Page 4 of Royally Matched

She ignores my sarcasm. “Look at Alex. He kissed about a million frogs before he found his perfect match. Why don’t you do that?”

“Kiss Kermit? No thank you. I’m not Alex.”

“You know what I mean. Get out there and date rather than sit around in the palace, gazing at your naval.”

“I don’t sit around the palace. I do a lot of work.”

She ignores me. “You can’t list a bunch of men’s alleged virtues on some spreadsheet and decide to marry the one with the highest score. It doesn’t work that way.”

“It should, and besides, it’s so much more nuanced than that,” I argue, when in truth, that’s exactly how I didit. I had my personal secretary, Ronan, design it for me, and together, we populated it with everything we could find about Europe’s most eligible bachelors before presenting the list to Father.

As far as I can see, my spreadsheet has saved me a huge amount of time, and it’s meant I haven’t had to kiss absolutely any frogs, Kermit included.

“Amelia,” I say, using my sister’s full name, so she knows I’m serious. “I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve got a plan, and I’m going to stick with it because it’s going to work. You’ll see.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me as if to sayyou know you’re wrong and I’m right. “But thesizzle.”

“I’m not interested in flying by the seat of my pants, kissing frogs until I find my prince. I don’t have time for that. As cliché as it may be, my clock is ticking. And besides, Ledonian princesses have a long tradition of arranged marriages. Why should I be any different?”

Satisfied with my response, I stride out of the room before she utters another word, heading toward the ballroom—and my future. My mind is made-up. Tonight, I will meet the man who will become my husband. And I’ll happily leave the sizzle for someone else.

Chapter 2

Marco

Why do these things always involve me having to wear a dinner suit? Not that I go to balls all that often.

Okay,never.

But me and suits are barely on speaking terms these days, let alone a formal dinner suit. I’ve found they’re not exactly a requirement when you’re travelling the globe, picking apples in New Zealand, taking tourists on safari in Botswana, or trekking the Annapurnacircuit in Nepal.

And ties are just plain weird, literally a noose we tie around our necks. Willingly. Or not so willingly, in my case.

I lift the jacket sleeve and take a sniff. It smells of mothballs, thanks to the fact it’s been stashed at the back of the wardrobe for way too long while I’ve been living my life.

It’s a little on the tight side, too. I last wore it for my high school leaver’s ball back when I was eighteen, so that comes as no surprise. I’ve filled out over the last seven or so years, and I’m a couple of inches taller, too. I glance down at my shoes, my white gym socks poking out from the trouser legs.

I look like I’m on a Michael Jackson video, circa 1981.

I glance at the time on my phone. Have I got enough time to let my trousers down?

Actually, the real question here is, have I got any cluehowto let my trousers down?

The answer to both of those questions is a firmno.

So, despite the fact I look like I’m wearing a suit that’s not only too small but smells like it’s successfully repelled moths for over half a decade, it’s going to have to do.

And anyway, I’m fairly confident this princess won’t be looking at me. Not with my much more impressive and successful older brother in the mix, not to mention all the other eligible bachelors who will be in the room, vying for her attention.

Really, what kind of a masochist do I have to be to attend this ball at which there will be a hoard of men, all competing for the attention of one solitary woman, looking for her future husband, like some kind of reality TV dating show?

An employed one, that’s what.

That’s right, I get to go to Princess Sofia’s Husband Hunting Ball as my older brother’s employee. His gofer,aka his general dogsbody. Not that “general dogsbody” is my official title, of course, but that’s what I am, and tonight I get to watch Enzo try to make conversation—and maybe even flirt…ugh—in his awkward way with none other than Ledonia’s first-born princess.

Lucky me.

“Marco? Are you ready to go?” my aforementioned brother says as he strides into my room. He comes to a crashing halt as he throws his eyes over me. “What the dickens are you wearing?” he demands.