Page 26 of His Royal Matchmaker

“I have prepared a special tasting menu highlighting the best seasonal ingredients from our region,” the chef continues. “Each course tells a story of Marzieu — its land, its traditions, its future.”

I nod, feeling the immensity of the evening ahead. This is too much like a real date. The intimate setting, the special menu, the way the candlelight catches in Emily’s hair — it’s distracting and uncomfortable.

After the chef leaves, Emily leans forward. “I know that I can sometimes be all business?—”

“Is that not why you are here?”

She shrugs a shoulder. “Yes, but for the next two hours, let’s pretend I’m not your matchmaker. Let’s pretend this is simply a first date between two people who find each other interesting.”

“Is that what we are?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. My heart rate picks up, and I realize too late that she might think I am flirting with her.

“We could be, for practice.” She unfolds her napkin with a flick of her wrist. “Unless you’re worried you can’t keep up?”

The challenge in her voice stirs something in me — competitiveness, maybe, or something more dangerous. I study her across the table, this woman who’s made a career out of reading people and pairing them up like puzzle pieces. There’s a sharpness to her that makes her even more appealing, more tantalizing. She doesn’t back down from a challenge, and she has the grit of ten people combined.

Simply put, she is unlike any other woman I’ve ever met.

“What’s wrong?” She tilts her head again, a habit I’m starting to recognize.

“Nothing,” I say, perhaps too quickly.

It would be a fatal error to admit that I am developing a crush on my matchmaker. Especially when it has been months — no, years — since I have had anything close to a crush. I’ve been busy doing more important things, women taking as much of a back seat as possible.

“Nothing,” I say.Wait. Did I already say that? Am I showing my hand?“Let’s do this. Hi, I’m Hugo. I run a small European country. And you are?”

Her eyes widen in surprise before crinkling with amusement. “Emily. I help people find love.”

“Interesting career choice. What drew you to matchmaking?”

The first course arrives — tiny cups of mushroom soup with truffle foam — but I keep my eyes on Emily. If she wants a performance, I’ll give her one.

“I’ve always been good at reading people,” she says, taking a delicate sip. “Figuring out what makes them tick, what they need versus what they think they want. I’ve also always been a romantic. I love fairy tales and romance books and movies.”

“Of course you do.” I smile. “But none of that is real life.”

“Not most of the time,” she counters. “Unless you find your person. Which is where I come in.”

“And what doIwant, according to your expert analysis?”

“You want to be left alone.” She says it simply, without judgment. “You’ve spent five years proving you can handle everything your father left behind, and you’re terrified that bringing someone else into your life will upset that balance. Maybe you’re also worried that you will let down any partner you do couple up with… although I’m less sure about that part.”

I stare at her, soup forgotten. “That’s… interesting.”

And completely accurate.

“You won’t tell me if I’m right?” She waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t need an answer. Anyway, what you need might be different from what you want.”

“And what do I need?”

“Someone who doesn’t need you to be Prince Hugo all the time. Someone who sees the man behind the title.”

Our eyes meet across the table, and for a moment, the role-playing falls away. She sees me, truly sees me, and it is terrifying.

As well as electrifying.

“And you?” I ask. “Have you found your person?”

I hold my breath, wanting her to say no, even though it doesn’t have any bearing on my life.

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