Page 66 of Royally Matched
Of course, it doesn’t help that the man who’s currently bungee jumping is none other than the man in question. I catch my breath, my heart hammering as I watch Marco,standing at the edge of the bridge, readying himself to jump off it. He looks our way, waving and flashing his confident grin before he steps backwards off the bridge—backwards!—falling through the air down, down, down, until the string pings him back up and I hear his laughter, floating through the air.
My heart is in my mouth.
And then, as they collect him and pull him to the safety of the boat below, I let out a relieved breath. He made it. He’s alive.
“Thank goodness for that,” I say with a breathy smile.
“Younger brother syndrome. That’s what I call it,” Enzo sniffs.
“I think he’s awfully adventurous.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
I glance at Enzo’s profile as he studiously watches the next bungee jumpers—two people, holding on to one another before they take a literal leap of faith off the bridge—his brows knitted together in concentration. Although Enzo’s features bear some similarity to his brother’s, where Marco’s eyes are piercing blue and playful, his are gray and serious. Where Marco’s hair frames his chiseled face, Enzo’s is short and neatly combed, exposing a balding patch at the crown. Where Marco’s jawline is strong and sharp, with a spray of manly stubble, Enzo’s is more rounded and soft, cleanly shaven and smooth but for his thick mustache. Where Marco’s appearance is rough and ready in that oh-so masculine, outdoorsy way I never expected to be drawn to, Enzo’s polished appearance exudes professionalism and appropriateness.
Altogether, Enzo looks like the man I should be marrying—and Marco looks like a walking heartbreak.
Enzo leans toward me. “All I can say is I’m glad it’s notme at the end of that cord, bouncing away like a human-sized cat toy,” he says as we watch the latest contenders to cheat death.
“I imagine it is rather thrilling, though.”
He blinks at me in surprise. “You want to bungee jump? I wouldn’t have expected that to be an appropriate activity for a woman in your position, Sofia. You’re a member of the royal family. There are certain expectations of decorum that go with such standing, as I’m sure you are aware.”
I bristle. I don’t need Enzo to tell me about decorum and my standing. Decorum is my middle name. I know precisely what is expected of me as a Ledonian princess.
Smile pleasantly, ensuring it’s neither too big nor too small.
Ensure I look poised and thoroughly put together at all times in appropriate dress befitting the occasion.
Nod and smile as people tell me about their interests, no matter what I may think in private.
Ask appropriate questions, without probing, while showing the right level of interest.
And above all, show no emotion other than pleasantness at all times.
I nail each and every one of them, every day of my life.
I know what’s going on. This is Marco rubbing off on me. I never would have been interested in doing something as dangerous as bungee jumping before I knew him. I would have seen it the way Enzo does: as pointlessly perilous.