“Look. I'm sure you didn't like that I reported on that,but I have a duty to my readers. They love to know what members of the royal family are up to, and Max—I mean Prince Maximilien—does provide me with rather a lot of material.”
The king presses his lips together as Ronan Clementine replies, “There's no need to be defensive. We know you have a duty to report, which is why we've invited you here.”
“Meaning?” I ask.
“We'd like to offer you exclusive access to document my son’s efforts to rehabilitate his image. A behind-the-scenes look at the real Prince Maximilien, if you will,” the king says.
I stare at him. Is he seriously asking me to help Prince Max look better in the eyes of the public by making stuff up?
“You want me to write a puff piece? Something that will compliment him and make him look good?” I ask.
I might be masquerading as my alter ego, but I’ve got to draw the line somewhere. My journalistic integrity is that line.
“We want you to share the truth about the prince,” Ronan corrects smoothly. “You only hear about his mistakes. We would like you to present a documentary about him, showing all aspects of his personality rather than just his less-than-optimal choices.”
“I'm confident that you’ll find my son to be more than simply your attention-grabbing headlines,” the king says.
“Which is why, as previously discussed, you will get all the access to the prince that you will require. We can provide you lodgings here at the palace to make things easier for you,” Ronan Clementine adds.
My eyes widen to the size of royal dinner plates. “You want me to move into the palace?”
The thought of living behind enemy lines is unsettling to say the least, let alone the fact I’ll be under the same roof as the ridiculously handsome and charming Prince Max.
An unwanted tingle shoots down my spine.
I might have labelled him a himbo and a man-child, but I’ve never denied how attractive the prince is.
“We do,” Ronan Clementine confirms. “That way you can have untethered access to the prince, both here and when he travels north for a personal project later in the month.”
“North?” I squeak, because the idea of not only living in the palace when I'm hiding my real identity, but travelling with him has my insides tying in elaborate knots even a sailor would be proud of.
“My son has various commitments through the rest of the summer. If you accept this offer, you will need to shadow him on all his commitments, which includes travelling to the northern palace with him,” the king replies.
“Why me?” I ask.
“Because you’re the one writing all the articles and posting all those videos to social media, Ms. Fontaine. You seem to have an uncanny ability to know what the members of my family are up to at any given time.”
It’s called sources.
“You’re perfectly positioned as the journalist who ‘tells it like it is’, as they say, only you’ll get the whole picture by shadowing the prince for a month,” Ronan Clementine says.
“Amonth?” I guffaw.
A full month behind enemy lines would test me to the limits.
“Of course we will provide you with generous compensation for your time, Ms. Fontaine,” he adds.
My brain nearly short-circuits.Generous compensation?
“How generous is generous exactly?” I ask.
Could it be enough to fix Nona's house, pay the bills, and maybe even afford the luxury of heating this winter?
Without saying another word, Ronan slides a piece of paper across the desk toward me like he’s a spy in a movie.
I lift the edge of the paper and glance at the figure.
I nearly fall off my chair.
