Max and the Prince Read Online Free PDF

RAF at sixteen, but he wasn’t stupid.
University meant parties and partners and more drink.
    “I learned my lesson with Edward. He denied me when he was
confronted, told them it was all me. I was grieving, drinking, betrayed, lied
to… Like that is going to have me interested in relationships or casual sex.”
    Max focused in on one particular point in that statement. “Told
who? When you say them ? Who confronted him?”
    “Mother, Father, Teddy.”
    “Okay, that’s fine. So, no jealous exes except potentially Edward?”
    “He’s the cultural attaché in Madrid. Him and his wife and
his three kids.” Lucien didn’t sound bitter or heartbroken, just resigned. “I
haven’t seen him in years now, but I put him on that list.”
    They pulled up to the end of Max’s street and parked the car
in front of the plain, normal garage attached to the plain, normal house. Two
rooms up, two down, and a bathroom. Pretty much exactly what Max needed. If he listened
to Lucien, though, it was like he lived somewhere special.
    “This is so lovely,” Lucien said as he followed Max in. He
had to duck for the low beams, and Max realized he had got used to not having
to duck. When Lucien smacked his forehead on a particularly deceptive half-hidden
beam, Max made to apologize, but Lucien was grinning.
    “How old is this place?” he asked, cutting Max’s apology off
at the knees.
    “Four hundred years or thereabouts.”
    Lucien came to a dead stop in front of the open fireplace
and stared. “This is like something off a picture postcard,” he finally said.
    “Make yourself at home. Kettle and coffee in the kitchen, we
have central heating, and it should warm up in here in a few minutes. Stay in
the house and I’ll be down as quick as I can.”
    Lucien nodded and disappeared into the tiny kitchen off the
hall. Max could swear he was humming.
    Max went up to his room and opened his small closet. He had
a staple of clothes all folded neatly, courtesy of the years in the RAF. Jeans,
tees, sweatshirts, and nothing at all grown-up. That was a good thing, seemed
like he’d fit in okay with uni life. Shrugging off his only suit, he folded it
in a carrier, just in case, then piled his entire closet contents into his two
cases and an extra duffle bag.
    It occurred to him that he didn’t even know what subject
Lucien was studying. He’d probably have to attend lectures on the subject to
stay close to Lucien. He hoped to hell it wasn’t something like particle
physics.
    “What are you studying?” he called down the stairs.
    “English Language,” Lucien shouted back.
    That’s not hard, right? After all, Max spoke English,
he could handle learning about commas for a few days or weeks or however long
this lasted. After adding his wash things and his meds to the case along with
his Kindle and charger for his phone, he zipped it up, then managed to get both
cases down the stairs to the front room where Lucien was lying back in a chair
with his eyes closed.
    “Who will look after this place?” Lucien asked.
    “Mrs. Mathers, she lives next door.”
    “Does she know what you do? How do you explain long absences
to her? Will she realize that—?”
    “I blame it on business. I pay her a small amount, and she
doesn’t need to know anything else. Ready to go?”
    Within half an hour of arriving at Max’s house, they were
back on the road.
    “You really do have a lovely home, you know.”
    Max considered his house. He didn’t actually think of it as
home yet. He’d only had it for the two years since leaving the RAF, and he’d
stayed in it less than he’d expected. BI was a busy job for him. One day he’d
look older than twenty-two and then maybe the jobs would slow down, but for the
moment, he was taking everything he could get.
    “Thank you.”
    That answer appeared to mollify Lucien, who subsided into
silence until they were on the M4 heading to Wales. Then he clearly wanted
conversation.
    “Have you been to Wales