Page 16

EMILY

B y the time my alarm goes off, I’ve already been staring at the ceiling for hours. Sleep abandoned me somewhere between “how to teach a prince to be a good partner” and “why does my heart flutter when he smiles?”

My notebook sits on the nightstand, covered in scribbled relationship advice that looks ridiculous. How am I supposed to teach someone about love when the longest relationship I’ve had lasted three months and ended when he called me “aggressively cheerful”?

For the first time, I’m doubting that I actually know anything about love at all. Sure, I’ve matched people… but do I really understand anything beyond basic, initial chemistry?

Matching other people isn’t the same as being in a relationship yourself. And teaching a prince how to be a good partner isn’t exactly covered in the matchmaker handbook. I’ve spent my career analyzing compatibility, chemistry, conversation flow — not teaching relationship skills.

After showering, I discover a text from Hugo, asking me to meet him in his office. He looks up when I enter it, and his smile is warm enough to melt the polar ice caps. The heat from it touches my heart and spreads through my body, making me go weak in the knees.

“Emily.” He says my name like it’s something pleasant to taste, which I don’t get. What is he playing at now? “I hope you slept well?”

“Like a baby,” I lie, setting my bag down. “Ready for your first day of relationship boot camp?”

He laughs, and I notice the same shadows under his eyes that I tried to hide this morning. Did he sleep as poorly as me? But why? “Certainly,” he says.

I perch on the edge of a chair and try to look like I know what I’m doing. “I’ve been thinking about our approach. Being cooped up in the palace all day isn’t ideal for this kind of training. Maybe we should go somewhere else? Somewhere more… relationship-y?”

“Relationship-y?” Hugo repeats with an amused smile. “Is that a technical term in your profession?”

My cheeks heat up. “I just mean somewhere less formal. Real relationships happen in the real world.”

Hugo taps his pen against his desk, considering this. “What about my friend Guy’s horse ranch? It’s about thirty minutes from here. Peaceful, beautiful views.”

I blink in surprise. “You want to go today?”

“Why not? I can clear my afternoon.” He’s already reaching for his phone.

“But don’t you have meetings? Important prince stuff?” I gesture vaguely at the papers covering his desk.

He shrugs. “Nothing that can’t be rescheduled.”

I stare at him, bewildered. The palace staff whisper about how Prince Hugo never takes time off, how he works sixteen-hour days since his father died. Yet here he is, casually rearranging his schedule for our session.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, noticing my expression.

“No, it’s just… I heard you took yesterday afternoon off too.”

“I did.” He tilts his head. “Is that a problem?”

“No! Not at all. It’s good, actually. I just didn’t expect…” I trail off, not wanting to point out how out of character this seems.

“You didn’t expect me to take my romantic education seriously?” There’s a challenge in his voice, but his eyes are teasing.

“I didn’t expect you to be such an eager student,” I counter.

His face suddenly goes pink, and he turns away. “Then you’ve much to learn about me.”

I open my mouth but don’t have an answer. I expected to learn more about Hugo as time went on, but now I’m more confused by him each day. At this point, I don’t know what to expect when I walk into the room.

An hour later, we’re in a sleek black SUV with tinted windows, heading away from the city. Hugo sits beside me in the back seat, dressed in jeans and a simple button-down shirt instead of his usual suits. He looks younger, more relaxed, and somehow even more attractive.

Which is becoming a problem.

“I should warn you,” I say, fiddling with the strap of my purse. “I’ve never actually been around horses before.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Never?”

“I grew up in a city. My parents did, too. The closest I got to a horse was the carousel at the mall.”

He laughs, the sound filling the car. “Don’t worry. The horses at Guy’s ranch are very gentle. And you’ll have an excellent teacher.”

“You’re going to teach me to ride?” The thought sends a nervous shiver down my spine.

“Unless you’d prefer Guy. He’s technically the expert.”

“No,” I answer too quickly. “I mean, I trust you.”

Something warm passes between us, a moment that stretches just a beat too long. I look away first, pretending to be fascinated by the countryside rolling past the window.

