Page 18

EMILY

S ighing, I sit back in my office chair and gaze at the calendar I’ve confirmed with Hugo’s assistant. Four dates spread out over the next week and a half.

It was challenging making time for him to see some of the women from the speed-dating event, but I made it happen — even with my chest feeling like it was being wrung the whole while.

I’m not stupid. I know that the longer I stay here, the harder it will be for me to move on from this crush on Hugo. The sooner I find his princess, the sooner I can go home and forget about his crooked smile and the way he rubs the back of his neck when he’s uncomfortable, about the way?—

My cell rings, making me jump in my seat.

“Hello, this is Emily,” I answer, not recognizing the number.

“Miss Neale.” The voice is clipped and proper. “Her Majesty requests your presence at dinner tonight. Just yourself, Prince Hugo, and the queen. Seven o’clock sharp in the Blue Dining Room.”

My stomach drops. Dinner with the queen? “Of course,” I say, trying to sound like dining with royalty is no big deal. “Please tell Her Majesty I’d be honored.”

“She also requests a brief update on your progress with the prince’s matches.”

“I’ll be prepared,” I say, though I have no idea what I’ll actually tell her. That her son is still allergic to the idea of finding a wife? That I’m pretty sure he only asked me to “coach” him as a way to delay progress?

“Formal attire,” the voice adds before hanging up.

Great. A high-pressure dinner where I have to explain why I haven’t made more progress with a reluctant prince. While wearing a fancy dress. Perfect.

At five to seven, I make my way to the Blue Dining Room in one of the dresses I picked up in the city the other day after days of being chronically underdressed. Turquoise and floor-length, it feels like I’m playing dress-up.

The doors open, and a stone-faced butler gives me a slight nod. “Miss Neale. Her Majesty and His Highness await.”

The Blue Dining Room is actually blue — from the velvety walls to the delicate china plates. It’s smaller than I expected, intimate almost, with a table that could seat twelve but is only set for three. Hugo stands when I enter, and his eyes widen slightly.

“Emily,” he says, and the way my name sounds in his deep voice makes my knees wobbly. He’s wearing a dark suit that fits him perfectly, making his shoulders look even broader than usual. “You look… different.”

“Different?” I repeat, unsure if that’s a compliment.

His ears turn pink. “Good different.”

“Emily,” the queen says, saving her son from further embarrassment. She doesn’t stand, but she gives me a small nod. “Please, join us.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Your Majesty,” I say, placing my napkin on my lap like my mother taught me.

Don’t put your elbows on the table. Chew with your mouth closed. Basic stuff, but suddenly I’m terrified I’ll forget everything I know about table manners. Brunch with the queen was one thing, but this feels so much more formal. So much more serious.

“I thought it would be good to check in,” Queen Julia says as servants appear from nowhere to pour wine and place salads in front of us. “Hugo tells me the speed-dating event was… enlightening.”

Hugo coughs into his napkin. “Mother, I said it was interesting.”

“Interesting, enlightening.” She purses her lips the slightest amount, a silent question hanging in the air.

I take a sip of water to buy myself time. “Prince Hugo met several impressive women,” I say carefully. “I’ve already scheduled four follow-up dates for this week.”

“Four?” She looks pleased. “Excellent. Anyone in particular stand out?”

Hugo stares intensely at his salad, spearing a cherry tomato with unnecessary force.

“Lady Sophia seemed particularly compatible with His Highness,” I offer. “She’s well-educated, comes from a respected family, and shares his interest in environmental conservation.”

“Sophia…” the queen muses. “Baron Whitmore’s daughter? Yes, I know her mother. Good family.”

“She talked about trees nearly the whole time,” Hugo mutters.

“And yet you seemed to enjoy it,” I volley back.

“You love trees,” his mother says. “Your father and I couldn’t get you out of them as a child.”

I bite back a smile at the image of little Hugo, climbing trees and getting his royal clothes dirty.

The main course arrives — some kind of roast with vegetables arranged like a work of art.

I focus on cutting my meat into perfect little squares while the tension at the table thickens.

It feels like I’m failing at my job, even though I know the queen doesn’t blame Hugo’s stubbornness on me — she warned me how resistant he would be to matchmaking, after all.

I’m just not used to failing, along with… well, some… other things.

“Enough matchmaking talk,” Queen Julia says, taking me by surprise. “Emily, we know so little about you beyond your job. What is your life like in Los Angeles?”

I hastily swallow and dab my napkin at the corner of my mouth. “I work a lot, Your Majesty. I wish I could tell you it’s more exciting than that, but the only parties I go to are work-related… the celebrities I meet are clients…”

Her smile is sweet. “And what about a boyfriend? Do you have one?”

“I… I’m usually too busy helping others find love,” I admit. “But someday I’d like to find my perfect match.”

“Everyone deserves that.” For a moment, I see a flash of vulnerability beneath her regal exterior. “Even princes who think they’re too busy with affairs of state.”

Hugo sighs. “Mother…”

“I only push because I care, darling.” She reaches over and pats his hand. “I don’t want you to end up alone. Your father and I had many wonderful years together before he was taken too soon. That kind of partnership… it makes everything else bearable.”

