“Stretching,” he repeats, his tone impassive.
I lift my chin. “That’s right.”
That mouth quirks once more, his eyes dancing. “Perhaps we should get you a yoga mat next time? I’m sure I can rustle one up for you.”
“A mat. Yes. Good idea.”
Get me out of here!
I’ve never been so thankful to see a group of teens begin to spill out of the house and onto the patio. Max tells them they need to start pitching their tents, and a few of them grab onto his arms, hauling him along with them. He looks over his shoulder at me and smiles, and I throw him a quick wave.
After I’ve regained what dignity I have left, I trail after them. I watch as they work together putting up tents, chatting and laughing together. If I hadn’t known these kids were from difficult backgrounds, I would never have guessed it. They seem to like one another, and Max in particular, who chats freely with them, laughing at their jokes and cracking some of his own.
I sidle up to Pippa, who’s looking distinctly green around the edges.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She's holding her hands over her belly, her mouth down turned. “I’m not so good.”
Before I have the chance to say anything, she darts behind a tree. I follow after her and find her doubled over on the ground. I crouch down beside her, placing my hand on her forehead. “Pippa, you're burning up!”
Her response is to groan, holding onto her belly some more.
“I'm going to get you out of here.” I pull her to her feet and throw her arm around my shoulders so I can support her. She’s floppy and unsteady on her feet.
“Thanks, Fab. You're fab. Do you get it?” she says weakly as I lead her across the lawn toward the house.
“I get it but save your strength. Where's your room?”
She tells me, and I walk her up the steps to the patio, pausing only for her to lose more of her lunch in one of the potted plants on the patio.
“What's happening?” Max asks as he jogs over to us.
“Pippa’s not well. I'm taking her to her room. Can someone fetch a bowl and some water for her?”
“Of course.” Max instructs one of the staff to do just that. “Here. Let me take her,” he says, not pausing for my response as he lifts her into his arms like a romantic hero from a particularly romantic episodeofBridgerton.
I follow them up the stairs, and once we reach her room, he gently lays her down on her bed. A member of staff appears with a bowl, a glass of water, and a stack of towels.
“Did she eat something that could be causing this?” Max asks.
“I’ve no idea.” I shake my head. And then it dawns on me. “The water! From the fountain. She drank it a few hours ago,” I reply.
“That’ll be the culprit.” He turns to the woman. “Can you keep an eye on her? Report back to me? I need to get back to the kids.”
“Of course, Maxie. Whatever you need,” she replies with the same maternal smile Chef Margot gave him back in the palace kitchens.
Maxie?I file that one away for another time.
“I’ll stay,” I offer.
“It’s all right,” Nicole says. “You go and help the prince.”
I give Pippa’s hand a squeeze. “Feel better, Pippa.”
“You're fab, Fab,” she murmurs, her eyes half closed.
I smile. “You'll be fab again in no time. Promise.”
