Page 54 of Royally Matched
He doesn’t have a steady job or a career.
He’s spent most of his adult life gallivanting the globe, doing who knows what, totally carefree and happy.
He’s two years younger than me—and it shows.
He’s Enzo’s brother.
Oh, and number 7.He’s Enzo’s brother.
Really, the guy has so many red flags, it’s as though he’s bought all the red flags in the shop. The red flag shop is now empty, closed for the day with nothing more to sell, everyone gone home.
I think of his smile and ready wit. The man doesn’t seem to have a serious bone in his body. He’s like a golden retriever puppy, excited by everything around him. I never knew what a cinnamon roll hero in a romance novel actually was until I met Marco Revera. He’s warm, caring, and sweet, just like the baked treat, like he’s wrapped in pastry and rolled up in sugar and cinnamon. Only the end result is a breathtakingly handsome man I find I can barely keep my eyes from.
And now he’s got his landscape gardening business—the community garden pulling on my heartstrings way too hard—that results in him having permanent dirt under hisfingernails and means he looks all tanned and rugged and manly and… I let out a sigh.
Where was I?
That’s right. He’s wrong for me. Now, if only I could combine his looks, personality, and the way he makes me feel with Enzo’s seriousness, I’d be all set.
It’s such a pity humans don’t work that way.
Chapter 14
Marco
I sit and watch a poised Sofia, standing at the podium in front of the large audience, giving a moving Remembrance Day speech. She’s hitting all the right notes, just as I expected she would, talking of sacrifice, courage, dedication, and duty to one’s country. She refers to the red poppy on her lapel, the flower of remembrance, and every person present listens to her melodious voice.
Is it weird that I feel proud of her? Probably, butthat’s how I feel.
As usual, she’s in a prim skirt suit and sensible pumps, this time black, her hair in a modest bun, and as I listen to her voice, a knot forms in my belly. She’s the woman I desire, the woman I find I can’t stop thinking about, day and night.
But she’s the woman I shouldn’t think about at all.
And here I am, watching her, feeling things for her, this complex, beautiful princess. Enzo sent me here at the last minute, saying he had too much on his plate, but he knew someone should be here to support her. As I look around at the heaving church, I wonder if he realizes quite the impact this woman has on others. She’s powerful, not in the sense that she has control over anyone else, but that she has a strong presence. Regal, is the word that springs to mind. Regal and powerful.
Of course, I know parts of the media give her a hard time. She’s been known in the past as the Pitiful Princess, which is so harsh, and I can’t help but wonder whether they see this side of her, the side that shows how eloquent she is, how her presence gives a sense of gravity and importance to an event such as this. The way she so obviously cares for the causes she’s involved in, meaning every word that falls from her lips.
The more I get to know the princess—or “Sofia” as she’s asked me to call her, which feels so much better than calling her the formal “ma’am” that keeps her at arm’s length—the more surprised I am by what I see. She’s kinder than I expected. More like a real person, I suppose, which I know sounds crazy because of course she’s a real person. But the way she presents herself to the world is like she’s an AI robot, perfectly put together, doing and saying all the right things at the right time. From the perfectly polished shoes on her feet to not a hair out of place on herhead. To the way she speaks so carefully and politely, pronouncing every word just so.
She would never arrive late at a gallery opening, trailing dirt behind herself.