Page 32 of Royally Matched
I lift my chin. “You were.”
“My brother pointed out that it wasn’t my place tooffer my opinion, particularly in the way I did, and for that I am sorry. I forgot myself. It was inappropriate of me.”
“But you haven’t changed your opinion?”
“My opinion in this matter is irrelevant, ma’am.”
Usually I ask someone to call me Sofia at about this point in a conversation. It’s a lot less elitist, and this is the 21st century, after all. Not even my parents have any real power these days. But Marco not using my name allows me to hold him at arm’s length, which is as close as I ever need to allow this man to get.
“Come now, Mr. Revera. We’re all friends here.”
Suddenly animated, he replies, “How can I change my opinion when what the two of you are proposing to do goes against everything I believe in?” He raises a hand in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Doing it again, aren’t I? I need to keep my big mouth shut. My goal today was to be friendly and helpful, not carry on about love and all that stuff.”
“You started out well,” I say and win a faint smile from him.
“I believe you should love the person you intend to spend the rest of their life with. Perhaps that’s too romantic, but it’s what I believe.”
“What does your brother believe? Isn’t that the point?”
His jaw flexes, and I can tell he’s finding this conversation with me tricky to navigate. “You’re right. You have both agreed to the scheme. Who am I to stand in the way?”
The shockingly attractive brother whose very presence makes my pulse quicken, the man who can send electricity coursing through me with just a hint of a smile. Ifhecan’t stand in the way of his brother and I theoretically heading down the aisle, who can?
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. The sooner thiscrush burns itself out, the better for everyone. “I’m glad you see it that way, Mr. Revera.”
“Marco.”
“Marco. Sure. Now, what’s the first item on the agenda?” I plaster a pleasant, businesslike smile on my face, metaphorically drawing a line under the subject. We can move on. Get down to business. That’s what we’re here for.
“The agenda. Right.” He consults his phone. “There are a couple of things Ronan suggested. First, was to agree to a schedule for the two of you to spend some time together. The second was for Enzo to appear at some formal occasions with you, not as someone you’re dating, because we know you’re not doing that yet, but so that people can get used to seeing him.”
“Right. Let’s see, shall we?” I pull up my calendar, hoping my sudden and inconvenient inability to read words has disappeared. I’m in luck. My appointments are listed across the next week. “I’m attending an official function to greet dignitaries from several Eastern European nations, and the next day, I’m opening the new wing of the National Ledonian Portrait Gallery. Could he attend either of those?”
“What are the dates and times?” he asks, staring at his own phone, and I admit, I take the opportunity to slide my gaze over his large, tanned hands. They’re hands that look like they could handle anything, strong and capable. They’re not manicured hands with tapered fingers and clean nails. No, they’re a man’s hands, and I find myself gazing at them.
When I don’t respond—who knew a man’s hands could be so very diverting—he looks up from his phone, and I quickly return my attention to my calendar, knowing I’ve been busted.
I give him the dates and times for the two events.
“I can move a couple of things around so he can attend the Portrait Gallery with you,” he says.
“Thank you. Tell me, Mr. Revera, what is it that you do?” I ask before I can stop myself. “If you don’t mind me asking. We don’t have a lot of visitors who turn up in wellington boots here at the palace, and I thought you were Enzo’s assistant.”
He has the good grace to look embarrassed. “Time for my second apology of the morning, ma’am, and we’ve only been in the meeting for five minutes. I’ve got to get back to work straight after this. But the way I see it, it doesn’t matter what I look like. You’re not interested in me.”
“Quite.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry.If only you knew.“So, your job?”
His face lights up in a smile that reaches his eyes in a way it hasn’t during this conversation until now. “Landscape gardening. It’s a new direction for me, but one I’m passionate about.”
“You’re passionate about plants?” I ask.
“To be perfectly honest, I guess I lose myself in the rich soil, coaxing life from tiny seeds. To me, each bloom is nothing short of a triumph, a burst of color that I’ve nurtured. A garden’s rhythms connect us all to nature’s cycles. We are of the earth, no matter how sophisticated and complicated our cultures have become. No matter how we’ve lost sight of that. It’s who we are at our deepest core.”
I hang on his every word, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement as he speaks. His face is lit up, his hands moving as he describes what he so clearly adores. He’s mesmerising to watch, his love for how he spends his days palpable.
It hits me afresh how exciting and vibrant this man is, and I find it impossible not to be swept up in his passion.
He pulls his lips into a self-conscious line. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”