Page 51 of Royally Matched
“Right you are,” he replies, his mouth set in a grim line.
As I approach the men, they turn to look at me in obvious surprise.
“Your Royal Highness,” the other man says with a bow.
“It’s… errr, nice to see you… here… Your Royal Highness,” Marco says haltingly.
Of course he’s thoroughly thrown by my sudden, unexpected appearance. Is it bad of me that I quite enjoy wrongfooting him?
“I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, but I was in the neighborhood, and I thought I might like to see your work,” I say.
I admit I had no idea that Marco was working in Tideswell today, but don’t they say you shouldn’t let the truth get in the way of a good story? And besides, I’m here now and I refuse to overthink my motive for getting my driver to stop the car.
“You’re very welcome here. No dogs today, ma’am?” His lips curve into a smile, and it’s as though it can reach inside of me, tugging at my belly, sending warmth through me.
“No dogs. They would be far too distracting for the children. I’ve been at the community center, you see, where I read a book to a wonderful group of children.”
“Reading to children? You are a multitalented princess,” he replies, and it feels a little flirty. “I bet they’d love Lemon and Pepper, but probably, as you say, too distracting.” Marco gestures at the man beside him. “This is Mohammed Badawi, ma’am. He and I are heading the project here.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Badawi. What exactly are you doing here?” I ask, looking around.
“We’re building some veggie patches for the locals to grow vegetables,” he explains. “We’re planting lettuces and carrots and potatoes, that sort of thing, and we’ve got some fruit trees at the back over there.” He points at a row of small plants stretching across the back fence.
“Is this a community led project?” I ask.
“No, ma’am. It’s all a donation from—” Mohammed begins only to be cut off by Marco saying, “From Enzo.”
Mohammed gives Marco an odd look, and I wonder why.
“Enzo has donated the money for this?” I ask. I don’t know why this seems like such a surprise to me. Why shouldn’t Enzo be charitable? He’s a decent person, albeit a lot more opinionated and judgemental than I expected. Of course he likes to support worthy causes.
“Enzo might not like dogs, but he has a social conscience,” Marco says.
“That’s very kind of him,” I reply.
“Shall I show you around?” Marco offers.
“Thank you. That would be nice.”
“I’ll get back to it,” Mohammed says, picking up a shovel. “Nice to meet you, Your Royal Highness, ma’am.”
I laugh. “Protocol dictates you call me Your Royal Highness only once and then ma’am after that, but really, I prefer plain Sofia.”
Marco raises his brows, but I ignore him. I’ve not onceasked him to call me by my first name. With him, it feels too familiar, and I need the protective blanket of formality wrapped around me.
Much safer.
Mohammed grins at me. “Sofia. Got it. Enjoy your tour.”
Marco and I meander through the dirt and plants and mess of a garden in the midst of being created. I step carefully, trying not to land in any mud, and as Marco clasps my arm to help me over some uneven ground, I’m thankful for the long sleeves of my jacket, protecting me from his touch.
I know what effect his gaze has on me, and I can only imagine what his touch could do.
Volunteers are building plant beds while others are digging and clearing the jumble of items not needed in a garden, such as an old bicycle wheel and a tattered sofa.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you here,” I comment.
“This community, like so many in this part of town, lacks green spaces. With free, organically grown produce, we hope to give the inhabitants alternatives to the low quality food offerings here.”