Chapter 19
Valentina
Of all the places my career as a journalist has taken me, never in a million years did I expect to be stuck for the night in a small room with only one bed in a town the size of a peanut with the man I've made it my job to ridicule publicly for years.
The universe sure has a sick sense of humor.
The thought of being here with him makes both my heart and my body sing in a way that is way too dangerous for me.
Yet here we are, trapped by felled trees to the north and an overflowing river to the south.
And to make things worse, my nona’s ankle isn’t even broken.
This whole crazy scramble to Villadorata has been a giant storm in a teacup.
Max continues to show me how much he cares for others, how he will go out of his way to help a person. I never intended to be someone who needed help, let alone some kind of cliché damsel in distress. But that’s what I was today. I needed help and he was the one who gave it to me. Willingly.
Not only that, he's shown genuine concern for my grandmother, checking in with me about her, making sure I'm okay. That’s… nice. More than nice. It’s considerate and thoughtful and…Argh!
He's not playing fair.
He should be this horrible, arrogant, self-absorbed prince with zero emotional intelligence.
He should be treating me the way he did on my first day at the palace in Villadorata, doing his best to dodge me, and only responding to my questions with the bare minimum of language possible beyond a guttural grunt.
That Max I can deal with.
This one? The compassionate, thoughtful, sexy, easy to talk to version that I genuinely like?
That version is freaking terrifying.
Max is at the window, looking out at the storm, all casually attractive and relaxed, like this whole situation is nothing but a minor inconvenience to him. “That rain isn’t letting up anytime soon. The street is like a river.”
I unzip my case and pull out my wash bag. “We just need to make the most of it, I suppose.”
He turns toward me. “At least you have your suitcase. I came with nothing.” He collects the damp umbrella that’s by the door. “I’m going to head out to pick up some supplies. Do you need anything?”
I place my hand on my case. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
He pulls his cap down over his head and shoots me an easy smile
“I wouldn’t bother with the disguise. Everyone knows who you are.”
“It’s raining. I can’t afford for my hair to get wet.”
I snort out a laugh. “Really?”
“No.” He throws me a wink before he pulls the door open, calls for Toffee, and the two of them go, leaving nothing but his scent and the memory of his smile in the room, silent but for the pitter patter of rain against the windows.
I push out a breath, chewing on my lip. I can do this.
I mean, really, it’s all in a day’s work as a journalist. And besides, I’m sure I’ve been in trickier situations.
Like the time I spent a full ten minutes interviewing who I thought was a visiting European prince, only to realize he was in fact an actor hired for a charity event.
Or the time a palace staff member told me that the then twenty-three-year-old Princess Amelia had announced she was breeding rats to help their dwindling numbers, and believing it, I made a TikTok about it.
I later learned that rat numbers are far from dwindling. Quite the opposite, in fact.
But neither of those situations involved sharing a bed with a man who completely scrambles my head.
A man I’m meant to have an entirely platonic and professional relationship with.
A man who causes a serious butterfly situation in my belly each time he so much as smiles at me.
Seriously, it’s like they’ve all drunk too much caffeine and have decided to do the samba en masse.
And all this with just a smile.
A smile!
Imagine if I’d gone through with the kiss. Who knows where I’d be now.
We’ll need some ground rules. A strictly impenetrable wall of pillows is a start.
Plus, when we do go to bed, we must both be fully clothed. And he can’t wear his aftershave, because that would mess with my hormones, lying here in the dark with him next to me.
Yup, definitely no aftershave.
I’m busy hanging up the wet clothes I was wearing earlier today when Max and Toffee return with a rain-splattered paper bag, his cap soaked through. I help him towel off Toffee, who then promptly rolls around on the rug as though she’s on a mission to get dirty again.
“I got a toothbrush, some food for Toffee, a change of clothes, and even a pair of PJs.” He holds up a box with a picture of a man's torso wearing a white T-shirt. “I can be fresh for our journey tomorrow.”
“If we get to leave tomorrow.”
“I spoke with the police officer again. Terry. He said they are working hard on clearing the trees, and if the rain eases, they expect to have the road cleared by lunchtime tomorrow.”
“That's to the north though, right? What about the flooding to the south?”
“It’s still raining hard, so no progress.”
“My grandmother may only have a sprained ankle, but I still want to see her. Maybe I could catch a bus or something when the flooding subsides.”
