Heiress's Royal Baby Bombshell. Jennifer Faye
exasperated with him. She thought he should be at the palace acting the part of proper crown prince. She had no idea how hard it was for him to act his part because the royal court knew that when the time came, he would not be crowned king.
That role would go to his younger brother, Tobias, who at this moment was being meticulously groomed to step up and assume Max’s birthright. He didn’t blame his brother. If anything, he felt indebted to Tobias. His brother was the one sacrificing his youthful adventures in order to learn the rules of governing and the etiquette for dealing with foreign dignitaries.
And yet his brother had stepped up to do what was expected of him without complaint. Max would do no less. He checked the time once again and found that he still had close to an hour and a half before Noemi showed up. It was plenty of time to work through some of these emails.
He opened the email from his mother. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t the very cold businesslike email telling him the schedule of Christmas events and how he was expected to take on a prominent role in the festivities. He hated pretending to the whole nation that he was something he wasn’t—the heir to the throne.
He closed his mother’s email without responding because there wasn’t anything for him to respond to. There hadn’t been one personal word in the whole email. In fact, he would have thought that his mother’s personal secretary had written and sent the email except for the fact it had come from his mother’s private email that not even her secretary could access.
So the cold, impersonal email from his mother indicated that she thought he’d been gone too long. Or worse yet, she’d been reading the paparazzi headlines—which he might add were wildly exaggerated or utter works of fiction.
He opened an email from his own secretary, Enzo, who stayed on top of everything for him. It sorted his duties into priorities, escalating and FYI items. The only problem was the priorities were now taking up more room than the other two categories. It was definitely time to go home.
Max typed up his response to his secretary, letting the man know how to handle things until he returned to Ostania. And then he moved on to the next official email...
Knock. Knock.
Max granted access just as he pressed Send on another response and deleted the original email.
“Sir, Miss Cattaneo has arrived.”
“She has?” How could that be? He’d just checked the time, hadn’t he? His gaze moved to the clock at the bottom of the laptop monitor. A lot of time had passed totally unnoticed. “Please offer her a drink and tell her I’ll be right there.”
He closed his laptop and moved to the adjoining bathroom. He’d meant to clean up before her arrival. He jumped in the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm up.
Five minutes later, with his hair still damp, Max strode into the living room. Noemi was still there. He breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’m sorry about that. Time got away from me.” He smiled at her. “Do you need more to drink?” He gestured to her empty glass on the coffee table.
“Actually, yes. That would be nice.”
He moved forward and accepted her glass. “What were you drinking?”
“Water.”
Water? He didn’t know why that struck him as strange. Perhaps he’d become accustomed to serving wine on a date. This was just one more example of how Noemi was different from the other women who’d passed through his life.
He quickly poured water from a glass pitcher. “Here you go.”
When he handed over the now full glass, their fingers brushed and, in that moment, he recalled the silkiness of her skin, the warmth of her touch and the heat of her kiss. With a mental jerk, he brought his thoughts back to the present.
His mouth grew dry and he decided to pour himself some cold water. He took a drink and then sat on the couch opposite hers.
He smiled. “It’s really good to see you again. I just never expected to run into you here.”
She arched a fine brow. “Why? Is skiing only for men these days?”
He inwardly groaned. She just wasn’t going to give him an inch. She was angry about the way they’d left things. And that was his fault.
“Noemi, about our time in Milan, I handled things poorly. Is there any chance you will forgive me? And perhaps we can start over?”
“I told you I’m fine.” Her lips said one thing but her eyes said something quite different.
“The frostiness in this room is making me think I should go get my ski jacket and gloves.”
Her beautiful brown eyes momentarily widened. “It’s not that bad.”
“Maybe not on your side of the room, but standing over here, it’s downright nippy.”
A little smile pulled at her lips. It wasn’t much but it was something.
“That’s better,” he said.
She tilted her head to the side. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you trying so hard when you could have any women you want?” Her gaze searched his as if she could read the truth in his eyes.
“I’ve thought a lot about you since that night. I’ve wondered what it might have been like if we’d have had more time together.”
“Really?” There was a tone of doubt in her voice.
“Do you find that so hard to believe?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It’s the way you wanted it—no strings attached.”
“As I recall, you agreed.” He wasn’t going to take all the blame for the circumstances of their parting.
The frown lines on her face smoothed. “You’re right.”
At last, they seemed to be getting somewhere. Perhaps they could build on this and get back to where they’d once been—happy and comfortable with each other.
He took another drink of water and then set the glass aside. His gaze rose and caught hers. “Noemi, is it possible for us to start over?”
A noticeable silence filled the room. He knew it was too much to hope that they’d recapture the magic of that special night, but he had to try. With each passing second, his hopes declined.
“Yes, we can try.”
Her words caught him off guard—that seemed to be a common occurrence where Noemi was concerned. He would need to tread carefully around her in the future.
“Would you like to eat?” he asked.
Her eyes lit up. “I would.”
“Good. I hope you like the menu.”
He stepped into the kitchen to let the cook know. Then he escorted Noemi to a table that had been set next to the wall of windows where the twinkling lights of the resort illuminated ski slopes trailing down the mountainside beneath the night sky.
He’d had the cook prepare something basic because he had absolutely no idea what Noemi liked to eat, other than pizza. That’s what they’d had in Milan when neither of them felt like dressing and going out for a proper dinner. Since then he’d never been able to eat pizza without thinking of her.
And so, after a Caesar salad, they were served a heaping plate of pasta with Bolognese sauce topped with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano. He didn’t have to ask if Noemi approved of it. He tried not to smile as she made quick work of the pasta. It was a quiet dinner as he didn’t push conversation, wanting to give Noemi a chance to relax.
When they finished, he noticed there was still a small pile of pasta on her plate. “I take it you had enough.”