Page 19 of His Royal Matchmaker

“The best matches often come when we’re not looking for them,” I say with a wink.

It’s my favorite line, and I’ve found it to be true both professionally and personally. Though in my case, I’m still waiting for that surprise match to appear in my own life.

It’s not long before all the women arrive, each dressed elegantly but not overly formal, just as I requested. I greet them all by name, remembering details from our conversations. This is what makes me good at my job — I care about the people, not just the matching.

“Emily, this is simply wonderful.”

I turn to find Queen Julia approaching, looking regal in a midnight-blue dress that somehow manages to be both royal and approachable. Her silver hair is styled in soft waves, and her smile is warm.

My stomach does a little flip. “Your Majesty,” I say, giving my best curtsy. “Thank you for allowing me to organize this event.”

She places a gentle hand on my arm. “I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve put this together. And the women you’ve selected…” She glances around the room. “They seem quite accomplished.”

Pride swells in my chest. “They are. I wanted to find women who could match your son’s intelligence and drive, but who might also help him remember there’s life outside the palace offices.”

Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “That’s exactly what he needs. You truly are as good as they say.”

“The job isn’t done yet,” I remind her, hoping that I won’t end up disappointing this woman who holds more power than all of my previous clients put together.

As if on cue, the room goes quiet, and Prince Hugo enters. He looks handsome as always, dressed in a tailored navy suit that makes his blue eyes pop. Unfortunately, those eyes are currently fixed on his phone, thumbs tapping rapidly as he walks in.

My stomach sinks. This is not how a prince should enter a room full of exceptional women who have cleared their schedules just to meet him.

“Hugo, darling,” the queen calls, beckoning him over. “Come meet the wonderful women Emily has invited.”

He looks up, pockets his phone, and walks toward us. His smile is polite but doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Your Highness,” I say, trying to keep my voice professional despite my irritation. “I’m so glad you could join us. There are some amazing women here tonight I think you’ll enjoy meeting.”

“Sounds good.” He nods at me, then turns to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Mother, you look lovely as always.”

“These women have traveled from all over to meet you,” I remind him gently. “Dr. Fournier over there is pioneering a new surgical technique, and Ms. Beaumont is a concert pianist who’s performed at Carnegie Hall.”

“Yes, very impressive,” he says, but his eyes are already darting around the room, as if looking for an escape route.

I take a deep breath. “Shall I introduce you to some of them?”

Before he can answer, his phone buzzes. He pulls it back out immediately. “Excuse me, I need to take this.”

And just like that, he walks away, phone pressed to his ear, leaving me standing next to the queen with my mouth slightly open.

“I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

My heart nearly cracks in two. A queen shouldn’t be apologizing to me. An older woman shouldn’t be apologizing to me. And a mother certainly shouldn’t be apologizing for her grown son.

I straighten my shoulders. I didn’t become LA’s top matchmaker by giving up easily. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty. The night is young.”

For the next hour, I try every trick in my professional matchmaking handbook. I personally escort Prince Hugo to speak with a brilliant architect who designed a children’s hospital, only to have him excuse himself after five minutes when his phone buzzes again. I arrange for him to sit next to a charming entrepreneur during the appetizer course, but he spends most of the time checking emails.

By the time dessert is served — tiny chocolate-mousse cups with gold leaf that the palace chef prepared specially — my cheerful professional smile feels glued to my face. Hugo has spoken to maybe half the women in the room, and none for longer than a couple minutes. Several times I’ve caught him checking his watch.

“Is there an urgent matter at the office this evening?” I finally ask him when I catch him alone by the drink table.

He looks at me, a hint of surprise in his eyes. “There are always urgent matters. Marzieu may be small, but it has big responsibilities.”

“I understand,” I say, though my voice makes it clear I don’t. “But these women have put aside their own important work to be here tonight. They deserve your full attention.”

A flicker of guilt crosses his face. “You’re right. I apologize.”

---