“Toffee looks comfortable,” he says as he eyes the puppy in my lap.
I stroke her fur as she sleeps in my lap, curled up like a warm croissant. “She won’t fit on anyone’s lap soon enough.”
“That won’t stop her trying,” he says with a laugh. “Tell me about your grandmother.”
We pass a petrol station with its lights bright against the rain.
“She’s my rock. She’s always in my corner, no matter what, and I’ve put her through some stuff.”
“Sounds like a story.”
“Just usual teenage rebellion types of things.”
It’s the truth, just not the whole truth.
“You know a lot about me, and we need to address the imbalance.”
“You want me to tell you about myself?”
“Anything and everything.”
I want to. Oh, how I want totalk to him, as in really, really talk, about everything. About who I am, about my family, about what my life is like, pretending to be someone else. And most of all, I want to talk to him about the way I feel when he looks at me with heat in his chocolate eyes, the way I’ve got these new, big feelings for the man I once thought was a waste of taxpayers’ money.
The man who’s reached a part of me no one else has.
“Can we do that another time? Like Toffee, I’m tired,” I lie, guilt twisting a knot in my stomach.
“Of course,” he replies.
I’m taking advantage of his kind nature, but what can I do? Tell him who I really am? How his family and mine are connected?
Nope. Never.
I lean my head against the window and close my eyes. I’m hyperaware of every small movement he makes in the driver's seat, turning the wheel, slowing the car to make turns.
“Thank you for doing this, Max. You didn't have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
Something in his voice makes me open my eyes to look at him, but he's focused on the road ahead, his jaw set with an emotion I can't quite read.
As the rain pounds harder against the windshield, I know this journey is going to test every last bit of resolve I have left.
Chapter 18
My good friends. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that sometimes the juiciest royal revelations don’t happen under chandeliers.
Picture this: torrential rain, a washed-out road, and your ever-devoted royal correspondent stranded in a quaint inn with none other than Prince Maximilien. When I received worrying family news, he didn’t grin his way past it. He simply showed up. He was thoughtful, helpful, and kind. Thekind of prince anyone would want sailing to her rescue, looking dashing on a white horse.
Perhaps the storm revealed more than washed-out roads. Perhaps it revealed a side of Max the world hasn’t seen before, and one this correspondent isn’t quite sure how to dismiss.
Yours in sogginess,
Fabiana Fontaine xx
#StormboundWithaPrince
#MadMaxOrMrDarling
