by Jessica Hart
“What’s going on between you and Max?” she asked Flora when they were safely in the kitchen.
“Nothing.”
“And why does he call you Moonflower?”
“Private joke,” said Flora, feeling hunted. She grabbed the ramekins from Ally and dumped them in the sink to run water in them.
“Max kissed you, didn’t he, when you were out here before?”
Flora gaped at Ally. “No! He ... How could you tell?”
“He had muscle twitching, just here.” Ally pointed at her own jaw to demonstrate. “I did wonder if you’d had a row, but then you came in, looked as if you’d been knocked for six, so that was a dead giveaway.”
Great. She was completely transparent.
“Honestly, it doesn’t mean anything.”
Ally pointed a finger at her, not believing a word of it. “I knew it! You and Max!”
“There isn’t any me and Max.” Flora was rinsing dishes, banging them around in the sink. “I’ve told you, we’re pretending.”
“That is amazing.” Ally leant against the worktop, grinning. “I had no idea you were such a brilliant actor, Floradear.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be making coffee?”
“Max, too. You should both get Oscars. It’s so clever the way you look at him when he’s not looking at you, and he does the same thing. It’s almost like you’re not trying. And then you squabble like a real couple but at the same time you can practically feel the heat coming off you.”
“What rubbish,” said Flora weakly.
But Ally was on a roll. “What’s really incredible is the way you and Max have managed to get that pretend zing in the air between you. I didn’t want to lean across you for the wine in case I got caught in the sizzle!”
“If we’re going to talk about sizzle, what about you and Fredrik?” Flora fought back.
“Uh-uh, no changing the subject,” said Ally. “Are you or are you not sleeping with Max Kennard?”
“No!”
“Why not?”
“Ally!”
“I’m serious. You’re both single; you’re both attractive, healthy adults and please don’t try telling me you don’t fancy him rotten, Floradear. Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because we’ve got nothing in common,” Flora gave in with a sigh at last. “Because Max is always going to be bound up with his kids and his ex-wife and I am so over pining for men who when it comes down to it are just not available. You remember what it was like with Sam, and then Rich was only available if I fitted in with his plans. Just once, I’d like to meet a guy who put me first.” She put up her chin. “You’re the one who told me I should look after myself, and that’s what I’m doing. And that’s why I’m not going to sleep with Max, okay?”
Flora shivered as she made her way along the corridor to her bedroom.
Fredrik had walked Ally home – there was definitely something going on between those two, although what exactly that something was, Flora couldn’t decide – and had then retired to his room. Max had offered to help her clear up while Fredrik was out, but Flora had been so excruciatingly aware of him after that kiss that she had refused, claiming to prefer to do it by herself so that she knew where everything was. In the end, he had taken the dogs out for a walk, put his head round the door to wish her goodnight and then disappeared, presumably to bed. Without her.
Which was exactly what she wanted, Flora reminded herself. But she couldn’t stop thinking about what Ally had said. You’re both single; you’re both attractive, healthy adults. Why not?
Because she was sick of taking second place, of making do with whatever was left after a glittering career or ex or children took up all the attention. Flora knew that she was right. It would be stupid to get involved with someone for whom she could only ever be second best. She was being sensible.
So why didn’t it make her feel better to be heading to a cold and lonely bed?
Pushing open her bedroom door, Flora stopped dead as blissful warmth engulfed her. For a moment she thought her senses were tricking her, but no ... An old-fashioned electric radiator stood in the middle of the room, turned up to full blast, while the bedside lamp cast an inviting glow over the bed, where a thick duvet had been laid over the one she had used the night before.
Wonderingly, Flora went over to the bed. The duvet cover was a masculine grey check, crumpled but clearly clean.
Max’s.
Then she saw the note tucked under the lamp. Sorry you were cold last night. Hope you’ll be able to sleep now. Thanks for the meal. M.
