Page 44 of His Royal Matchmaker

I study him, trying to figure out what’s going on. Is he really this nervous about dating, or is he stalling? “These dates are non-negotiable, Hugo. It’s literally why your mother hired me.”

“Can’t we push them back a week?”

“No.” I set my glass down firmly. “You’re going on these dates. End of discussion. You don’t need any more coaching. Read thebooks I gave you. Go to a family therapist or relationship coach. You’ll be fine.”

Something flickers across his face — surprise, maybe. He’s probably not used to people saying no to him.

“You’re very bossy for someone who works for me,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I work for your mother, not just you,” I correct him. “And my job is to find you a match, not to let you avoid social interaction.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But can we at least do something fun tonight? It’s still early.”

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun. You know what that is, right?” He leans forward. “Would you like to go down to the lake? It’s beautiful at night, and there’s a full moon.”

Warning bells go off in my head. The lake? At night? Alone with Hugo? This is exactly the kind of situation I need to avoid.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say slowly.

“Why not?”

Because I like you too much already. Because I keep imagining what it would be like to kiss you. Because you’re a prince, and I’m just doing my job.

“Because it’s inappropriate,” I say instead. “I’m here in a professional capacity.”

His eyes darken. “You came to my house yesterday. Besides, we’re just talking.”

“No, we’re not. You’re trying to…” I struggle to find the right words. “You’re trying to hook up with me instead of focusing on finding a real relationship.”

His expression shifts from surprise to hurt to anger in the span of seconds. “Is that what you think? That I’m trying to ‘hook up’ with you?”

My face burns. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not.”

“Then what are you doing? Because it feels like you’re deliberately making my job harder.”

He stands abruptly. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.”

The formal tone is back, the prince mask slipping into place. I stand too, my legs unsteady.

“I should go to bed,” I say. “We both have an early start tomorrow. Your date with Lady Sophia is at noon.”

“I’ll be there,” he says stiffly.

“Good.”

We stand awkwardly for a moment, the fire crackling in the background. It’s tempting to think that I misread his intentions, but I won’t let him gaslight me. I know when a man is interested in a woman — that’s a big part of my job — and he’s hoping to bed me.

The old playboy prince isn’t completely dead after all, but that’s not my style. If something were to happen between the two of us — say, in an alternate universe — it would need to be more thana fling. I might be chronically single, but I’m also a relationship girl.

“Good night, Prince Hugo,” I finally say, retreating toward the door.

“Good night… Miss Neale.”

The return to formal titles stings more than it should; it feels like an intentional jab on his part. I hurry back to my room, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

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