Page 77 of Royally Matched
“What’s she like?”
“She’s really sweet and absolutely adores Alex. They’re very well suited.”
“Their wedding is coming up soon. Thanks to you, Enzo and I have been invited.”
“I imagine you have been. I’ll be easy to spot. I’ll be in a Ledonian red dress.”
I detect a note of resignation in her voice. “Do you not like wearing red?”
Immediately, an image of her in her red dress at the ball flashes before my eyes. With her olive skin and dark features, she looked absolutely stunning in the color.
“Of course I do, but I’d like to get to choose sometimes. There are so many colors out there, but we always have to wear the official red at any big function.”
I take another sip of my coffee. “If you could wear whatever color you wanted to some big fancy ball, what would you wear?”
“I’ve always been a little jealous that the royal family in Malveaux gets to wear that beautiful blue. But then I like purple and green and orange and hot pink, even.”
“Hot pink, huh?” I tease.
“Or black. The only time I wear black is when I attend a funeral.”
“It must be so hard to be royal,” I say, only half teasing because part of me does feel it must be hard to be royal. She’s got all the rules and responsibilities of being a princess of the realm dictated to her, right down to what color she wears to official events.
I know I wouldn’t be royal for all the horrible tea in Malveaux.
Our unsmiling waitress delivers our breakfast, and I notice the piece of toast she ordered, to which she applies a thin layer of marmalade. Next to my huge cooked breakfast of eggs and bacon and hash browns and roasted tomatoes, her meal looks decidedly insignificant.
I take my first bite. It’s surprisingly good. “This is delicious,” I tell her as she looks longingly at my plate before she picks up her toast and takes a small, bird-like bite. “Do you want to try some?”
“No. But thank you.” Again, she looks longingly at my meal, and I make up my mind.
I call the waitress over and order a second meal of eggs and bacon and hash browns and roasted tomatoes. “Can you throw in some baked beans with that too?”
Sofia’s eyes are huge. “How hungryareyou?”
“It’s not for me,Principessa. It’s for you.”
“But I’m fine with my toast.”
I lean my elbows on the Formica-topped table, narrowing the space between us. “You’ve looked at my breakfast the way your dogs would look at a bone. Why not indulge yourself? You’re having a day off from being Princess Sofia, remember?”
She bites down on her lips, and I can tell she’s stifling a smile.
I lean back in my chair. “And besides, I like a woman who eats,” I say, and she allows the smile to claim her face.
When the meal arrives, I ask the waitress to place it in front of Sofia.
“Dig in,” I instruct, and she doesn’t need to be asked twice, taking huge mouthfuls of the food and grinning the whole time.
“I was told at the boarding school I went to that a girl with a physique like mine needs to eat like a bird,” she tells me.
“Do you know what I think? I think a girl with your physique can do whatever the heck she wants.”
She lets out a giddy laugh, only this time her hand doesn’t fly to cover her mouth.
I lean my elbow on the table once more and say in a low tone, “You do know you’re incredibly beautiful and sexy, don’t you? All of you.”
Her eyes are like fire as she gazes back at me, and I swear, my heart skips a beat.