As notes went, it was not exactly lover-like but ridiculously tears pricked Flora’s eyes. What was it she had said to Ally? I’d like to meet a guy who’d put me first. And now Max had relaxed his strict heating rule, just for her. He wanted her to be able to sleep. The thought made her feel nearly as warm as the radiator that was still blasting out heat.
Flora turned it off before she climbed into bed. Snuggling under the duvet, she was sure it held the elusive but distinctive scent of Max, and she fell asleep smiling.
“Thank you for the heater,” Flora said almost shyly the next morning.
“I’m sick of you complaining about the cold.” Max was at his most gruff, but then he relented. “Did you sleep better?”
“I did. It was lovely and warm. That extra duvet made all the difference, too. I hope you didn’t give up your own?”
“I’m quite happy with a thinner one,” said Max, which Flora took to mean that it had been his, and the warm feeling inside her grew.
There was a tiny pause, and she wondered for one heart-pounding moment if he was going to mention that kiss, but in the end he just said, “You deserved a decent night’s sleep. You worked hard last night. Fredrik’s bound to take back good reports to San Michele.”
“Well, thank you,” she said again. “It was really kind of you.”
“Don’t you dare tell Holly,” said Max, sounding more himself. “I’ve spent ages arguing about heating bills with her. If she finds out that I gave you a radiator, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Now Flora didn’t know what to think. She wondered if things might change between them after that, but once Fredrik had gone, she moved back to the cottage, and they carried on exactly as they had done before he had kissed her so furiously in the kitchen. Everything was the same.
Except it didn’t feel the same. That might have been because Ally was around more. Max had given her a room in the manor so that she could prepare the PR for Hope’s wedding in secret before the big announcement, and she often popped in and out. Which was great, except when Max was there too and Ally would give Flora one of those knowing looks that always left Flora flustered.
She hadn’t told Ally about the radiator Max had dragged into her room the night of the dinner with Fredrik. She wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if there was anything embarrassing about it. Ensuring your guests didn’t freeze to death was just good manners, Flora told herself. But still, the memory felt curiously intimate, and she hugged it to herself.
Of course, one thoughtful gesture didn’t change the fact that there were plenty of reasons why getting involved with Max would be a bad idea. Not least of which was the fact that he never gave any indication that he remembered kissing her at all.
Flora told herself that was just as well. She was perfectly happy to concentrate on cooking. If the evenings alone in the cottage with Sweetie felt somehow lonelier than they had done before, Flora used the time to pore over her recipes and tasting notes. She produced a selection of menu suggestions for the wedding dinner and sent them to Hope. “We can discuss in San Michele??” she put in her covering email.
The prospect of a visit to San Michele grew more and more alluring as the rain seeped unremittingly onto the bedraggled countryside. Informed that they would be travelling in the royal jet, Holly and Ben were beside themselves with excitement and could talk of nothing else over supper on Thursdays. Flora couldn’t now remember when she had st
arted eating with them. It had just seemed to happen, and had instantly become part of the weekly routine. She enjoyed both children’s company, and if it was a chance to see Max without the awkwardness that inevitably slipped in when they were alone, well, she was allowed to enjoy that too.
The palace in San Michele sent them a dauntingly detailed dossier on protocol, full of instructions on what they should and shouldn’t do and say, together with a more detailed itinerary. Holly cross-examined Flora on her wardrobe for each event in such detail that Flora was forced to admit that she didn’t have a long evening dress.
“But there’s going to be a ball!” Holly cried. “You’ve got to have a ball gown!
The upshot was an eye-wateringly extravagant shopping trip to Bath, where Flora not only bought a real ball gown in a, for her, surprisingly demure midnight blue, but also a swathe of dresses, skirts, shorts and tops in gorgeous Mediterranean colours that she would probably never wear again, because how often, frankly, did you get invited to stay in a palace, let alone one with a sunny climate and a sparkling blue sea? If nothing else, they would be a change from the jeans, T-shirts and jumpers that were her staple wardrobe at the moment, Flora told herself philosophically. And who knew? Maybe they would get a decent summer for once and she would get more use out of them after all.
