Page 19

HUGO

P ushing open the heavy oak door to my office, I feel the burden of the family crest staring back at me from its surface. The lunch with Lady Sophia still clings to me like a too-strong cologne — pleasant enough in theory but suffocating in reality.

Two hours of polite conversation about her charity work, her travels, her opinions on the latest fashion trends. All the while, my mind kept drifting elsewhere — to blond locks and piercing eyes that see through my practiced charm. To Emily.

Maurice catches the door before it closes behind me and pokes his head in. “Your Highness, Miss Neale is here for your meeting.”

My heart does a little skip that I immediately try to squash. Five years ago, I would have pursued Emily without hesitation — charmed her with the ease that once earned me the nickname “The Royal Heartbreaker” in tabloids across Europe. But that was before.

And now? Now I’m not even sure who I am. All thanks to her.

I smooth my hair, tug on my suit, everything about me suddenly seeming wrong. Emily walks in too soon, before I’m done primping and before I know what to say.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness,” she says, all business and no smiles. “How was your lunch?”

The memory of last night flashes between us — her telling me I need to stop attempting to hook up with her and me denying the accusation. Her words had cut through me, partly because they were true.

Yes, I had been flirting with her, standing too close, finding excuses to touch her arm or the small of her back. But also… there was more to it. Her claim wasn’t entirely accurate. What I wanted — what I want — isn’t just a hookup. Not anymore, that is.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

“The lunch was… informative,” I say, settling behind my desk. My fingers tap against the polished wood, a nervous habit I usually am good at stopping. “Lady Sophia is very knowledgeable about current fashion trends.”

Emily gives me a look that says she isn’t buying my lukewarm review. “And her charity work with children’s literacy? Did you discuss that?”

“Extensively.” I force enthusiasm into my voice. “She raised over two million euros last year alone.”

“And did you find her personally engaging?” she presses, pulling out her tablet to make notes.

I consider lying. Telling Emily that Lady Sophia captivated me would make her happy, would show I’m taking this seriously. But something in me rebels against the idea — mostly because it isn’t true.

“She’s perfectly pleasant,” I say carefully. “Intelligent, accomplished, beautiful. Everything a prince should want in a potential partner.”

Her fingers pause over her tablet. “But?”

“But I felt nothing,” I admit, running a hand through my hair. “No spark, no connection. Just… polite interest.”

A sigh escapes her, tiny but unmistakable. “Hugo, we’ve met with many eligible women since I got here. You’ve felt ‘nothing’ for all of them.”

“Not true,” I counter. “I thought the Duchess of … what is it? She had a wonderful laugh.”

“A wonderful laugh isn’t enough to build a marriage on… Although I suspect you still have no interest whatsoever in a marriage.”

“I know that.” My own frustration bubbles up, and I choose to ignore that last comment. “Don’t you think I know that? And it isn’t only my mother. The council reminds me daily that Marzieu needs stability. That a prince approaching thirty-one should be settled. That the royal line must continue.”

My hands feel numb on the desk, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as guilt. I’ve been sabotaging her efforts, at first because I wish to avoid marriage… but now partly because no one compares to the woman sitting across from me.

“I have news,” I say, changing tactics. “I received an invitation this morning. The French foreign minister is hosting a gala in Paris this weekend — very exclusive, very last-minute. Royalty, diplomats, industry leaders from across Europe will be there.”

“That sounds promising. Who will be attending?” Her response is robotic, her eyes guarded.

What does she really think of me? Is there any chance at all that somehow, some way, the two of us could turn into more than what we already are?

No. That’s insane. She hasn’t shown any interest in me, and I still do not wish for marriage. At least… I don’t think I do.

If I were to marry, though, it would be with a woman like her. No, it would have to be with her.

“Hugo?” she presses, and I realize that I haven’t answered.

I clear my throat, irrationally paranoid that she can read my thoughts.

“The guest list includes several of the eligible women we’ve been trying to arrange meetings with.

” I lean forward. “Three days of networking events, dinners, and parties. It’s the perfect opportunity to meet multiple prospects efficiently. ”

“It is,” she agrees, tapping away on her tablet. “I’ll prepare briefing documents on each woman and arrange?—”

“I want you to come with me,” I interrupt.

She looks up, surprised. “To Paris?”

“Of course to Paris. I need you there to facilitate introductions, to observe my interactions, to guide me.” I’m talking too fast, giving too many excuses. The truth is simple but harder to admit: I just want her there.

