Page 65 of Royally Matched

This woman, who smells like spring, whose lips I’m hankering to kiss, has a spreadsheet that tells her I’m not the man for her.

No matter how much I want to be.

And oh, how I want to be.

Everyone told me she was a straitlaced, cantankerous type of person who rubbed people up the wrong way, lacking in the famous royal family charisma of her brothers and sister. But it’s as clear to me as a cloudless day that she’s been misjudged. She is no more the Pitiful Princess than I am a neuroscientist.

Her smile lights up the room, her brown eyes with attractive gold flecks sparkling with warmth and kindness.Every time she looks my way, I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest, a connection that’s impossible to ignore. No matter how much I know I should.

Chapter 17

Sofia

Of all the activities on this planet, what I’m currently watching as I stand with Enzo at the top of a cliff on a windswept day on one of our private get togethers, has got to be one of the more extreme. From what I can see, this sport involves having someone strap something akin to a giant rubber band around your ankles before you step off a perfectly serviceable bridge, plummeting like a boulder, inevitably screaming at the top of your lungs, before being pinged up and down like a human yo-yo.Then, someone lowers you into a waiting boat, where you doubtlessly check that your eyeballs are still attached, and then proceed to vomit over the edge from the severe vertigo.

But despite its clear insanity, there is a part of me that thinks the wild sport of bungee jumping may in fact be rather thrilling, particularly if you get to tandem jump with someone you trust, someone who joins in your excitement of the jump, like you’re diving into the unknown together.

Someone like Marco.

I blow out a breath. The fact of the matter is I find my mind wandering all the time, and it’s always to the same destination, time and time again.

I think about Marco more often than I care to admit, even to myself. Not that I would ever admit to thinking about Marco to anyone else. Imagine if I confided in Amelia about how I feel about him? The mere idea has my insides shrivelling into a raisin. She would give me a knowing smirk, and all she would have to do is say one little word to sum the entire situation up, and that word would inevitably be “sizzle.” Oh, and “I told you so.” She would definitely say that, as well.

But the fact of the matter is that I’ve developed feelings for Marco that will not go away, no matter what I do or what I tell myself. Feelings that go beyond simple attraction.

Feelings that tell me he’s a good man with a good heart.

Feelings that make me want to spend time with him, getting to know him more and more, to learn what makes him tick, who he is.

Feelings that tell me how good it would be to be held in his arms as he presses his lips against mine, claiming me as his.

I’ve thought about that rather a lot in fact.

Surely no one could blame me. Not only do I find being with Marco brings out a side of me long forgotten, but when a man as handsome as him pulls his shirt off in the middle of the palace to reveal a muscular torso, strong arms, and shoulders that could block out the sun, and then proceeds to work alongside you to discover a concealed entrance to a hidden room beneath the thrones where you find an ancient scroll? Let’s just say I can’t imagine solving this riddle with anyone less than him.

Marco is exciting, fun, adventurous. He has the power to set my blood on fire with a mere flick of his eyes in my direction, a mere tilt of his lips upward in his knee-weakening smile. Being around him feels like a breath of fresh air.

He has this effortless way of helping me loosen up, making me forget my worries and responsibilities. His presence is like a gentle nudge to relax and simply enjoy the moment, something I’ve never been good at. With him, before I know it, I’m laughing and at ease, simply savoring his company.

What’s more, we’ve got to the point where all we need is for the scroll that’s currently burning a hole at the back of my wardrobe, hidden behind a row of handbags, to be translated and we’d have cracked the riddle. It’s within our grasp now, and this whole righteous heir conundrum could be unravelled.

I glance at Enzo. His face is pulled into a scowl, his arms crossed over his chest, his foot tapping the ground, showing me just how much he’s enjoying this.

I would give anything to feel even half of what I feel for Marco for Enzo. The man who is currently watching the bungee jumping, muttering things like, “Why doesn’t my brother take up a sensible hobby like stamp collecting?”and “I prefer the thrill of a good opera to this kind of lunacy.”

But the simple fact of the matter is I don’t. I don’t have any feelings for Enzo beyond wishing he was not so… well,Enzo. I know that’s a terrible thing to think, because he’s a perfectly nice man.

But what I’m beginning to wonder, what’s been gnawing away at me is this: is hemynice man?

Yes, he’s great for me on paper. Perfect, in fact. That isn’t up for debate. But what I’ve begun to understand—and it’s something I won’t admit to anyone, particularly Amelia—is that my spreadsheet failed to incorporate such abstract concepts as “sparks,” “attraction,” the way someone’s sense of humor can light up a room, the way you can feel so very drawn to what someone says and does. These are unquantifiable things that I know are crucial in forming a romantic attachment. Crucial forlove.

I squeeze my eyes shut, reminding myself that the sorts of feelings I have for Marco are dangerous. They expose me. They make me vulnerable. Those are the two very things I’ve worked so hard to avoid in this whole “find a husband” quest of mine. The very reason I chose head over heart, logic over emotions. Enzo over Marco.

Choosing Enzo may not be exciting. It may not set my heart on fire. But he can offer me something Marco can’t with his adventurous spirit, openness, and zest for life: Enzo is safe.

Enzo will never break my heart because he’ll never even come close to touching it.

I cannot say that of Marco.