She couldn’t imagine ever wearing the ball gown again, but as soon as she’d tried it on, she’d had to have it. There was a fabulous sheen to the stiffened silk that fell from the fitted bodice, and although she would normally have chosen a brighter colour, the sales assistant had persuaded her that the blue brought out the colour of her eyes and was both sophisticated and sexy.
And when Flora tried it on, she felt sophisticated and sexy. How could she resist? She handed over her credit card with barely a wince.
Dense fog muffled the countryside as Max drove Flora and the children to the airport in Bristol where the royal jet would be waiting for them. The blankness made his eyes ache, and it was hard to believe that the sun was still shining somewhere above it.
Fortunately, visibility had cleared by the time they got to the airport. They parked in a long-stay car park and waited for the bus to the terminal just like any other travellers, although few of those had ball gowns in carriers over their arms like Flora, but no sooner had they mentioned their names as instructed than they stepped into a different world. No queuing for check-in, just a cursory inspection of their passports and they were waved through to a vehicle that took them out to a sleek jet, discreetly painted with the arms of the royal family of San Michele.
“Wow,” said Flora as they climbed on board. Plush leather seats, real oak trims, that indefinable smell of luxury. Even Max had to admit that he was impressed. “This is more like it.”
Ally was already on board, chatting to one of the flight attendants. She looked stylish and attractive in a grey pinstripe trouser suit with a vivid pink shirt that even Max could see was sophisticated and glamorous, unlike Flora who was in jeans and a turquoise fleece.
“What happened to the new look?” he asked her.
“I’m waiting to surprise you. And also for it to be warmer,” she added.
Max sank into his seat and wondered what the next few days would bring. Whatever, it would be out of his hands, he told himself. He should try and relax. And as the plane nosed its way upwards through the fog and clouds and burst into the bright blue, his spirits lifted.
Behind him he could hear his children chattering, united for once in their excitement and the thrill of being invited up to the cockpit. Across the aisle, Flora and Ally had their heads together over a glass of champagne. They talked the whole way; did women never run out of conversation? Max wondered. What was so endlessly interesting, so amusing? Flora’s laugh, almost but not quite dirty, drifted across the aisle. Max tried not to notice, but it was irresistible, like a warm kiss pressed against the back of his neck, making him shiver.
Except he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about kisses. He had been out of line that night Fredrik came to stay, Max knew that, and warming Flora’s room for her had been the least he could do to make amends. Although if the truth were known, he hadn’t liked the idea of her being cold in bed. She’d needed warmth and comfort, especially after working so hard. As far as he could see, Flora looked after everyone but herself.
Not that he had any intention of looking after her, Max hastened to reassure himself. He had just been doing his duty as a host, and that included not kissing her any more. So he had done his best to keep his distance from Flora since then, but now here they were, on their way to San Michele, and they would have to spend the next five days together, pretending to be a couple. It wasn’t going to be so easy to keep his distance then. Whose mad idea had that been?
Max had a nasty feeling it was his own.
“Ooh, look!” Flora pointed eagerly past him as the plane banked over the sea. Below, the Mediterranean flashed and glittered in the sunlight, and Max could make out fishing boats and cruisers far below. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she said, and she smiled at him, such an uncomplicated, sunny smile that he felt something unlock inside him.
He looked down at the quaint huddle of houses around the port, with the mountains rising in the distance, then back at Flora, with her blue, blue eyes and her creamy skin and the warmth that was so much part of her. He nodded. “Yes,” he agreed.
