Page 62 of Royally Matched
She signals for her dogs to sit, who have clearly decided to accompany us on this adventure, and then leans her ear up against the door to listen.
“Can we go in?” I whisper.
“I can’t hear anything,” she replies. “I’ll pull the door open a crack.”
I wait as she peers inside. She looks back at me, her face lit up in a smile, her eyes sparkling and bright, and it strikes me afresh how utterly beautiful this woman is.
The media may have declared her uninteresting because she doesn’t go in for silly antics, but to me Sofia is a stunningly gorgeous and sexy woman with a mind of her own and determination I can’t help but admire. And more than that, she’s kind and sincere and fun. That’s right, Princess Sofia is fun. I can safely say that’s not something I ever expected to think about the uptight, prim and proper princess I’ve seen grow up in the public eye.
It just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover.
We enter the vast room with plush red carpet leading to two opulent thrones elevated on a platform. Gilded chairs line the walls, awaiting dignitaries, and elegant chandeliers hang from the intricately carved ceiling. Rich red curtains frame tall windows, and portraits hang along the walls, the atmosphere is thick with history and power, and I can’t help but feel small and unimportant against its grandeur, despite the fact I’ve been in this room before.
Sofia, on the other hand, strides inside, flanked by her dogs, a queen leading her army to battle, as though it’s really no big deal—and I guess to her, it isn’t. This is all part of her world, part of the life she leads. She would never throw on a pair of rubber boots, caked in mud, working the soil to accommodate plants that could help feed a community, even though I bet she’d support the cause. Sofia is all about elegance and refinement, her life so far removed from my reality she may as well be another species.
“Read me the new riddle again,” she instructs, and I pull the piece of paper from the book in my hand.
“In the grand and gilded throne hall” I begin.
“Find the painting on the wall.
Press the gem with a gentle hand,
A hidden door will then expand.”
I look around at the walls. Imposing portraits of kings and queens gaze down at us, their severe expressions showing their power and prestige. There have got to be at least twenty portraits in the room, and I blow out of breath at the enormity of our task.
“Which one of these has a gem?” Sofia asks, studying the walls.
A cursory glance gives me the answer. “All of them?” I reply with a chortle.
“I’m not sure we’re meant to touch the paintings. Some of them are very old, you know.”
I unfurl my rolled-up sleeve. “Do it this way,” I suggest, pulling the cotton over my fingers.
“Good idea for you. I don’t have long sleeves.”
I chew on my lip, formulating a plan. “I know what to do.” Quickly, I unbutton my shirt, pulling it over my head and handing it to her.
She regards me through wide eyes that slide down mytorso before pinging back up to meet mine.
“Use that to press any gems you find in the pictures.”
“What will you use?” she asks, her voice quiet, almost mouse-like, and I wonder whether I’m being totally inappropriate, pulling my shirt off not only in the nation’s throne room, but in front of her.
I glance down at my snug-fitting white tank top, glad I threw one on when I got dressed this morning. “I’ll use this.”
She swallows, and now I know I’ve overstepped the mark. “How, exactly?”
I’m about to make a joke, telling her I’ll press my pecs against every gem I find, but then think better of it. She’s looking really quite bewildered, and my bet is a comment like that could send her running from the room.
“I’ll find a way,” I assure her with a wink. “Let’s get moving, shall we?”
“Absolutely. We need to be systematic about this. We don’t know how much time we have before someone will turn up here to find you looking like… well, like that.”
I stifle a smile. Me pulling my shirt off has rattled her usually poised exterior.
I’ve got to say, I’m enjoying it.