Page 38 of His Royal Matchmaker

“My mom says it’s about choosing someone whose flaws you can live with,” I say. “Because the butterflies eventually fade but the annoying habits don’t.”

He laughs. “Your mother sounds pragmatic.”

“She is. But they’re also still madly in love. Dad brings her coffee every morning. Mom still gets dressed up for their date nights. They hold hands when they walk together.”

“Hmm,” he says, but it doesn’t sound real. It’s like he’s thinking about something else.

“You really want this?” I ask. “To find a wife? Because you’ve been pushing against it the whole time.”

He stares straight ahead as he rides. “I cannot put it off forever, so I’ve come to accept that I should do it now, while I have the help of a qualified matchmaker.”

“Plus, ifIdon’t do it, your mother will find you someone.”

He gives me a sharp look.

“She told me about that deal,” I add.

His attention turns back to the trail. “There’s a beautiful creek a mile away. The water is clear as glass.”

I blink at him in confusion. So now he doesn’t want to talk about this?

“Let’s focus on how to be attentive to a partner’s needs,” I say, trying to direct the attention back to why we came out here. "How you can show someone you care through actions, not just words.”

As I launch into advice I’ve gleaned from books and observation rather than experience, I feel like a fraud. Worse, I feel distracted by the way the sunlight catches in Hugo’s dark hair, by the gentle strength in his hands as he handles the reins, by the intelligence in his eyes when he looks at me.

This has to stop. I need to recommit to the job — to helping Hugo find his perfect match. Even if it isn’t me.

Especiallyif it isn’t me. I need to be the matchmaker he hired, not another woman falling for his charm.

Unless… it’s already too late.

And if it is, I haven’t a clue what to do about it.

CHAPTER 16

HUGO

Itap my pen against the polished surface of my desk, staring at the document I should be reviewing, but my thoughts scatter like startled birds. It’s been three days since that trail ride with Emily, and her laugh still echoes in my head at the most inconvenient moments.

I’ve buried myself in work since then, but even as I clear my inbox, I can’t clear my mind of her. The crush is a foolish indulgence, like a forbidden dessert, but it’s also the first thing that’s made me feel alive in years. And I’m not quite ready to give it up.

By six o’clock, I’ve caught up on most of the work I missed during my two-day break. It was worth it, though. Those hours spent riding through the countryside with Emily refreshed something in me that I hadn’t realized needed refreshing.

As I close things out for the day, my phone buzzes with a text from her:How’s the princely paperwork going? Rescued any kingdoms today?

I smile despite myself. Emily texts like she talks — full of energy and unexpected humor. My thumbs hover over the screen as I debate what to say. What I want is to see her again, but what excuse do I have? Our next official appointment isn’t for another two days, and the palace is so large it’s not easy to run into someone here.

Just finished saving the world for today. Very exhausting business,I type back.

Her response comes quickly:Poor overworked prince. You need a proper break!

And suddenly, I know what I want to do. Before I can overthink it, I type:Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to see my house tomorrow. My real house, not the palace. It might help you understand me better for the matchmaking process.

The three dots appear and disappear several times before her answer comes:Your real house? Not where you normally meet clients, I’m guessing?

No,I reply. It’s my private residence.I don’t bring many people there.I hesitate, then add:But I’d like to show you.

Another pause, and I picture her chewing her lip the way she does when she’s thinking. Finally:I’d love to see it. Professional curiosity and all that. What time?

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