She looked over at the children. They too had flopped onto the grass, and Rose smiled as she saw Emilia lift her hand and point at a cloud floating past.
“Emilia’s quite a little mother to Max,” Rose observed. “She really looks out for him.”
“That’s sweet.”
Rose nodded, but met Diego’s gaze. “It is, but it’s something I want to watch. She’s so little. I don’t want her to feel like she has to take her mother’s place for him. It’s probably helping her with her grief, but it should never become a burden to her or an obligation, you know?”
Diego was quiet for a few moments. She looked over at him and noticed his face wasn’t as relaxed and open as it had been just a minute before. “Did I say something wrong?”
He shook his head. “No, you didn’t. You’re absolutely right. It’s not good for her and it’s not good for Max, either.”
“For Max?”
Diego’s voice had a strain to it she hadn’t heard before. “When one sibling takes responsibility for the other, it’s easy for them to take over and want to do things for the other. Helping, protecting . . . on the surface it seems admirable and good. But sometimes the other sibling can feel . . . incompetent. In the way.”
“A burden?”
He nodded. “I guess.”
“And you’re speaking of you and Raoul now, yes?” She lifted a shoulder when he stared at her. “Come on, Diego. It’s pretty thinly veiled.”
“When our mother died, Raoul was a great big brother. But then he was so determined that my life not be difficult that he did everything. There was nothing for me. Raoul was the crown prince. Raoul was the heir. Raoul was good at diplomacy and business. I was . . . not in the way, exactly, but not useful.”
Was that why he traveled so much, got his face in the tabloids? He was bored? Uninspired?
“Anyway, I don’t want that to happen to Max. They should both be their own people. And understand me too, Rose, that I know the situation wasn’t easy for Raoul, either. He dealt with all the responsibilities.”
“So much for a life of privilege,” Rose murmured. Now Max’s stubby finger was pointing at a butterfly. They were so sweet. A little stubborn—and Max was terribly cranky when he got overtired—but sweet kids. Remarkably unspoiled, considering.
Diego sat up, crossed his legs so he was sitting like she was. “Did you realize you called me by my first name?” he asked.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. How could she have forgotten herself so easily? It was his fault. He kept ignoring the line between employer and employee. “I’m sorry.” She stammered a little, but Diego shook his head.
“Rose, about the garden that night . . .”
“I really should pack up the picnic.”
She moved to open the basket and tuck away the dishes, but Diego put his hand on her arm. “Stop. And hear me out.”
His fingers were strong, and warm, and felt entirely too good as they circled her wrist. She closed the lid on the basket and sat back hesitantly. “Of course.” She obeyed because he’d told her to and he was her superior. It certainly couldn’t be because of the low note of entreaty softening his voice.
“I thought a lot abo
ut what you said. You’re right. There is a status difference between us, and you are here to do a job and not be a friend.” He laughed a little and shook his head. “I’m a bit too old to have a nanny. But life is hardly ever black and white. I hate all the formality, if we’re being completely truthful. And this place has been so dreary, you came in like a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.”
She was touched by the compliment, even understood his perspective. “Hate it or not, Diego, it’s how it is.”
“You’re infuriating.” He ran a hand through his hair and she resisted a smile. He was adorable when he was agitated. Max was a lot like him, she realized, with a catch in her heart.
“Rose,” he said again, and she gave him her full attention.
“I’m sorry I interrupted. Go on.”
“You were right about me overstepping. After Paris, I was in South America again the last few weeks and I couldn’t stop thinking about being home. That’s unusual for me. Normally I can’t wait to get away. Something’s changed.”
Don’t say it’s me, she thought, her stomach clenching. That would be . . . God. Cliché and horrible and . . . so ridiculously fairytale-ish. Ugh.
His jaw was set in a stubborn line. “I’m needed here. Whether Papa or Raoul realize it, I’m needed here. And I’m not going away again until I’m convinced things are fine.” He met her gaze. “Rose, someone has to keep the family together. Family’s always been the most important thing. And it feels like it’s all crumbled to bits in the last two months. Most of all I worry about those two.” He nodded toward Max and Emilia. “What I’m saying is, when we’re, I don’t know, in public, call me ‘sir’ or ‘Your Highness’ or whatever your sense of protocol demands. But please, when we talk about the children, when we work together . . . let me just be Diego.”