Max approaches us, and I do my best to hold in my laughter, but there’s something so ridiculous about thissituation—the collapsed disaster of a tent, the fact I just fell off a sofa to avoid having to get too close to him, not to mention that he’s now looming over us like a giant, silhouetted against the sun.
“We’re trying our best here, but it’s not quite going our way. Is it, Cedric?” I say.
Cedric’s response is to snort-giggle, his face turning beet red. He sets me off again, and the situation isn’t helped when Toffee leaps on top of the tent and instantly disappears, only for her head to pop back up a moment later, wild-eyed and excited.
“Do you need some help?” Max offers.
“Do we need help, Cedric?” I ask, and we both snort-laugh once more. Looking back up at Max, I try my best to pull myself together. “We’re trying, but it’s not exactly going to plan here.”
“Fabiana’s never put a tent together before,” Cedric says.
“Cedric! You’re totally ratting me out!” I protest.
“All right, you two. Hop up. Let the tent master sort this out,” Max says. He cracks his fingers.
“Tent master?” I question as I help Cedric from the tent.
“I’m a man of many talents,” he replies.
We work fast together, the three of us, me handing Max the items he asks for, and soon enough Cedric’s tent is standing proud alongside the others. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Max as he works, his movements sure and competent.
Something shifts in my chest, sharp and unexpected. I tell myself not to read anything into it, but I'm in dangerous territory with him. The man I'm seeing now—patient, kind, great with kids—is the kind of man I could so easily fall for. Not a prince, not a title, just... Max.
But that's the problem. He can never bejust Max, and I can never be just Valentina, no matter how much I might want to be. Between us lie years of family history, a web of lies about who I really am, and the simple fact that princes don't fall for journalists who've spent their careers mocking them.
No matter how much my heart wants to forget all of that when he smiles at me, no matter how right it feels when we work together like this, the reality remains: I'm Lady Valentina Romano, daughter of a disgraced lord, pretending to be someone else while developing feelings—real, undeniable feelings—for the son of the king who destroyed my world.
Some chasms are simply too wide to bridge, no matter how much I might want to try.
Chapter 16
Max
“Don't get too close to the fire, Shawnee. You'll burn your stick,” I say as I show the fourteen-year-old how to hold her marshmallow over the open fire. Let's just say we've had one too many minor fire incidents involving marshmallows and sticks over the last few years for me not to show a newbie how to do it.
“But then it takes ages,” Shawnee complains.
“Good things take time,” I say, sounding wiser than I am. “It’ll be worth it in the end. Who needs another marshmallow?”I ask the group, and a bunch of hands fly into the air.
I hop off the log to collect a fresh bag when Fabiana beats me to it.
“I'll pass them out,” she says. “It's the least I can do, considering my recent tent failures.”
“Singular. Not multiple.”
“Let’s face it, it would have been multiple, given half the chance,” she replies with a self-effacing smile that lights up her face.
“Putting up tents is not in your skill set, I'll give you that.”
“But making s’mores is.”
“S’mores? The American treat?”
She gives an easy laugh. “Are you telling me you've never made s’mores before, Max?” she asks, playfully throwing her hands on her hips.
“I've seen people make them in movies. Why, are they good?”
“Good? They’re freaking amazing.”
