“Off the record?”
“Of course. We already agreed on that. I'm not a monster. I'm just a journalist, trying to do her job.”
“I never thought you were a monster.”
She raises her brows at me.
“Okay. Maybe a touch of the monster. But I can see you're not.”
She pauses for a beat before she replies, “And I can see you're more than some playboy prince.” She holds my gaze, and that now familiar feeling in my belly begins to build. “Tell me about the kids.”
“That one there in the red and yellow striped T-shirt is Aria,” I say, nodding toward the girl with copper curls currently holding some camera equipment, snapping shots as others set up the course. “She started on the program three months ago. She had social anxiety so severe she couldn't even make eye contact, let alone be involved in any of the activities.”
Fabiana's gaze follows mine. “She looks pretty involved now.”
“She’s come a long way. Her foster mum, constantly apologizing for her behavior, had to practically drag her here. Now she's become our unofficial photographer and shows real skill.”
“That's quite a transformation,” Fabiana says. “What about him?” She points to where Ant is animatedly explaining something to a cluster of younger participants, his hands gesturing wildly.
“That’s Antonia. Ant. He has ADHD, with emphasis on the ‘H’. He acted out at enough schools to get expelled from three." I can't help but smile as Ant spots some wild herbs growing nearby and immediately redirects the group's attention. “Put him on a wilderness survival course and suddenly his hyperactivity becomes a total asset. He spots edible plants faster than anyone.”
“Do you know all their stories?”
“Of course I do. Many of the kids come from difficult backgrounds, the kinds of situations I can only imagine from my life of privilege.” I pause, aware I'm revealing more than I typically would to a journalist.
But then, Fabiana is more than a journalist to me now.
“What do you think they get from this program?”
“I think it’s a bunch of things, but mostly a need for purpose. For a space where their worth isn't determined by their circumstances.” I look out at the scene. Rocco now has all the kids lined up, ready to start the course, and I can tell many of them are champing at the bit to get into it. “Here they get to be who they want to be.”
She looks out at the group. “They’re lucky.”
I turn back to look at her. She’s got a look on her face I can’t read. “These kids are the closest thing to a genuine purpose I've got. I’m the lucky one.”
“You see that purpose in Aria's confidence behind the lens, or in Dean's leadership.”
Her understanding makes something move in my chest. “Exactly,” I reply.
Rocco yells for the first group to begin, and we watch as they dive under the low net before popping out the other side, dashing with all their might towards the rope wall.
“I appreciate you opening up to me about this, Max. It’s…” She trails off, her eyes on the competitors.
“It’s what?”
“It’s showing me why your father invited me to do this with you. You’re not some privileged rich guy with an easy life who seeks out pleasure at every turn. You’re this.” She gestures at the kids. “Your father understands who you are, and he wants me to show the country.”
The way she's looking at me makes my pulse quicken. Without even knowing it had happened, we're standing closer than we were a moment ago, close enough that I can smell the subtle floral perfume she wears, close enough to once again count the freckles scattered across her nose.
“Fabiana, I?—”
“Max! You coming or what?” Rocco's voice cuts through our moment, and it jolts me back to reality.
I gesture with my thumb over my shoulder. “I should go.”
“You should.”
I turn and jog toward Rocco and Dante. As I help line up the next group for their turn at the obstacle course, I can sense her watching me. I can't shake the feeling that something fundamental has shifted between us, that she understands me in a way no one has before. Part of me wants nothing more than to tell her what she’s slowly coming to mean to me.
