Page 43 of Royally Matched
The mention of my dad tightens my chest.
“He was a fine man. It would seem you take after him more than your brother.”
“My dad and I were really close.”
“I imagine you miss him.”
I press my lips together, feeling the sting of his loss. “I do.”
“What do you think of the couple? Are they well suited?”
I glance over at the couple once more. They don’t look quite as stiff and uncomfortable as they did at the gallery when I turned up late last week, but no one could accuse them of looking at ease with one another, their smiles painted on for the audience. “I haven’t seen a lot of evidence of it yet.”
“She’s determined he’s the one.”
“I believe she is.”
We stand in silence for a moment as we both eat our scones.
“They don’t seem to have much spark. Not much chemistry,” he says.
I’m not sure how to respond, so instead I take another bite of my scone, focussing on its delicious fluffiness.
“Your Majesty,” a woman in her sixties with a feather hat atop her head, gives us a tight smile, saving me from having to comment on the complete lack of chemistry between the princess and my brother.
“Lady Silverton. How nice to see you,” the King says.
“Lovely party, Your Majesty. But then they always are at the palace,” she coos. She turns to me. “You’re Enzo’s brother, I’m told.”
“I am indeed. Marco Revera.” I extend my hand, and she clasps the tips of my fingers as though she can’t quite bring herself to expose any more of her skin to mine. I’m not sure why. I scrubbed my fingernails before I reluctantlythrew on the suit Enzo bought me. I look about as good as I can manage.
“You’ll know my son, Austin. He went to school with you and your brother.”
“Of course.”
Neither of us mention his botched proposal the night of the Husband Hunting Ball. That would be in bad taste.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must mingle,” the King says, and he flashes me a smile before he leaves Lady Silverton and me alone.
“You must be awfully hopeful that your brother and the princess end up engaged. Your family could be forever connected to royalty.”
“Yes. That’s… err, great,” I reply. Why would I care about being connected to royalty? Even if it could help me with say, getting landscape gardening commissions, for instance, I wouldn’t want to use it. I’d never know whether I got the job simply because my brother is married to a princess.
“You’ll be able to use those connections. What is it that you do? Finance? Banking? Or are you one of those high-flying lawyer types, always in and out of court? So exciting.”
“I’m a landscape gardener,” I reply, and she makes a face as though all the water has been sucked from her features, leaving a terrible taste in her mouth.
“Oh. Well, in that case, maybe they’ll let you design a new park or something.”
Condescending much, Lady Silverton?
I lean into it. “Maybe they’ll let me redesign the palace gardens. That’s my hope, anyway.”
“Oh, I doubt that. These gardens have been the same for hundreds of years. Whatever would you do?”
“I’d pull everything out and start again. Use concreteblocks, I think, and quite a lot of gorse and other prickly plants. Make it a sort of postapocalyptic wasteland, showing a few shoots of new life as a symbol of hope.”
Who knows where I’m getting all this, but I’ll say one thing, it’s fun.