Page 29 of Royally Matched
“Because I’ve worked out that Enzo’s much hotter brother is the one who saved Sofe from the drunkard’s proposal,” she says with satisfaction. “Something even Fabiana Fontaine hasn’t worked out.”
“How do you know that? There were loads of men at that ball, and absolutely no pretty girls for me,” Max grumps.
“I’m right, aren’t I, Sofe?” Amelia says, her eyes like laser beams, trained on me.
Self-conscious at the memory of how gallant Marco was helping me out with that tricky situation, I reply, “Good guess.”
To be honest, the way he stepped in and took control set my heart alight. I may be a princess and used to being treated with respect—the media and their silly nicknamesaside—but even I could see that was next level behavior. Chivalrous, that’s what it was. Chivalrous and thrilling and, dare I say it, awfully manly. The fact Marco’s also dashingly handsome in that wildly tousled way of his only adds to his allure.
I suppress a sigh.
“Hotandyour knight in shining armor. I’d say you’ve definitely chosen the wrong brother,” Amelia states with a self-satisfied smile.
“Amelia,” Mummy warns.
“What? Why would Sofe choose the dull one when she could have the handsome, exciting one?” she says with a waggle of her brows.
“I have my reasons,” I sniff, suddenly realizing I’ve agreed with her that Marco is handsome and exciting and Enzo’s not. “And Enzo is not dull. He’s considered and mature.”
“Yes, akadull. And we know all about your spreadsheet,” Amelia replies.
“I think your spreadsheet was a very sensible idea, darling. You worked out the qualities you want in a man, which are far more important than good looks,” our mother states, and I shoot a triumphant smile at my sister.
“So, when do we get to meet this Enzo?” Max asks.
“You won’t be able to meet him until you’re back from Cambridge, darling,” Mummy replies.
“You should invite him for lunch,” Amelia announces.
I shake my head. “If I do that, you’ll just interrogate the poor guy.”
“Naturally,” she replies.
“Does this mean that you’re definitely marrying him?” Max asks.
“They’re spending some time together before they bothdecide whether they’re a match, like a trial period,” Mummy explains, saving me the trouble.
“But I thought this was an arranged marriage,” Max says through a mouthful of toast. “Doesn’t that mean you and Father decide everything?”
“Will you and Father get to decide what nicknames Sofe and Enzo give each other, too?” Amelia asks.
“My vote’s for snookums and peachy-poo,” Max says, and both he and my sister fall about laughing.
I lean back in my seat and glare at my younger siblings. “You just wait until you’re my age. Our parents will be arranging your marriages, too.”
“Fat chance of that ever happening,” Max scoffs.
“I’m not going to leave it up to our parents to choose my lifelong partner. I’m going to go on a wild adventure and meet some wonderful man and fall in love,” Amelia declares.
“Princesses don’t get to go on wild adventures,” I tell her.
“I hope you do, Ami, but if you don’t then you too will end up with an arrangement, just like Sofia,” Mummy replies, and I smile with satisfaction at my once smug siblings, who are now looking a touch panicked. “Your father and I agreed that it would be best in this day and age for your sister to get to know him first. Marriage is a serious business and the last thing we want is for your sister to make a hasty decision.”
“Where’s Alex?” I ask, less because I want to know where my brother is, and more because I am thoroughly over this conversation.
“He’s gone to Malveaux with Maddie. Some kids’ charity thing,” Max says, referring to the country where Maddie will be queen in less than a year.
There’s a knock at the door and Gianni Caldera, thehead of palace staff, strides in, his face grim. He bows at us all. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses.”