“I can do that!” Pippa declares.
I'd forgotten once again that she’s sitting right across the aisle, listening to everything we’ve said.
“That would be great. Thanks, Pippa,” I reply.
“If I'm going to call you Fab, you have to call me Pip. It's only fair,” she says.
“Pip. Got it,” I say.
I don't look at Max.
“I want to ask the kids if they want to be a part of your videos first,” Max says.
“Of course. How long have you been running this program?” I ask.
“Three years, give or take.”
Huh.That's three years of hands-on charitable work that he's never talked publicly about.
“Why have you never sought media coverage for it?”
“Not everything needs to be a photo opportunity.”
“Agreed. Who funds it?
“Does it matter?”
“Everything matters when you're trying to understand someone's character, Max.”
He pauses for a beat. “I do.”
“As in you personally?”
“Is that so surprising to you?”
If he had asked me that question a handful of days ago, I would have said yes, it was surprising. Shocking, even. But now that I'm getting to see the real Max, I'm beginning to understand he's a whole lot more than the man I've reported on all these years. He's deeper, more layered, morerealthan I ever gave him credit for.
“Not anymore,” I reply, my chest filling with warmth. “Why do you do it?”
“Because my local store ran out of Cristal,” he says with a sardonic smile. “Why do you think?”
“That's why I'm asking you.”
“Because it seemed like the decent thing to do.”
As we enter the familiar picturesque town of Castelvino, the train slows to a stop, and through the window I can see a couple of Range Rovers waiting for us.
“Welcome to my favorite place in Ledonia,” Max says as he rises from his seat.
I worry my lip. Max's favorite place is a mere twenty-minute train ride from my childhood home. The universe clearlyhas a twisted sense of humor. It’s going to take all I’ve got not to let my Fabiana mask slip over the coming days.
Chapter 12
Max
For as long as I can remember, Palazzo Belladonna has been my sanctuary. It’s a place where I can kick off my shoes and relax. The palace in Villadorata is more like a museum, with all its formal rooms and oil paintings of my ancestors judging me and my choices. This place, nestled in the mountains, covered in snow in winter and now, at the height of summer, surrounded by wildflowers and beauty everywhere I look, is like an actual home.
I’m not on show here.