Chapter Ten
Hope was waiting for them on the tarmac at Liburno airport, looking effortlessly stylish, one hand holding back her mane of wild red hair as the plane taxied towards her. Prince Jonas stood beside her, and two close protection officers lurked watchfully, expressionless behind their sunglasses. At the bottom of the steps, two sleek limousines waited, the royal flag of San Michele fluttering from their bonnets in the breeze. The sky was a bright, bright blue and through the window Max could see palm trees rustling outside the neat terminal building.
“Now I can take my fleece off!” Flora pulled it over her head to reveal a plain white T-shirt. Casting it aside, she fluffed up her hair. “What?” she said, as she caught Max staring at her.
“Nothing.” He cleared his throat. It wasn’t so much what she was wearing as the exuberance with which she wore it. “You’re wearing white.” He was oddly disconcerted not to see her in a garish colour. “That’s practically beige.”
“I told you I had a new look,” she said, and then, when he lifted his brows, “I’m joking. A white T-shirt isn’t it. And I’ve still got some colour.” She stuck out her foot and twisted it from side to side so that he could admire her purple sandals and shocking pink nail polish. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” she told him, “but you should see a whole new me later.”
Max felt as if he was seeing a whole new Flora already. She was usually enveloped in an apron, or in some baggy jumper, and seeing her with just jeans and a simple T-shirt was a revelation. How come he had never realized how long her legs were before? He had registered her breasts before, of course he had, but now the T-shirt clung to them in a way that was quite new.
And very disturbing.
Hope was smiling as they trooped down the steps, and then they were swept into hugs and kisses and squeals of welcome. Flora liked Prince Jonas. He seemed unassuming at first sight, but he had a devastatingly attractive smile, and his eyes when they rested on Hope told Flora everything she wanted to know.
It was decided that Hope and Jonas would take Ally in their car, and that Max, Flora and the two children would follow in the second luxurious limousine. It wound its way slowly through the narrow streets of Liburno, past tall painted buildings with arched colonnades to keep the sun off the pavements. Flora glimpsed little squares with fountains, and exotic-looking churches, and then they were driving past the marina where the reflections of the elegant yachts shimmered in the water before turning back into the city.
The tyres rumbled over the cobbles of the city centre, and there were cheers and waves as pedestrians stopped to watch the
ir prince pass. No news of the engagement had leaked out yet – Fredrik must have the security sewn up tight – but the people of San Michele must surely have been wondering about the striking redhead by Prince Jonas’s side.
“Omigod,” Holly kept saying. “This is so, so cool!” She waved out of the window with aplomb while Ben fiddled with buttons.
“For God’s sake don’t break anything,” Max muttered out of the corner of his mouth.
“I know, I hardly dare move,” said Flora. It had been bad enough in the plane, but now they were in this luxurious car with people staring and waving, she felt horribly out of place in her T-shirt and jeans. Why hadn’t she thought more about what to wear?
“Look!” Holly pointed excitedly. “That must be the castle!”
Looking like something out of a fairy tale with its turrets and towers, the palace seemed to grow out of a great rocky outcrop. Red-tiled houses clung to the foot of the hill, but the castle soared above them all. The road wound round the hill, climbing higher and higher until they drove through an imposing gateway to smart salutes from soldiers on either side.
The cars pulled up in a large courtyard, and there were liveried footmen to open doors and usher them up steps into the cool of the palace. Flora caught Max’s eye and thought about locking the door of the cottage that morning. “This is unreal,” she said. “I keep thinking I’ll wake up with Sweetie sitting on me, demanding his breakfast.”
Inside, the palace was opulent and hushed. Holly and Ben would be staying in the royal children’s apartments, Hope told Max. “It’ll be much more fun for them.” And indeed, his children went off very happily with a capable-looking nanny, while he, Flora and Ally followed Hope up an extravagant staircase and along a bewildering labyrinth of corridors lined with paintings and sculptures and the occasional spindly table topped with some priceless piece of porcelain.
“This place makes the manor seem positively cosy,” Flora whispered to Max out of the corner of her mouth. “I’m feeling quite homesick.”
