us, even when it’s written all over her face.
As I watch her go, I roil like boiling water, restless and ready to spill over, my breath ragged, my heart pounding.
What just happened? One minute we’re talking, relaxed by the fire, close enough to kiss, and the next, she’s gone, pushing me away as she leaves.
Never in my life before have I wanted a woman so much and then been rejected by her. It’s a new sensation for me, and one I have no clue how to deal with.
What is she hiding? What could be so big that she can’t let herself be with me? And why would kissing me, something that’s so right, cause such panic in her?
Despite her warnings, I find myself more determined than ever to learn everything about this woman who’s utterly bewitched me, body and mind. Because if there’s one thing I know for certain it’s that I’m falling for her, and no amount of reason is going to save me from it.