Her words touch me, making me think again about how I need to get serious about finding my own happiness away from work.

“I know, Mother,” Hugo says quietly. “I just need to do this my own way.”

His gaze briefly flicks over to me, and heat rushes into my face. Why is he looking at me like that — so intensely?

“Which is why we hired Miss Neale,” the queen says, turning back to me with renewed energy. “Now, tell me about the other three women.”

By the time dessert arrives — a delicate lemon cake that melts on my tongue — I’ve detailed all four potential matches for Hugo, and the queen seems cautiously optimistic.

“Well, it sounds like you’re in good hands, Hugo,” she says, placing her napkin down. “Miss Neale clearly knows what she’s doing. Thank you for indulging an old woman’s curiosity and bringing me an update.”

“You’re hardly old, Mother,” Hugo says fondly.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, my son.” She rises from her chair, and Hugo and I quickly stand as well. “I’ll leave you two to discuss the details of these upcoming dates. I find I’m rather tired this evening.”

She crosses to Hugo and kisses his cheek, then gives me a nod. “Good night, Emily. Keep me updated on my son’s progress.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

As she leaves, a weight seems to lift from the room. Hugo’s shoulders relax, and he lets out a long breath.

“Nightcap?” he suggests, gesturing toward a sitting area near the fireplace.

I should say no. I should go back to my room and stay the hell away from this man unless I’m giving him pointers on how to make small talk. But instead, I hear myself say, “Sure. One drink.”

A servant appears with two crystal glasses of amber liquid before we even sit down. The chairs are close together, closer than they were at the dinner table, and at this point Hugo’s scent is a familiar one that draws me in right away.

“Your mother really loves you,” I say, taking a small sip of what turns out to be very good whiskey.

“She does,” he agrees. “Though her love can be suffocating at times.”

“She just doesn’t want you to be lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.” He swirls his drink. “I’m busy. There’s a difference.”

“Is there?” I ask.

He looks at me, his eyes reflecting the firelight. “You tell me. You’re the expert on relationships.”

I stare into my glass. “I think people can be busy and lonely at the same time. I think sometimes being busy is a way to avoid admitting you’re lonely.”

“Are you speaking from experience?” His voice is gentle.

I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “We’re not here to talk about me. We need to discuss your dates for this week.”

“About that…” He leans back in his chair. “I’m not sure I’m ready for more dates just yet.”

I frown. “What do you mean? I’ve already scheduled them.”

“I think I need more… coaching,” he says. “More preparation.”

“Hugo, I already gave you some coaching. How long are you going to draw this out for?”

He shakes his head. “I need more time.”

I study him, trying to figure out what’s going on. Is he really this nervous about dating, or is he stalling? “These dates are non-negotiable, Hugo. It’s literally why your mother hired me.”

“Can’t we push them back a week?”

“No.” I set my glass down firmly. “You’re going on these dates. End of discussion. You don’t need any more coaching. Read the books I gave you. Go to a family therapist or relationship coach. You’ll be fine.”

Something flickers across his face — surprise, maybe. He’s probably not used to people saying no to him.

“You’re very bossy for someone who works for me,” he says, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips.

“I work for your mother, not just you,” I correct him. “And my job is to find you a match, not to let you avoid social interaction.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But can we at least do something fun tonight? It’s still early.”

“Fun?”

“Yes, fun. You know what that is, right?” He leans forward. “Would you like to go down to the lake? It’s beautiful at night, and there’s a full moon.”

Warning bells go off in my head. The lake? At night? Alone with Hugo? This is exactly the kind of situation I need to avoid.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say slowly.

“Why not?”

Because I like you too much already. Because I keep imagining what it would be like to kiss you. Because you’re a prince, and I’m just doing my job.

“Because it’s inappropriate,” I say instead. “I’m here in a professional capacity.”

His eyes darken. “You came to my house yesterday. Besides, we’re just talking.”

“No, we’re not. You’re trying to…” I struggle to find the right words. “You’re trying to hook up with me instead of focusing on finding a real relationship.”

His expression shifts from surprise to hurt to anger in the span of seconds. “Is that what you think? That I’m trying to ‘hook up’ with you?”

My face burns. “Aren’t you?”

“No,” he says firmly. “I’m not.”

“Then what are you doing? Because it feels like you’re deliberately making my job harder.”

He stands abruptly. “I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable. That was never my intention.”

The formal tone is back, the prince mask slipping into place. I stand too, my legs unsteady.

“I should go to bed,” I say. “We both have an early start tomorrow. Your date with Lady Sophia is at noon.”

“I’ll be there,” he says stiffly.

“Good.”

We stand awkwardly for a moment, the fire crackling in the background. It’s tempting to think that I misread his intentions, but I won’t let him gaslight me. I know when a man is interested in a woman — that’s a big part of my job — and he’s hoping to bed me.

The old playboy prince isn’t completely dead after all, but that’s not my style. If something were to happen between the two of us — say, in an alternate universe — it would need to be more than a fling. I might be chronically single, but I’m also a relationship girl.

“Good night, Prince Hugo,” I finally say, retreating toward the door.

“Good night… Miss Neale.”

The return to formal titles stings more than it should; it feels like an intentional jab on his part. I hurry back to my room, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

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.