“I'm not going to abandon you to some bus, Fabiana. I said I'll take you to Villadorata, and I will take you to Villadorata. I know it's important to you to see your grandmother,” he says softly.
See? He is so not playing fair.
He pulls the T-shirt from its package and for a heart-stopping minute, I think he's going to pull off his damp polo to try it on. But instead, he holds it up against his chest. “What do you think? Does it bring out the color of my eyes?”
“It's white, Max. Unless you’re a zombie and your eyes are white, too, then no, it doesn't.”
He eases himself down onto the bed. “Do zombies have white eyes?”
“Some do. Kind of cloudy. Are you telling me you don’t watch zombie movies?”
“Nope. You do?”
“Of course! Dawn of the Dead, The Last of Us?” He shakes his head. “What about the South Korean zombie shows, like All of Us Are Dead or Kingdom?”
“Kingdom? I know a little about that, although I can’t say I’ve seen all that many zombies around the palace.”
I laugh despite myself.
His eyes are trained on me. “Are you worried about your grandmother?”
“A little.”
“Right.”
“What?”
“It’s just you seem a little…tense, I suppose.”
“Who, me?” I squeak, out-mousing Mickey Mouse. “No! I’m good. Great, in fact.”
I overdid it. Particularly when he asks, “It’s the sharing a room thing, isn’t it?”
My shoulders drop. He’s hit the nail right on its head. “You’ve got to admit it’s awkward. I’m a journalist doing a series of stories about you. And you’re—”
“The story,” he finishes for me.
I scrunch my nose. It’s only the tip of the iceberg, but it’s what I’m running with. “Yeah.”
He rises to his feet, and his broad shoulders seem to fill the room. “Let’s pretend we’re just two friends hanging out together in this seriously soggy town. No journalist. No story. Do you think you can do that, just for tonight?”
Slowly, I nod my head. “I can do that.”
“And also, the bed thing?” He gestures at the bed. “I’m happy to sleep on the floor.”
“We’ve already been through this.”
“I’m a gentleman. My mother would kill me if I let you do that.”
“Your mother doesn’t need to know.”
My words come out a lot flirtier than I intended.
“Arm wrestle for it?” he suggests with a grin.
My eyes glide briefly to his muscular arms, against which the sleeves of his shirt strain. “I’d say you have an unfair advantage.”
He clenches his bicep. “You mean this?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow, and I can’t help but admire how his muscles bulge, despite how cheesy he’s being.
I swallow. “Exactly.”
“How about a pea-knuckle war?”
I snort with surprised laughter. “You’re a prince who plays pea-knuckle?”
“I’m a guy who plays pea-knuckle,” he corrects. “No princes or journalists here tonight, remember?”
“You’re on.” I hold my hand out, and he grips my fingers with his. The touch of his skin against mine does precisely what I expect it to do, as the butterflies in my belly chug another cup of java.
Holding our thumbs aloft, I count, “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war!”
“Five, six, seven, eight, try to keep your thumb straight! Ready, set, go, let’s annihilate!
Immediately, we battle it out, both of us straining to hold our thumbs back as the other tries to pin it down. Of course, he has the advantage of having a much larger hand than mine, but this is a battle of wills—one I’m determined to win.
I slam my thumb down, pinning his in place. “Aha! I've got you!” I declare with glee.
“You have,” he replies, his tone softer and more intimate than it should be between the friends we’re meant to be, and knowing exactly why I shouldn’t, I find myself looking up into his mahogany eyes with the little chunks of gold, my heart banging in my chest. “You win, Fabiana,” he murmurs softly.
His words are loaded in a way that has risky ideas swarming my mind, my breath shortening.
I pull my hand away. “You let me win.”
“You won fair and square. Ami always used to beat me at pea-knuckle. You’ve obviously got her knack.”
I don’t believe him for a second.
“You don’t have to sleep on the floor,” I say after a beat.
“Pillow wall?”
“Pillow wall.”
I’m an adult. I can conquer my feelings for this man, even if he’s sleeping right next to me.
His lips lift into a smile that tugs at my belly, and I wonder whether I’ve just made a big mistake.
“By the way, I found a place for us to have dinner while I was out. It’s a little trattoria up the street. The menu has about three items on it, but it looks good in a rustic, home cooking kind of way.”
“Great!” I say a little too brightly. If he notices, he doesn’t react. Instead, he suggests we shower and change before heading out.
“You go first. I want to get in touch with Nona again to see when she expects to get home,” I tell him.