But if Pippa can see how I feel about Max—and worse yet, capture it on film—who knows who else can?
Max clicks the phone off and hands it back to Pippa. “It’s just a conversation between two work colleagues. Nothing more.”
Pippa’s eyes swivel between Max and me. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely sure,” he says with a finality that tells her the conversation is now closed.
I still can’t look at him. Not now that Pippa has called us out on our chemistry. I turn to look out the window, and my heart nearly comes to a stop. There in the distance, partially obscured by a line of ancient oak trees, is the roofline of Tenuta Fioralba.
My family's estate.
Or rather, my family'sformerestate, since it was seized by the Crown all those years ago when my father's reputation went up in flames, along with everything else we'd ever owned.
The train sails past the vineyards, and I catch a glimpse of the house in the distance. A lump forms in my throat as memories wash over me.
The way I used to “help” the grape pickers at harvest time, trailing behind them and picking up the discarded fruit from the ground.
The way we would eat our dinners on the stone patio in the summer, enjoying the long evenings filled with the sweet, heady scent of jasmine in the air.
The way I would run wild in summer with my cousins, building forts and making mud pies, the days like theystretched on forever.
And now someone else lives in the house, enjoying its views, a stranger who owes nothing to my family.
I swallow, my throat suddenly tight.
I knew it was likely I would see my old family estate when I agreed to come on this trip. But it's one thing to know something and quite another to actually experience it. Getting emotional about my family's lost past isn't going to help anyone, least of all me.
Now is not the time to get sentimental over what’s been lost. I've got a job to do, not to take a painful walk down memory lane while I’m sitting at a table with the prince.
I flick my gaze back to Max. He's watching me with a questioning look in his eyes, so I pull my lips into a smile. “I'm going to capture you looking out the window as you suggested.”
“Why the change of heart?”
“I think it's a good idea.” Before he has the chance to say anything else, I lift my phone and begin to film him, panning from him to the view outside.
“We're not far now,” Max says.
I click my phone off. “Tell me about this youth program. It's not something I've heard about before.”
“That's because it's nothing particularly newsworthy. It's a leadership program to help disadvantaged young people from families who wouldn't otherwise get the chance to do things like outdoor activities and team-building exercises. We're trying to develop these kids’ self-esteem and improve their resilience, as well as give them some practical skills like teamwork and problem solving.”
“Is this a palace initiative?”
He pauses for a beat before he replies, “It’smyinitiative. Not the palace’s.”
“Yours?”
“This probably doesn't fit your perspectiveof me as a privileged member of the royal family, who attends parties more often than most people eat hot meals.”
That’s what I used to think of him, anyway. Now, I can see it’s just one of the things he does. It doesn’t define him. He’s so much more than parties and super yachts and martinis.
“It's something I'm passionate about. I've had a lot of advantages in life, and I'm well aware that most people don't have what I've enjoyed.”
I offer him a wry smile. “That's somewhat socialist for a member of the royal family.”
He chuckles, the deep sound filling the air, and it strikes me that I want to hear that laugh more often. “I wouldn't exactly call it socialist. More having a social conscience.”
“I'm interested in seeing how you interact with the young people. I'll need to get their parents’ or caregivers’ permission to film them, of course.”
