I clear my throat.Not happening, Valentina.
“Report you as you are, of course.” I take a sip, savoring the sweet but tart homemade lemonade. “I want to document the youth program.”
He presses his lips together. “We talked about this.”
“I get that it’s your own project, and that it’s personal to you. But the Max I’ve seen today is so very different from the version of you the country sees. My directive was to show the country the real you. This is you.”
Carefully, he places his lemonade on a side table. “I've seen what happens when the media gets involved with programs like this. They either sensationalize the kids' stories for sympathy points, or they turn it into some kind of ‘Royalty Saves Poor Children’ narrative that completely misses the point. This isn't about me looking good. It's about them having a safe space. That’s why I’ve never publicized this.”
I chew my lip. “I get where you’re coming from, and I promise you, I don’t want to make this into either a media circus or that narrative. We could have whatever conditions you want.”
He studies my face. "What do you mean?"
“What if we make it about you leading by example? Isaw you out there with Adella. You didn’t just encourage her; you did the course with her.”
He shrugs as though doing an assault course is no big deal. “She needed to see how to do it.”
“Exactly! You could do the same challenges as the kids. I could film you with your highs and lows, show that you’re not this perfect, untouchable prince with the occasional poor decision making.” I offer him a wry smile, and when he smiles back, I know I’ve got him.
“That could work.”
I scoot closer to him in my excitement. “I know, right? Ledonia has seen you in the Royal Air Force. They’ve seen you go through rigorous training. But they’ve never seen what you’re capable of. You’re impressive, Max, and not just in your encouragement of the kids. You get your hands dirty.”
He looks at me—really looks at me—and I can’t help but notice the deep, chocolate brown of his eyes is flecked with gold, like autumn leaves before they fall.
Heat sparks low in my stomach, spreading like lava before I can stop it. I swallow hard, pretending to focus on anything else, but he’s already everywhere around me. The scent of him, clouding my thoughts. The way that one look feels like a touch.
All I can think about is how it had felt during our impromptu archery lesson when he was so close behind me, his hands on mine as he guided my arrow, his breath warm on my neck, his voice low and intimate, rumbling through me.
Suddenly, I’m way too close to this man who fills my mind, who’s been living rent free in my head, the man who’s turning out to be everything I didn’t know I was looking for.
Buteverything I want.
I need to break this spell, and I need to break it now.
So, I do what any sane woman who’s dangerously close to catching feelings for an off-limits man would do. I lean as far away from him as physics will allow, bracing my hands behind me, my spine as stiff as a ruler.
Max’s dark brows furrow as he takes in my impression of a human pretzel, his lips quirking—those lips I have absolutely no business wanting to kiss.
It does nothing to help the situation. My stomach swoops, hard enough that for one alarming second, I almost topple over.
And then, the worst happens. The seat cushion under my hands slides out from beneath me, and I literally tumble to the ground, falling in a heap of limbs like a woodpile.
That didnotjust happen.
One minute, we’re talking like normal adults and the next, I’m falling to the ground like I’m a heroine in a 90s chick flick.
I scrunch my eyes shut in utter humiliation.
“Are you all right?” he asks, and I open one eye enough to see concern written across his handsome face. He reaches for me, pulling me up, and I stand, dazed, my pulse thudding.
“I’m…yes, thanks.”
The blood in my veins has now been replaced by thick, gooey mortification. I turn and pick the seat cushion from the ground and slot it back in place, silently cursing it.
“What happened? One moment you were on the sofa, and the next… not.”
“I, err…” I search my brain for a plausible excuse. “I was stretching, and I didn’t expect the cushion to give way.”
