Page 15

HUGO

M y dreams are full of blond hair and laughter, and I wake with a smile that doesn’t belong to a prince who has three grueling meetings before lunch. Emily’s face floats in my mind like a stubborn bubble, refusing to pop even as I splash cold water on my face.

Something is wrong with me today. Something that feels dangerously like hope.

“Your Highness?” My assistant, Maurice, knocks on the door. “The minister of finance is waiting in the blue room.”

“I’ll be right there,” I call back, but the words feel hollow.

I go through the motions of dressing, my thoughts wandering back to the night of our dinner. To her bright eyes when she gazed back at me. To the way she looked in that dress that somehow made her look both professional and like someone I’d want to?—

“Your Highness?” Maurice speaks again, more insistent.

“Coming.”

I sit through ten minutes of the finance meeting before I realize I haven’t heard a single word.

The minister is talking about tax rates or budget projections or something equally important that I should care about, but all I can think about is whether Emily thought any of those women last night were good enough for me.

Because they weren’t. I already know that for a fact.

“Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”

I blink. “I’m sorry, could you repeat that last point? I want to make sure I understand completely.”

The minister frowns slightly but repeats himself. I still don’t absorb it.

After thirty more minutes of this torture, I make a decision that would have horrified me yesterday.

“Maurice,” I say when the minister finally leaves, “cancel my appointments for the rest of the day.”

He looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. In five years, I’ve never voluntarily canceled meetings.

“Are you feeling unwell, sir?”

“I just need… a mental health day.” The phrase feels foreign on my tongue, a stupid buzz phrase that I scoffed at when I saw it on social media.

But here I am, electing to take one for myself. Yes, princes don’t get mental health days. But princes who can’t focus might make bad decisions for their country.

“Of course, sir. I’ll reschedule everything.”

“Thank you. And have the garage bring around my personal car. The one without the flags.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m driving myself out of the palace gates, the weight on my chest already lighter.

The countryside of Marzieu unfolds before me — rolling hills dotted with stone farmhouses, fields of wheat waving in the breeze.

The sight has always calmed me, but today it reminds me of Emily’s hair, golden and moving with a life of its own.

Guy’s farm comes into view — a weathered stone house with a red roof, a large barn, and fenced pastures where horses graze peacefully. I park beside Guy’s truck and step out into the smell of hay and horses and hard work.

“My eyes must deceive me!” Guy calls from the barn doorway. “Shouldn’t you be solving the problems of the nation, Your Royal Pain in the Backside?”

I grin. “The nation will survive without me for one afternoon.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Must be the end of the world. Coffee?”

“Please.”

He leads me into the barn’s small office, a cluttered space with faded horse-show ribbons on the walls and a coffeemaker that’s probably older than I am. The coffee it produces tastes like motor oil, but I’ve grown to like it.

“How’s Midnight?” I ask, accepting a chipped mug.

“Your girl’s fine. Out in the east pasture showing the youngsters who’s boss. Want to say hello?”

Midnight is my horse — a black thoroughbred mare with one white sock and more attitude than a roomful of diplomats.

My father gave her to me for my sixteenth birthday, and when I took the throne, I decided she’d be happier here at Guy’s farm than in the royal stables with all their pomp and protocol.

At fifteen, she’s happier doing things her way, anyway.

“I’d like to take her for a ride, actually.”

Guy studies me over the rim of his mug. “Something on your mind, Hugo?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because you only ride when you need to think or when you need to stop thinking. And you’ve got that same look you had after your dad passed.”

I sigh. He knows me too well. “It’s nothing that serious.”

“Could it be…?” He trails off, raising an eyebrow. I know what — or rather who — he is thinking about, but I choose to not respond for now.

Midnight sees me coming and trots to the fence, her ears pricked forward.

“Hey, beautiful,” I murmur, reaching out to stroke her velvety nose. “Miss me?”

She nuzzles my palm, looking for treats. I pull an apple from my pocket — I never visit empty-handed — and she takes it delicately before crunching away contentedly.

