Page 13 of His Royal Matchmaker

“That’s it!” I snap my fingers, energized by the new plan. “I’ll shadow him.”

I scribble notes frantically, my mind racing. People reveal themselves in a thousand little ways they don’t realize — how they treat staff, what makes them laugh, how they handle stress. If I can just watch the prince going about his daily business, I’ll learn more about him than any questionnaire could tell me.

But I’ll need access to his schedule, which means I need royal permission. The queen. Of course.

I quickly dial the palace office number, tapping my pen impatiently as I wait for someone to pick up. After a minute or two, a secretary answers.

“Hello, this is Emily Neale. I need to speak with the queen as soon as possible,” I say, injecting authority into my voice.

There’s a pause, then the receptionist responds, “Stand by, please.”

I’m placed on hold. The minutes drag on, and I begin tapping my foot against the leg of my desk. Finally, the line clicks again.

“Emily, this is Julia speaking. How may I assist you?”

Her voice, warm yet laden with authority, reminds me of a school principal. Every word is precise, every syllable enunciated with regal clarity. I swallow my nerves and plunge into my proposal.

“Your Majesty, I believe I have a solution that may expedite the process. With your permission, I would like to shadow Prince Hugo and observe him, to get a clearer picture of his personality and preferences. With your consent, of course.”

There is a moment of silence on the line before the queen responds, “A rather innovative approach, Miss Neale. I must admit I am intrigued by this idea. You have my permission. And as I said before, ‘Julia’ is fine.”

My heart leaps. Victory. “Thank you, Julia. I assure you this will help immensely in the process.”

“I look forward to seeing you put your unconventional methods into action,” she replies. “I assume that your initial meeting with my son was not as fruitful as we would like?”

“Unfortunately, you are correct,” I admit, sighing softly into the receiver. “He is… a little reticent.”

There’s a beat of silence and then she laughs. “Just ‘a little,’ Emily?”

Her voice warms with honest humor, and that startles an answering laugh from me.

“All right, perhaps more than a little,” I concede, the tension in my shoulders easing.

“I do appreciate your candor. Hugo is… complicated. But he is also my son and I do wish for him to be understood, not just judged as ‘the prince.’”

“I understand completely. And I do promise to treat Hugo not just as a prince, but as a man.”

In fact, I’m already doing that. Not many people would have called a prince out on keeping them waiting for an hour, I’m sure.

“Good. I am glad we are in agreement. Hugo’s secretary will be able to give you his schedule for tomorrow.”

“Thank you again, Julia,” I say, gratitude coursing through me.

“Do your best, Emily. We have faith in you.”

We say our goodnights and hang up, my heart pounding with adrenaline and relief. I make a mental note to call the secretary first thing tomorrow, to map out when and where I can be without being too intrusive.

Satisfied with my plan, I discover that I’m suddenly extremely tired. The jet lag I’ve been fighting off with excitement and anxiety has finally caught up now that I have a moment of relaxation. Organizing my things, I turn the lights out in the office and head into the hallway. Time to call it a night.

Tomorrow will surely be busy and long, and since I already know Hugo will be none too pleased to have me shadowing him, I’m expecting to need the energy to go head-to-head with him.

“Oof!” The impact sends me stumbling backward, and I barely have time to register the fact that, while rounding the corner, I’ve just walked straight into someone.

Strong fingers wrap around my upper arms, steadying me. I look up — way up — into the stormy eyes of Prince Hugo Bastien himself.

“Miss Neale,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “Do you always walk without looking where you’re going?”

His hands drop from my arms as if he’s suddenly remembered he’s touching me.

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