“Your staff can handle the logistics,” Emily says carefully. “I can prepare everything in advance.”

“It’s not the same.” I stand, moving around the desk to sit on its edge, closer to her. “You’re the expert. You notice things others miss. You can tell within minutes if there’s potential.”

Emily studies me, her gaze penetrating in a way that makes me feel exposed. “After last night… is this appropriate?”

I wince. “About that. I was out of line, and I apologize. It won’t happen again. This trip will be strictly professional.”

“You promise not to flirt with me? Not to stand too close? Not to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now?” Her voice is teasing but her eyes are serious.

I hadn’t realized I was looking at her in any particular way, but I straighten up and step back. “I promise to behave like the crown prince I am, not the party boy I was.”

She taps her finger against her lips, considering. “And you’ll genuinely try with these women? Give them your full attention? Actually make an effort to connect?”

“Yes.” The word feels like a betrayal of whatever unnamed thing is growing between us, but I say it anyway.

“Because I’m starting to feel like Sisyphus,” she continues, “pushing this boulder uphill only to watch it roll back down every time we make progress.”

“Greek mythology? Really?” I force a chuckle.

She doesn’t smile. “I’m serious, Hugo. If you’re not going to take this seriously, I need to know. I could return to LA. There’s plenty of work I need to catch up on there. I can’t spend my career failing at an impossible task.”

The thought of her leaving — not just this office or this trip, but leaving Marzieu, leaving me — hits like a physical blow. My breath catches.

“You would quit?” I ask, hating the vulnerability in my voice.

“If I believe I can’t succeed here? Yes.” Her face is gentle but determined. “I’ve built my reputation on results. Each year of my career has been more successful than the last. Until I came here.”

I feel a flash of anger, irrational but sharp. “So, I’m bad for your professional record? Sorry to be such a disappointment.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She stands and gazes up at me. “I want to help you find what you’re looking for. But I need to know what that is, and I need you to be honest — with me and with yourself. Are you really looking for a wife now, or are you just pulling everyone’s strings?”

The truth hovers between us, complicated and frightening. What am I looking for?

Someone who challenges me. Someone who sees past the crown to the man beneath. Someone who makes me want to be better. Someone like…

“I want a partner,” I say finally. “Not just a suitable match on paper. Someone I can talk to at the end of difficult days. Someone who understands the importance of this position but reminds me I’m still human.”

Her expression is unreadable. “Then let’s find that for you in Paris.”

“So you’ll come?”

She nods, but holds up a finger. “On one condition. You give each meeting your genuine attention. You open yourself to possibilities. Because if this trip is like the events we’ve had here — if you go through the motions while keeping everyone at arm’s length — then I’m done.

I’ll fulfill my contract through the end of the month, then I’m going back to LA. ”

The ultimatum lands heavy in my stomach, the thought of Emily leaving forever making my chest tight in a way I’m not ready to examine.

“Understood.” I extend my hand formally, as if we’re sealing a diplomatic agreement rather than a personal one. “I promise to be open, engaged, and serious about finding a connection.”

Her hand meets mine, warm and firm. That same electric current I always feel with her shoots up my arm, but I ignore it. I have to.

“Then we have a deal, Your Highness.” She releases my hand and steps away.

“Good. You’ll travel with the royal delegation, on my family’s jet.” I return to business mode, the comfortable mask I’ve perfected. “We leave tomorrow morning at eight.”

Emily nods and gathers her things, but at the door she pauses. “For what it’s worth, I do want you to find happiness, Hugo. That’s always been the goal. And not just because it’s my job.”

After she leaves, I stand at the window, watching as she crosses the palace courtyard below. The sunlight catches her hair again, and even from this distance, something about her pulls at me.

I’ve made a promise to take this Paris trip seriously, to open myself to finding a suitable royal match. And I will. Perhaps Emily and my mother are starting to break me, or perhaps I am simply coming to see that my mother and my advisors are right. Marriage is the logical next step for me.

But as I watch Emily disappear from view, I wonder if I’ve made a promise I can’t keep — if finding the perfect princess is even possible when my thoughts are filled with the woman who’s supposed to be helping me look.

Three days in Paris. Three days to save my working relationship with Emily, even if it means burying whatever else might exist between us.

Perhaps it was all a silly fantasy anyway, and it is time to come back to reality, to come back to my duty. Once Emily returns home, she will forget about me and move forward with her life.

If I know what is best for me, I should do the same.