The familiar ritual of grooming and saddling quiets my mind. Brush, pick hooves, check for any signs of discomfort, saddle pad, saddle, bridle. Midnight stands patiently, occasionally turning to watch me with one liquid brown eye.

“There,” I say, tightening the girth. “Ready for an adventure?”

Guy helps me mount, though I don’t need it. “East trail’s nice today.”

I nod my thanks and nudge Midnight forward. We walk sedately out of the yard, but once we reach the trail, I give her the signal she’s waiting for, and she leaps into a canter with the grace of a dancer. The wind rushes past my ears, and for the first time today, my head feels clear.

We gallop across an open field, slowing to pick our way through a stand of trees, then trotting along a stream where wildflowers grow in patches of purple and yellow. I let Midnight choose our path, trusting her instincts more than my distracted mind.

Eventually, we come to a hilltop overlooking the valley. In the distance, I can just make out the palace, looking like a toy from here. I dismount and let Midnight graze while I sit on a large rock and try to untangle the mess in my head.

What is wrong with me? I met a woman for a business arrangement. We had a practice date. That’s all. So why can’t I stop thinking about her laugh? About the way she tilts her head when she’s curious? About how it felt to be just Hugo for an evening, not Prince Hugo Bastien of Marzieu?

I don’t know how long I sit here, but eventually Midnight nudges my shoulder, bored with grazing and ready to move on. I stroke her neck. “At least you know what you want, girl.”

When we return to the barn, Guy is fixing a bridle, his gnarled fingers working the leather with practiced ease. He looks up as I lead Midnight in.

“Get what you needed from your ride?”

“Not really.” I start to unsaddle Midnight, my movements automatic.

“Want to talk about it instead of brooding like a teenage poet?”

I snort. “I don’t brood.”

He sets down the bridle. “Come on, out with it.”

I brush Midnight’s sweaty coat in silence for a minute, organizing my thoughts. “Emily… the matchmaker…”

Guy waits, knowing me well enough to let me find my words.

“We had a… practice date. To help me prepare for the real dates.”

“A practice date?”

“Yes. And it was…” I struggle to find the right words. “It was nice. Better than nice.”

His eyes narrow with understanding. “Ah. And the real dates weren’t as nice.”

“Not even close.” I move to Midnight’s other side, hiding my face. “I pretended to like them because I knew she was watching. Because I wanted her to think I was… I don’t know, coachable.”

“And maybe to make her a little jealous?” he suggests, too perceptive by half.

I stop brushing and rest my forehead against Midnight’s warm side. “She’s working for my mother. To find a wife?—”

“That you don’t want.”

I grimace. “If you must know, I’m biding my time. Wearing my mother and Emily out until they forget about this nonsense entirely.”

Saying it out loud, I realize for the first time how cowardly it all sounds.

“It’s not that bad,” Guy says. “Having someone around.”

I gaze at him over Midnight’s back. “You’ve been single for as long as I have.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “Yes, but the difference is that I am starting to think it’s not a good thing.”

I finish grooming Midnight in silence, thinking about this. All done, Guy and I make plans to play tennis next week, and I leave with a slightly clearer head, if not a resolved heart.

Back at the palace, with my schedule still clear for the day, I retreat to my office. It’s a room that was my father’s before me, with its antique desk and walls of leather-bound books. Today it feels both like a sanctuary and a cage.

“Your Highness?” Maurice appears in the doorway. “Ms. Neale has requested a meeting with you. She says it’s regarding the results of yesterday’s event.”

My pulse quickens. “When?”

“She’s waiting in the small reception room. I told her you might not be able to today, but she insisted it was time-sensitive.”

“It’s fine. Tell her I’ll be right there.”

Quickly, I check my reflection in the window. I look normal enough, I think, though I changed into jeans and a shirt to go riding, which isn’t my usual attire at all.

Emily stands when I enter the room, and I don’t miss the way her eyes widen slightly in surprise at the sight of my outfit.

“I went horseback riding,” I explain.

“Oh. That’s nice.” Her smile seems strained.

“Maurice said you have some results to share with me?”

