Page 45 of His Royal Matchmaker

Could I have misread things?

More importantly, why do I care so much? He’s been difficult throughout this whole process, and I don’t owe it to him to be patient when he has deliberately made my life harder.

I fall onto my bed, still in my evening dress, and stare at the ceiling. This job was supposed to be straightforward: find Prince Hugo a suitable match, collect my fee, go home. Falling for him wasn’t part of the plan.

But here I am, jealous of women I’ve personally selected for him, my pulse racing for a man who wants nothing but to play me just as he does everyone else.

“You’ve got this,” I tell myself sternly. “Find him a match, do your job, go home.”

I repeat this like a mantra until sleep finally takes me, but even in my dreams, Hugo’s piercing gaze follows me.

CHAPTER 18

HUGO

Pushing open the heavy oak door to my office, I feel the burden of the family crest staring back at me from its surface. The lunch with Lady Sophia still clings to me like a too-strong cologne — pleasant enough in theory but suffocating in reality.

Two hours of polite conversation about her charity work, her travels, her opinions on the latest fashion trends. All the while, my mind kept drifting elsewhere — to blond locks and piercing eyes that see through my practiced charm. To Emily.

Maurice catches the door before it closes behind me and pokes his head in. “Your Highness, Miss Neale is here for your meeting.”

My heart does a little skip that I immediately try to squash. Five years ago, I would have pursued Emily without hesitation — charmed her with the ease that once earned me the nickname “The Royal Heartbreaker” in tabloids across Europe. But that was before.

And now? Now I’m not even sure who I am. All thanks to her.

I smooth my hair, tug on my suit, everything about me suddenly seeming wrong. Emily walks in too soon, before I’m done primping and before I know what to say.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” she says, all business and no smiles. “How was your lunch?”

The memory of last night flashes between us — her telling me I need to stop attempting to hook up with her and me denying the accusation. Her words had cut through me, partly because they were true.

Yes, I had been flirting with her, standing too close, finding excuses to touch her arm or the small of her back. But also… there was more to it. Her claim wasn’t entirely accurate. What I wanted — what Iwant— isn’t just a hookup. Not anymore, that is.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

“The lunch was… informative,” I say, settling behind my desk. My fingers tap against the polished wood, a nervous habit I usually am good at stopping. “Lady Sophia is very knowledgeable about current fashion trends.”

Emily gives me a look that says she isn’t buying my lukewarm review. “And her charity work with children’s literacy? Did you discuss that?”

“Extensively.” I force enthusiasm into my voice. “She raised over two million euros last year alone.”

“And did you find her personally engaging?” she presses, pulling out her tablet to make notes.

I consider lying. Telling Emily that Lady Sophia captivated me would make her happy, would show I’m taking this seriously.But something in me rebels against the idea — mostly because it isn’t true.

“She’s perfectly pleasant,” I say carefully. “Intelligent, accomplished, beautiful. Everything a prince should want in a potential partner.”

Her fingers pause over her tablet. “But?”

“But I felt nothing,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “No spark, no connection. Just… polite interest.”

A sigh escapes her, tiny but unmistakable. “Hugo, we’ve met with many eligible women since I got here. You’ve felt ‘nothing’ for all of them.”

“Not true,” I counter. “I thought the Duchess of … what is it? She had a wonderful laugh.”

“A wonderful laugh isn’t enough to build a marriage on… Although I suspect you still have no interest whatsoever in a marriage.”

“I know that.” My own frustration bubbles up, and I choose to ignore that last comment. “Don’t you think I know that? And it isn’t only my mother. The council reminds me daily that Marzieu needs stability. That a prince approaching thirty-one should be settled. That the royal line must continue.”

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