Page 11 of Royally Matched
“Amelia. Decorum,” Mummy warns.
“Are you ready, Sofia?” Father asks, and right on cue, my nerves turn up a notch.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” I dart a furtive glance around the room. It really is filled with men, all of them here to meet me, only I don’t see it as quite as wonderful as Max would if the room were filled with women. To me, it’s all rather daunting.
Good thing I’ve already worked out who I want.
“Remember, my darling, this evening is for you and you alone.” Father places an arm around my waist and says quietly, “Is your Lord Strozzi here?”
Heat claims my cheeks. “He’s not my Lord Strozzi, Father.”
His smile crinkles the skin around his eyes. “Not yet perhaps, my dear. But soon enough.”
“Ronan said he RSVPed, so I believe so.”
“Good, good. Now, we must circulate, as must you all. You in particular, my dear,” he says to me. “All of this is for you, after all.”
I do my best not to feel daunted. I fail. “Yes, Father.”
“Good luck, darling,” Mummy says before she and our father wander away, greeting guests.
Alex rubs his hands together. “Right, Sofe. Let’s get you meeting some of these potential husbands, shall we?” He collects a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and offers it to me.
“No, thanks. I want to keep a clear head tonight,” I say.
“Dutch courage?”
I look down at the glass before I sweep it up and take a hasty sip. The bubbles instantly tickle my nose, the liquid warming me as it slides down my throat.
Alex winks at me. “The Dutch have always been good with courage. Shall we start saying hello to this sea of men?”
“That’s what I’m here for, I suppose.”
I must look utterly terrified because Alex says, “Have another sip.” Which I do. Rather a large one, actually, draining the glass.
If Alex notices, he doesn’t say a word.
“How about those two over there?” He gestures at a couple of men, both of them tall with wide shoulders. They’re laughing about something and look approachable enough. I suppose I need to start somewhere, and I haven’t seen Enzo Revera yet.
My eyes land on the taller of the two men. He has dark blonde hair that’s longer and scruffier than the others, and his suit—far too small for him—strains at the seams, with sleeves and pants ending awkwardly short. His skin is tanned from the sun and he’s in possession of one of those square jaws heroes in movies always seem to have. Altogether he looks like he could do with a shave and a jolly good haircut, as far as I can see. He’s altogether too rough and… manly. Yes, that’s the word. He’s awfullymanly.
Without warning, I feel a spark of attraction for him, my lizard brain activating, telling me, “He attractive man: together we make baby.”
I send that part of my brain packing, it’s little lizard suitcase in hand, off to the desert where it belongs. I need someone who’s polished and well-groomed, not this rugged, disheveled version in stark juxtaposition to the palace’s refined elegance.
I steal another look at him. He’s laughing at something the other man is saying, but when his eyes land on mine, his features immediately drop, as though he’s been caught by the teacher talking in class.
I suppress a smile. “I’ve got this, Alex. Go and enjoy your fiancée.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Before I can change my mind, I step over to the men and say, “Good evening, gentlemen.”
The shorter one nudges his companion, Mr. Disheveled Manliness—because right now, I can’t think of a better way to describe this man before me.Mr. Disheveled Manliness. Yes. Definitely.
“Your Royal Highness,” the shorter one says, bending into a bow, and I can’t help but study the bald patch at the crown on his head, mainly because it’s right in front of myface and the light from the chandelier bounces off of it. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” I reply, holding my hand delicately in front of me, just as I was taught, smiling benevolently.