Page 34 of Royally Matched
“Never heard of it.”
“Okay, maybeThe Notebook? No, that’s way too sentimental. I know.17 Again, so you get to imagine yourself reliving your youth as a teenage basketball player.”
He shakes his head, his smile firmly in place. “Shall I put you out of your misery?”
“All right.”
“Serendipity.”
“The Kate Beckinsale movie?”
“She certainly adds to the appeal.”
“Oh, I see. You have a crush,” I say on a laugh before I chastise myself for being overly familiar in a way I rarely am with people I’ve just met. Or anyone, really.
Why do I let Marco have this effect on me?
“A crush? How old are you? Twelve?” he asks with a chortle, before his features suddenly drop. “Err, sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt, aware our conversation has gonefrom reasonably business-like to far too overly familiar in a blink of an eye.
I need to pull it back in.
“Perhaps we should get back on task,” I suggest.
“Good idea. I was being too familiar. I forgot myself.” He studies me, as though trying to work me out, and I feel suddenly self-conscious.
I clear my throat. “Let’s schedule a family dinner for a few weeks’ time. Do you think the 20th would suit your brother?”
He holds his phone up. “I’m his personal secretary, so I can schedule whatever I like.”
“Good.” I give him a business-like smile that tells him I know I’ve chosen the right brother.
Enzo might not have Marco’s obvious appeal, but I’m not looking for obvious. He might not have Marco’s easy nature, but that makes him all the more challenging, and I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. And besides, all those checked boxes prove that Enzo is the very best fit for me. In the end, it will be Enzo and me, compatible in every way that counts, just as my spreadsheet says.
Chapter 10
Marco
I stand discreetly at the back of the lavish throne room, trying to feel at home in the outrageous opulence as dignitaries from several Eastern European countries chat politely with members of the royal family, balancing cups and saucers in their hands. This is so far from how I usually spend my days, and the new suit Enzo insisted on buying for me feels like a straitjacket, the highly polished lace-up shoes on my feet fitting far too snuglyfor my comfort.
Give me a roomy pair of wellies any day of the week.
I wish I was with my good friend, Mohammed, working the soil over in preparation for the gardens we’ve planned, vegetables and fruits, free to the locals as part of the community garden that part of town is screaming out for. Sure, it might not be an exciting new park that I’ve won the commission to plan—a total pipedream right now—but having discovered my passion for plants and the earth and nature while working with a group in the Amazon, replanting areas that had been decimated by now abandoned industry, getting to work on any project from beginning through to its end feels like an absolute honor to me.
But instead, here I am, stuck at the palace as Enzo spends time with the princess, schmoozing dignitaries and the royal family alike, while I do my best to fade into the background.
A flash of red catches my eye, and I look over at Princess Sofia with my brother. They’re talking about something, but their voices are lost in the chatter in the room. Her head is inclined, a look of concentration on her pretty face as she listens carefully to whatever it is Enzo’s saying.
Standing together as they are, they look about as comfortable and natural with one another as a couple of mannequins in a shop window.
That’s the opposite of the way she was with me that day in the library. Well, not until after we both stopped walking over eggshells. She loosened up with me, and I began to feel as though I was seeing the real Sofia, not the princess she projects to the world in her formal skirt suits with a single row of pearls at her neck, her dark hair captured in a sensible updo.
My fingers twitch to tug her hair free, to see how shewould look with tousled locks, so much less controlled. Free.
My bet is she’d look nothing short of magnificent. And if she gazed at me the way she has before with those deep brown eyes like pools of melted chocolate, warm and inviting, drawing me in with their depth? Well, I’d be a goner.
But I can’t think that way.