“It's hard to separate him from it,” I reply, my voice quiet.
“But youcanseparate him from it, Val. He doesn’t deserve your anger.”
I chew on my lip, my emotions swirling around me like a whirlpool.
“It doesn't matter if it wasn't him personally. He's still part of the same system, the same family that —”
“Val.” Nona’s using her stern tone. She means business. “You think your anger keeps you safe, but it's keeping you from living. That boy drove through a storm for you. He didn't have to do that.”
I hang my head, my chest aching. “I know.”
“I’m not telling you he’s the one. I’m not telling you to fall in love. All I’m saying is let go of that anger. You don’t want to be a bystander to your own life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, have an adventure. You’re stuck in a romantic town with the country’s most eligible bachelor. Have somefun.”
As the steam from the shower wafts into the room, I close my eyes, and suddenly I can see it all so clearly. My nona is right. I’ve been punishing Max—and all the royal family—for something the king did all those years ago.
The water shuts off, and panic floods through my veins. In a minute or two, he'll be out here in this room with me, and I'll have to look him in the eye knowing that I've been unfair to him from the very beginning.
And that will mean my armor will no longer be my protection, because there will be nothing to protect me from anymore.
It will be just him and me, two people with feelings for one another, sharing a bed in a small town in the mountains.
My heart drums.
“Nona, I have to go,” I say, swallowing down a growing lump in my throat.
“I love you, my darling girl. I want only good things for you. You know that, don’t you?”
Tears prick my eyes, my chest tight. “I do.”
I hang up and sit on the edge of the bed, taking shallow, shaky breaths. I’ve been wearing my anger like a thick metal jacket, and without it, it’s just me, Valentina Romano, a woman who’s falling for a prince who could break my heart without even trying.
Chapter 20
Max
I'm not going to lie: the thought of spending the night alone with Fabiana has my mind roving to all sorts of places it has no business being in. I couldn’t stop thinking about it all through dinner, and now that we’re back in our room, I can’t stop thinking about it now, either.
Sure, we're getting on better than we have ever before, and we've both admitted that we've judged one another based on scant information.
We're good. We're friends.
And therein lies my problem, because friendship with Fabiana Fontaine is rather like trying to satisfy hunger with a single olive. It may technically be sustenance, but it’s hardly filling.
Yes, I want to pull her against me, have the soft curves of her body meld against mine, show her how much I want her. How much Ineedher. But that's the simple part, the straightforward desire that a man might have for a woman.
What's infinitely more dangerous is this other thing, this ridiculous, unprecedented longing to get her to open like my favorite book, so I can read every page until I've memorized her completely. I want to know what makes her laugh when she thinks no one's listening. I want to discover what she dreams about in those quiet moments before she falls asleep.
I want to be the person she turns to when the world gets too much.
But equally, I want to open myself up completely to her, to show her who I truly am. Be vulnerable in a way I’m not with most people. Not the prince she thought I was. The man.
The man who lies awake at night wondering if he'll ever be more than his title.
The man who is forced to search for meaning outside of his role.