She opens a leather portfolio and removes several glossy photographs. “Based on your interactions last night and the feedback forms I had the women complete, I’ve identified four candidates who would be excellent for second dates.” She lays the photos on the coffee table between us.

I glance at the photos without really seeing them.

I remember these women vaguely — a brunette who talked about her charity work, a serious academic type, someone in fashion, and a woman with an impressive family tree.

None of them had made me feel anything close to what I felt sitting across from Emily at that little restaurant.

“They all found you charming and engaging,” Emily continues, her voice bright. “Each expressed interest in seeing you again in a more intimate setting. I was thinking perhaps a private dinner for each, spaced over the next two weeks? It would give you time to?—”

“I don’t think I want to,” I interrupt.

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

But I’m even more surprised, for I have no clue where that statement came from. It seemed to pop out of my mouth without any foresight. Yet here I find myself, scrambling to come up with an excuse, desperate to explain it away before this woman — perceptive as she is — sees right through me.

“For second dates. I don’t think I’m… I think I need more coaching.” The excuse sounds thin even to my ears.

“More coaching?” Her brow furrows. “But you did wonderfully last night. All the feedback?—”

“Was positive, yes. But I was… performing.” At least that part is true. “I was saying what I thought they wanted to hear. I wasn’t being authentic.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Do you remember what you said at dinner? About how I seemed afraid of letting someone down?” I pace, trying to avoid her or myself, I don’t know.

“You were right. I am afraid. I’m afraid of promising someone a life I can’t deliver.

I’m afraid of being a disappointment as a partner when my country has to come first.”

“That’s… very self-aware of you.”

“Not really. I’ve been avoiding the truth for a long time.” I run a hand through my hair. “The truth is, I don’t know how to be a good partner. I know how to be a good prince. But those might be different things.”

“They don’t have to be,” she says quietly.

“Maybe not. But I need to figure that out before I waste these women’s time.” I gesture to the photos. “They deserve someone who knows what he can offer.”

She studies me for a long moment. “What are you suggesting, exactly?”

“More coaching. Different coaching.” I choose my words carefully. “Less about small talk and more about… how to be a good partner. How to balance duty and personal life.” What I’m really asking for is more time with her, but I can’t say that.

“That’s not typically the service I provide,” she says slowly.

“I understand. And I’m happy to adjust the contract accordingly for more pay.” I hold her gaze. “But I think it would be more honest than pretending I’m ready for the next step.”

She bites into her bottom lip, thinking, and forbidden thoughts race through my mind unbidden. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a taste of those lips…

“It would delay your timeline for finding a match.”

“I know.”

“And it would require a different approach from me.”

“I understand.”

She sighs. “Can I be frank, Hugo?”

“Please.” My heart flutters at her use of my first name, even though she’s said it plenty of times.

“I think you’re overthinking this. Dating is about getting to know someone. You don’t have to have everything figured out before you start.”

“Maybe not for normal people. But when I date, it’s national news. These women will have expectations. The country will have expectations. I just want to be sure I’m not setting everyone up for disappointment.”

Emily considers this, then nods slowly. “All right. I can adjust our program to include more… personal development before we proceed with second dates.” She gathers up the photos. “I’ll need to redesign our approach.”

Relief floods through me, followed immediately by guilt. Am I manipulating the situation just to spend more time with her? Well… yes. But I also meant what I said about not being ready.

There’s another part to it as well. I still intend on never marrying, and the longer I can draw out our time together, the more likely it is she will have to consider me a lost cause and quit.

“Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your flexibility.”

“It’s my job to help you find lasting happiness, Hugo. If this is what you need to get there, then that’s what we’ll do.” She closes her portfolio. “Anything else?”

Only everything else.

“I look forward to it.” I smile big.

When she leaves, I return to my office and sink into my chair, feeling both victorious and ashamed. I’ve bought myself more time with Emily, more time to turn this tide in my favor, but at what cost? I’m not being honest with her, and that turns me into someone I do not want to be.

But when I close my eyes, I see her smile again, and that uncomfortable heat blooms in my chest — part excitement, part guilt. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know I’m not ready to stop doing it yet.