The ranch appears gradually — first a white fence stretching along the roadside, then rolling green fields, and finally a cluster of rustic buildings nestled against a backdrop of distant hills. It’s like something from a painting, all soft colors and open space.

As we pull up to the main house, my stomach knots with anxiety. What if the horses don’t like me? What if I fall off and embarrass myself? What if this whole idea was a terrible mistake?

Hugo must sense my nervousness because he places his hand briefly on mine. “You’ll be fine. I promise.”

The touch is fleeting but leaves my skin tingling. I nod, not trusting my voice, and follow him out of the car.

A smiling man about our age comes striding across the yard to meet us. “Oh, look. The prince himself, gracing us commoners with his presence.”

Hugo grins and embraces the man in a back-slapping hug. “Guy, this is Emily Neale. Emily, Guy is my oldest friend and the owner of this magnificent place.”

We’ve been here for less than a minute, and Hugo is already the happiest I’ve ever seen him. I have to force my mouth closed from all the gawking.

Guy turns his appraising gaze to me. “So you’re the famous matchmaker. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine,” I say, shaking his hand.

“Midnight and Cinnamon are in their stalls,” Guy tells Hugo.

“Thank you,” he nods. “I want to take Emily on the loop.”

Guy walks us to the stables, where everything is a new experience for me, from the smell of hay and animals to the sunlight streaming through the high windows. It’s cooler in here and surprisingly clean. Several horses peer curiously at us over their stall doors.

“First lesson,” Hugo says, guiding me toward a chestnut-colored horse with a white blaze down its nose. “How to approach a horse without scaring it.”

“Can I scare something that’s ten times my size?” I ask skeptically.

Hugo and Guy both laugh. “You’d be surprised,” Guy says. “Horses are prey animals. They spook easily.”

“Always approach from the front or the side, never from the back,” Hugo explains. “Let them see you coming. Speak softly so they know you’re friendly.”

I follow his instructions, moving slowly toward the chestnut horse, murmuring hello in what I hope is a soothing tone. The horse watches me with liquid brown eyes, ears flicking forward with interest.

“Now, offer your hand, palm up, and let her sniff you,” Hugo says. “This is Cinnamon. She’s perfect for beginners.”

My hand trembles slightly as I extend it. Cinnamon’s velvety nose tickles my palm, and I can’t help but giggle.

“She likes you,” Guy observes. “Good sign.”

Hugo shows me how to stroke Cinnamon’s neck, how to stand so she feels comfortable.

His hands occasionally guide mine, each touch sending a jolt of awareness through me.

This is definitely a mistake. How am I supposed to focus on teaching him anything when I can barely remember my own name when he stands this close?

“Ready to meet my horse?” Hugo asks after I’ve gotten comfortable with Cinnamon.

I nod, and he leads me further down the stable aisle to a stall housing a magnificent black horse that seems to shine blue in the sunlight.

“This is Midnight,” he says with unmistakable pride. “I’ve had her since she was a foal.”

Midnight is larger than Cinnamon, with an air of dignity and power. She nickers softly when she sees Hugo, stretching her neck over the stall door to nudge his shoulder affectionately.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, hanging back slightly.

“It’s okay, she’s gentle.” He takes my hand again — I’m starting to think he knows exactly what that does to me and he’s just trying to make me uncomfortable — and guides it to Midnight’s sleek neck.

“When did you get her?” I ask.

“High school. A gift from my father.”

The wistfulness in his voice is barely there, but I pick up on it anyway.

“You must miss him,” I say softly.

His eyes meet mine, surprised by my perception. “Every day. But especially here. He loved this place.”

The moment hangs between us, tender and raw. Guy clears his throat from down the aisle.

“If you two want to get that ride in before lunch, you’d better saddle up,” he calls.

The spell broken, Hugo steps back. “Right. Let me show you how to get Cinnamon ready.”

The next half hour is a blur of learning to brush horses, understand saddles, and figure out stirrups.

I’m clumsy and nervous, but Hugo is patient, explaining everything clearly and demonstrating when I get confused.

