Page 21 of Royally Matched
“And brother,” Enzo adds.
Duck’s smile is relaxed and easy, as though being here with me doesn’t faze him in the least. “That too, Enzo.”
I blink at him in disbelief. Duck—or rather Marco—is Enzo Revera’sbrother?
Which could potentially make him my future husband’s brother.
Which would also make him my possible future brother-in-law.
My brain feels like it’s fraying at the edges.
Isn’t there some kind of law that says you can’t lust after your potential future husband’s brother? Or is it in the Bible? Something about coveting your neighbor’s oxen… which would make Enzo Revera my neighbor, and Duck… an ox.
Oh, my. That’s one messed up, farm animal-related metaphor right there.
Best we move on.
“I was most pleased to receive your invitation today, Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness, and I do apologize for being early,” Enzo is saying, and I drag my gaze, kicking and screaming, to focus on him.
“Early. Yes,” I reply, struggling to regain my equilibrium. Because what the heck? Duck is here and the two of them arebrothers?
Surreptitiously, I throw my gaze over the two of them, searching for familial similarities. Where Enzo is shorter, Marco is taller; where Enzo has an oval face, Marco has a jawline with which he could cut rocks; where Enzo sports a perfectly coiffed mustache that bears some resemblance to a furry caterpillar, Marco has scruffy five o’clock shadow covering his jaw, clearly in need of a good shave; where Enzo’s hair is receding, his brother has the sort of long lushlocks one’s fingers itch to run through, luxuriating in its fullness.
Not that there will be any fingers running through hair going on here today, especially not when it comes to the hair on Marco Revera’s head.
I press my lips together.
“I have quite a number of business meetings today, as I do most days, and I’m certainly glad that you found it fit to accommodate us in this way,” Enzo continues, totally oblivious to the fire raging in my brain. “I do hope I haven’t upset the applecart, as they say.”
“Not at all,” I reply smoothly. Applecarts are the least of my concern.
“Yes, well, shall we all sit back down?” Father says. “Tea and crumpets should be here shortly, and we do have a few things to talk about. Don’t we, my dear?”
“Yes,” I agree.
I don’t look at Duck. Err, Marco. My potential future fiancé’s brother.
Geez.
We wait for Father to take his seat, as is the custom, and I purposefully sit in a chair to the side of Marco, so that he’s nowhere near my line of sight.
Way too risky.
Father rests his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. “There’s no point beating about the bush. You attended the ball last Saturday evening here at the palace, and my daughter, the Princess Sofia—” he clarifies, as though he’s meeting a bunch of men this morning to arrange more than one of his daughter’s marriages, “—has expressed an interest in getting to know you, Lord Strozzi, with a view to entering a formal engagement at some point in the future.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Enzo Revera forhis reaction. He’s sitting back in his chair, his lips pressed together, his bushy mustache twitching slightly—don’t think of hairy caterpillars—his head nodding as Father speaks, as though pondering whether to have fish or chicken for dinner tonight.
“Yes, yes, I see,” Enzo says.
Marco turns to look at me, his face aghast. I choose to concentrate on his brother.
“What say you, Lord Strozzi?” Father prompts.
“Are you saying you want my brother to marry your daughter?” Marco questions. “Sir,” he adds as an afterthought.
“I’m saying that my daughter has tasked me with finding her a suitable husband, and Lord Strozzi is currently being considered,” Father replies.
“As a husband for the princess?” Marco asks.