I’m not sure what to think of this. Did the prince have an old schedule sent to me by accident? And if it was on purpose, why would he do something like that? It makes no sense.
Unless…?No. It can’t be. The prince wouldn’t have intentionally had an out-of-date schedule sent to me to avoid having to see me. Would he?
The label “man-child” never felt so appropriate.
Heat climbs my neck. “What about this?” I say, pointing at the next scheduled appointment of the day. “Will he be in the library at 11 AM?”
“The library? I don’t think so. His PT session lasts an hour in the palace gym, and then he goes for a run through the grounds.” She lowers her voice, her eyes darting around. “There’s a group of us girls who watch out of the windows on the top floor.”
“You watch the prince run?”
“The PT. Chase is his name. Chase Johansen. He’s from South Africa.”
I’m not thinking about some South African called Chase. There’s only one conclusion here. Max somehow got a false schedule sent to me with no intention of being at any of the day’s events. He deliberately sent me on a royal goose chase—and Prince Max is that royal goose.
Preferably cooked.
The conniving, manipulative, absolutely infuriating?—
I twist my mouth and scrunch the schedule up in a fit of frustration, flinging it into a nearby rubbish bin. “Where does he run?”
Pippa’s eyes light up. “Come with me.”
I follow her up to the third floor, where three female members of the palace staff are already staring out the window at the garden below, coffee cups in hand. Some are even munching on chocolate cookies.
“Everyone, this is Fabiana Fontaine,” Pippa announces, and the three women turn to look at me.
“As in the journalist?” asks one of them, a pretty young woman in a black and white uniform that tells me she's likely a lady’s maid.
I open my mouth to respond when Pippa replies for me. “The very same. But don't worry, she doesn't bite. She’s terrific!”
Three sets of eyes assess me.
“I only bite if something really annoys me,” I say.
“Hmmm,” replies the lady’s maid, her eyes scanning my outfit.
“No, really. Fabiana’s great!” Pippa insists. “She’s come to watch Chase and the prince.” She indicates between the four of them. “This is the Chase-slash-Max Fan Club. We’re here religiously, every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Right, ladies?”
“We are,” another of the women replies. She’s probably a year or two older than me, and by her jeans and T-shirt, smeared with dirt, my guess would be she’s on the gardening team. “But don’t tell anyone. This isn’t exactly our jobs. Got it?”
“Got it,” I reply.
“This is Theresa, Hetty, and Isadora,” Pippa says as she gestures from one of the women to the next.
“Hi, everyone. You do this three times a week, every week?” I ask.
“We sure do!” Pippa replies.
“Only when I can,” Theresa replies. “I work for Princess Amelia and sometimes have to travel, so I miss this.”
“We video those times for her,” Isadora explains.
“And I so appreciate it,” Theresa replies.
“And you’re all here to watch the PT?” I ask, wondering whether some of them have a thing for Max. For purely research reasons only, of course.
“I’m here for Prince Max,” Hetty says, her cheeks blushing. “Chase is too perfect for me.”
