Page 5 of His Royal Matchmaker

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hugo.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Fortune tellers are unreliable. Emily Neale, on the other hand, has a ninety-seven percent success rate.”

“Among Hollywood celebrities, whose relationships are about as stable as our southern border dispute.”

“Ricardo Ruiz had a reputation worse than yours ever was,” Mother points out. “And look at him now — soon to be married.”

“Good for him.” I push my plate away, suddenly losing my appetite. “But I’m not a movie star looking for someone to accompany me on red carpets. I’m the crown prince of Marzieu. My situation is somewhat different.”

“Which is precisely why someone like Emily would be perfect. She works with high-profile clients who value discretion. Sheunderstands the unique challenges that come with public life. And most importantly, she gets results.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache forming behind my eyes. “Mother, I appreciate your concern, but I absolutely don’t have time for whatever scheme you’re concocting. The international summit is three weeks away, the budget needs final approval by Friday, and the renovation committee needs my input on the historic preservation elements?—”

“I’ve already booked an appointment,” she interrupts, her voice calm but brooking no argument. “Next Monday at two o’clock.”

I stare at her, momentarily speechless. The queen of Marzieu looks back at me placidly, as if she’s just informed me of a routine dental checkup rather than an appointment with a professional matchmaker.

“You did what?” I finally manage.

“She normally has a waiting list, you know,” Mother continues, ignoring my incredulous expression. “But when I explained the situation?—”

I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And I’m sure the fact that you’re the queen had nothing to do with jumping the line.”

“Well,” Mother says with a small smile, “it didn’t hurt.”

A staff member approaches to clear our plates, and I wait until he’s gone before continuing. “I’m not going.”

“Yes you are.” She folds her napkin precisely, placing it beside her water glass. “Consider it a diplomatic duty if that makes it easier to swallow.”

“Diplomatic—” I shake my head in disbelief. “How is meeting with a matchmaker diplomatic?”

“A stable monarchy requires succession, Hugo. The people want to see their future king settled and secure.” Her voice softens. “And your mother wants to see her son happy.”

“I’ll find someone on my own time,” I insist, though we both know my schedule allows no room for dating. The last woman I took to dinner was the finance minister’s daughter, and that was purely to discuss the new capital gains tax structure.

“You haven’t been on a real date in years,” Mother says, as if reading my thoughts. “The last time you brought a woman to a state function, she turned out to be a journalist doing an exposé on royal privilege.”

I wince at the memory. That had been an embarrassing oversight on the part of my security team. “All the more reason to not trust a stranger with my love life.”

“Emily Neale isn’t just any stranger. She’s the best in her field.”

“Her field is ridiculous.” I gesture to the magazine, where Ricardo Ruiz grins up at us. “He’s an actor who needed a publicity boost for his fading career. I’m a prince preparing to lead a nation.”

Mother regards me steadily, her expression unreadable. Then she reaches across the table and flips to another page in the magazine. “Emily has worked with CEOs, sports stars, tech billionaires…”

I scan the article again, my skepticism undiminished. “And you believe this puff piece?”

“I believe in results. And in keeping an open mind.” She taps the photo of Emily Neale. “One meeting, Hugo. That’s all I’m asking.”

“And if I refuse?”

Her smile turns sweet in a way that immediately makes me wary. “Then I’ll be forced to revisit the royal tradition of arranged marriages. I’ve already received inquiries from three royal houses and two billionaire families with eligible daughters.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’m the queen,” she says simply. “And more importantly, I’m your mother. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure both your happiness and the security of our monarchy.”

I study her face, looking for signs that she’s bluffing, but find none. She’d never force me into an arranged marriage — I don’t think — but she’d certainly make my life difficult if I refuse this small concession.

“One meeting,” I finally say, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “I’ll meet with this woman once, to prove to you that this is a waste of time, and then you’ll drop the subject until I am ready to bring it back up.”

---