By the time I’m finally sitting atop Cinnamon, I feel like I’ve accomplished something monumental.

“Look at you,” Hugo says, swinging effortlessly onto Midnight’s back. “A natural.”

“A natural disaster, maybe.” I grip the saddle horn like it’s my only link to survival. “She’s so tall!”

“You’re doing great. Just relax. Horses can sense if you’re tense.”

“That’s not helping me relax!”

Hugo laughs. “Just breathe. I’ll lead you, and we’ll go nice and slow.”

True to his word, we start at a gentle walk, following a well-worn trail that winds through meadows dotted with wildflowers. Gradually, I begin to relax, to feel the rhythm of Cinnamon’s movements beneath me.

“This isn’t so bad,” I admit after we’ve been riding for a while.

“Told you,” Hugo says, looking so natural on horseback it’s like he and Midnight are one creature. “Nothing beats riding for clearing your head.”

The sun warms my shoulders, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of grass and flowers. Despite my initial fear, I find myself enjoying the peaceful pace and beautiful surroundings. It’s the perfect setting for a heart-to-heart talk.

“So,” I begin. “About your relationship training. I thought about it a lot last night. The thing is, I’m not really qualified to teach relationship skills directly.”

“You’re a matchmaker,” he points out. “Surely that counts for something.”

I hesitate, then decide honesty is best. “I’ve never actually been in a long-term relationship myself.”

He pulls gently on Midnight’s reins, bringing her to a stop. Cinnamon halts beside them. “Never?”

“Never,” I confirm, feeling my cheeks warm under his scrutiny. “I’ve dated, of course. But nothing that lasted more than a few months.”

“Yet you’ve successfully matched couples?”

I nod. “I understand compatibility. I can see when two people will work well together. I just haven’t found that for myself yet.”

Hugo considers this, his expression thoughtful. “So, you’re a physician who doesn’t take her own medicine?”

“More like a chef who hasn’t found her favorite dish yet,” I counter. “But my parents have been married for forty years. I’ve learned a lot from watching them.”

“Like what?” Hugo asks, genuinely curious.

We start riding again, side by side where the trail widens.

“Well, my dad says the secret is three things: listening, compromise, and never going to bed angry.” I tick them off on my fingers, nearly losing my balance in the process. Hugo reaches over to steady me, his hand warm on my arm.

The touch nearly makes me come undone, and I force my attention back to the task at hand. The work. What’s important.

“My mom says it’s about choosing someone whose flaws you can live with,” I say. “Because the butterflies eventually fade but the annoying habits don’t.”

He laughs. “Your mother sounds pragmatic.”

“She is. But they’re also still madly in love. Dad brings her coffee every morning. Mom still gets dressed up for their date nights. They hold hands when they walk together.”

“Hmm,” he says, but it doesn’t sound real. It’s like he’s thinking about something else.

“You really want this?” I ask. “To find a wife? Because you’ve been pushing against it the whole time.”

He stares straight ahead as he rides. “I cannot put it off forever, so I’ve come to accept that I should do it now, while I have the help of a qualified matchmaker.”

“Plus, if I don’t do it, your mother will find you someone.”

He gives me a sharp look.

“She told me about that deal,” I add.

His attention turns back to the trail. “There’s a beautiful creek a mile away. The water is clear as glass.”

I blink at him in confusion. So now he doesn’t want to talk about this?

“Let’s focus on how to be attentive to a partner’s needs,” I say, trying to direct the attention back to why we came out here. "How you can show someone you care through actions, not just words.”

As I launch into advice I’ve gleaned from books and observation rather than experience, I feel like a fraud.

Worse, I feel distracted by the way the sunlight catches in Hugo’s dark hair, by the gentle strength in his hands as he handles the reins, by the intelligence in his eyes when he looks at me.

This has to stop. I need to recommit to the job — to helping Hugo find his perfect match. Even if it isn’t me.

Especially if it isn’t me. I need to be the matchmaker he hired, not another woman falling for his charm.

Unless… it’s already too late.

And if it is, I haven’t a clue what to do about it.