“Relief from all the garden parties, super yachts, and martinis?” she teases.
“You think that’s what my life is all about? Attending functions and getting tipsy?”
“Over our time together, you’ve shown me it’s not, but it’s certainly part of it.”
I chew on my lip. In this oddly intimate space with her, I want to tell her what life as Prince Max is actually like, to open up to her in a way I never have with anyone. Not even my closest friends are aware of my innermost struggles. Sure, they get that I’m so much more than journalists like Fabiana have portrayed me over the years. But they don’t get how I struggle with it. They don’t get how exhausting it can be to have to live up to everyone's expectations of who I’m meant to be. They don’t understand the pressure I have in representingcenturies of tradition while trying to find ways to make my role relevant.
And the truth is, as the fourth born with no clear role, no clear point to my life, I’m not sure how relevant my role really is.
“It's lonely at times to be constantly watched, constantly judged, constantly seen as never quite good enough.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, and there's something in her voice that spurs me on.
“I can't make the choices other people can make; I can't live my life the way I might want to. I've got to be Prince Maximilien, son of King Frederic and Queen Astrid, the much-loved monarchs. I've never been able to choose what I do.”
“Didn't you choose to go to Cambridge?”
“Where my brother and sisters went and my father before them and his father before him?”
“The Air Force?” she questions. “I suppose you didn't choose that, either?”
I shake my head. “It’s tradition. That's not to say I didn't enjoy it. I made friends for life there, like Rocco and Dante, and I learned a lot of useful things about myself and other people.”
“And how to fly a helicopter,” she adds with a smile.
“And how to fly a helicopter.”
“What would you have done if you hadn't been born into the royal family?”
“I don't know. Become a vet? Joined the circus? Picked apples in New Zealand like Marco did?”
“But you never got the choice.”
“Nope.”
“You do get to do some pretty amazing things though. Take your youth program, for instance.”
“You're right. I wouldn't be able to help the way I do if I wasn't a prince.” I think of Adella. “That's the first time Adella has made it over that wall on the assault course.”
“You're a proud papa.”
“It might sound silly, but I am.”
“It's not silly. It's—” she breaks off, and I lift my gaze to hers.
“It's what?”
“It's changed my mind about you. That and a few other things.”
I arch my brows at her. “So, I'm now a man-child who runs a youth program?”
She shakes her head. “Despite the fact we’re sitting in a blanket fort, I no longer see you as a man-child. As I said, I was wrong to call you that.”
I widen my eyes at her. “Fabiana Fontaine is saying she waswrong?”
“All right. Don't rub it in.” She straightens her shoulders. “I'm sorry for calling you a man-child and all the other names. You've shown me that you're so much more than that.”
I hold her gaze. “Thank you,” I say simply.
