Page 61 of His Royal Matchmaker

But before I can retreat, I spot a familiar face near one of the light-wrapped trellises. It’s Ricardo, who I haven’t seen since the movie premiere right before I left town. He catches my eye and his face breaks into a wide grin.

“Emily!” He makes his way through the crowd, tall and handsome in a tailored suit that probably costs more than my monthly rent. “The matchmaking maestro herself!”

He wraps me in a warm hug that smells of cedar and joy. Ricardo has always been affectionate — one of the traits I identified as compatible with Leonie.

“Ricardo! I didn’t expect to see you here.” I pull back, genuinely pleased. “Shouldn’t you be filming in New Zealand?”

“Wrapped early.” He gestures with his drink. “Besides, couldn’t miss the chance to support my friends tonight.”

“How is Leonie?” I ask, curious how my match is faring. “How is wedding planning?”

His expression shifts to something softer, more complex. “She’s… Leonie.” He laughs, but it’s not dismissive. “We fight about which takeout to order and then stay up all night talking about the universe. Yesterday she threw an orange at my head because I criticized her favorite musician, and this morning she brought me coffee in bed with a note that made me cry.”

I tilt my head, trying to read between the lines. “So… good?”

“Not perfect,” he says, swirling his drink thoughtfully. “But real. I spent years dating women who never challenged me, who I never fought with. It felt safer.” He looks at me directly. “Butyousaw something else for me. You pushed me toward someone who makes me feel everything — the frustration and the joy, the uncertainty and the certainty.”

His words lodge somewhere beneath my ribs. “I remember you were resistant.”

“I was terrified,” he corrects me. “Of the imperfection of it. But real love isn’t a neat package with a bow. It’s messy and complicated and sometimes it hurts. But it’s worth it.” He smiles. “Thank you for that. For seeing what I needed, not what I thought I wanted.”

I feel a prickle of tears and blink them away. “That’s my job.”

“And what about you?” he asks. “The woman who finds everyone else their perfect match — has anyone claimed your heart yet?”

The question hits a tender spot. “I?—”

My response dies in my throat as my eyes catch on a figure across the rooftop. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair that refuses to be fully tamed even when styled. My heart stutters, then races as my brain confirms what my body already knows.

Hugo Bastien is here. The Prince of Marzieu. But… no. Why would he be?

“Emily?” Ricardo follows my gaze. “Ah. You know Prince Hugo?”

I can’t seem to find my voice. Hugo hasn’t seen me yet. He’s listening to a woman, nodding politely, but his posture holds the slight tension I recognize from formal events — he’s being courteous, not engaged.

“We’ve met,” I finally manage. “Through work.”

With horror, I realize Hugo is moving toward me. His eyes have found mine across the space, and they hold me in place more effectively than hands ever could.

“I should check on Leonie,” Ricardo says. “See where she got off to. It was wonderful seeing you, Emily.”

I can’t even respond; my mouth isn’t working properly. He slips away while Hugo keeps advancing on me, and my heart hammers against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

“Emily.” My name in Hugo’s accent still does things to my insides. “I hoped I might find you here. I asked around and heard?—”

“What are you doing at a perfume launch in Los Angeles? Shouldn’t you be in Marzieu, running a country?”

A small smile touches his lips. “Even princes delegate occasionally. Especially when they have something important to attend to elsewhere.”

“And what’s that?” I ask, though I’m not sure I want the answer.

“You.”

The single word hangs between us, loaded with meaning I’m afraid to interpret.

“Me?” I repeat stupidly.

“I came to tell you that you were wrong.” His eyes never leave mine, intense and clear. “What you said when we last spoke — that you could not find me love, that I was a helpless case.” He shakes his head. “You were wrong.”

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