Page 23

HUGO

I stare at the same report I’ve been trying to read for twenty minutes, but the words keep swimming across the page like fish avoiding my attention.

The palace is quiet this early, just the occasional soft footsteps of staff in the hallway and birds chirping outside my window.

I should be focused on the agricultural proposal from the eastern province, but all I can think about is breakfast in thirty minutes with my mother and Emily — the woman who was supposed to find me a wife but instead stole my heart.

The leather chair creaks as I lean back, rubbing my eyes. My office suddenly feels too small, and I’m not sure what to do with myself.

I pick up a framed photo on my desk — my father and me sailing on his last birthday. His smile was already strained from the illness none of us knew about yet. What would he think of this mess I’ve created?

Pushing away from the desk, I walk to the window.

The palace gardens stretch out below, gardeners already at work in the cool morning air.

In thirty minutes, I’m supposed to sit across from Emily at breakfast and tell her and my mother how wonderfully the matchmaking process is going. I’m supposed to lie.

The memory of our kiss floods back without warning — her surprised gasp against my lips, the brief moment she responded before her hands pressed against my chest, pushing me away. Her eyes wide with shock as she stepped back.

But what if we could make it work? The thought has been circling my mind for days now, gaining strength like a hurricane over warm waters. What if I simply told the truth? Admitted — not just to Emily, but really to myself — that I am ready for something I have never had before.

I turn back to my desk, energy suddenly coursing through me. Everyone loves a good romance, don’t they? Even in royal circles, there’s precedent. My third cousin married his secretary, and after the initial scandal died down, the public adored them.

Emily’s business wouldn’t need to suffer — it might even thrive. The matchmaker so good at her job, she accidentally matched herself with a prince. I can almost see the headlines. Her reputation for finding true compatibility would be cemented, not damaged.

I pace the length of my office, rehearsing what I’ll say at breakfast. I’ll be respectful but honest. I’ll make it clear this isn’t a whim or a game.

Yes, I have been purposefully disrupting her attempts to match me with a woman, but that was something different.

I know what I want now, and what I want is?—

Three quick knocks on the closed door interrupt my thoughts.

“Come in,” I call, expecting Maurice with the morning’s updated schedule.

Instead, Emily steps into my office, and my heart does that ridiculous skipping thing that makes me feel fifteen instead of nearly thirty-one.

She’s dressed in a simple dress, her hair pulled back neatly, a tablet clutched in her hands like a shield.

I start to smile, but then something about her expression makes my stomach twist.

“Emily,” I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. “Good morning. I was just… thinking about you.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I wince. So much for my well-rehearsed speech.

“Your Highness,” she says, and that formality makes my heart sink even before she continues. “I apologize for the unexpected visit. I know we’re meant to meet for breakfast soon, but I wanted to speak with you privately first.”

“Of course.” I gesture toward the sitting area near the fireplace. Two armchairs face each other across a small table; it’s much more intimate than the grand desk. “Please.”

She hesitates, then crosses the room with measured steps and sits on the very edge of a chair. I take the other, trying to read her expression. Her usual warm confidence seems muted, replaced by something more guarded.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, knowing it is likely a ridiculous question. After everything that has?—

“I received a phone call last night. From Los Angeles.”

“Los Angeles?” I repeat, confused. “From your friend Nova?”

A flash of surprise crosses her face. “You remember my friend’s name?”

“Of course I do.” I shrug. “You mentioned her.”

“Once.” She clears her throat. “Yes, well, the call was related to Nova. She knows a TV producer who has… they’ve approached me with an opportunity. They want me to host a new dating show. It’s a big platform, national audience, completely different from what I’ve been doing, but… good.”

“A television show?” I lean forward. “That’s… unexpected.”

“It is,” she agrees. “But it’s an incredible opportunity. The producer said they’ve been following my work, and they think I’d be perfect for the format they’ve developed.”

Something cold settles in my stomach. “When would this start?”

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you.” She looks down at her hands, then back up at me with determined eyes. “They need me in LA for meetings as soon as possible. I’ve accepted the offer. I’ll be leaving Marzieu today.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. “Today? But what about—” I gesture vaguely, meaning everything — the matchmaking process, my mother’s expectations, the kiss… us.

“I’ve arranged for a colleague, David, to take over your case,” she says, sounding like a robot. “He’s extremely capable, and I’ll brief him thoroughly on the four remaining candidates. Your schedule of dates won’t be disrupted.”

I stand up, suddenly unable to sit still. “This is very sudden.”

By sudden , I really mean disappointing. Crushing.

She remains seated, watching me with careful eyes. “It is. But sometimes the right opportunity comes at the right time.”

“Is that what this is?” I ask, unable to keep the edge from my voice. “The right opportunity at the right time?”

She stands too. “Your Highness?—”

“Hugo,” I correct automatically. “Please.”

“Hugo,” she says, and my name in her voice still does something to me, even now. “I think we both know I need to remove myself from this situation. After what happened…” She doesn’t finish the sentence, doesn’t need to.

“The kiss,” I say bluntly. “You can say it. I kissed you, and you pushed me away.”

“Yes.” A flush of color rises in her cheeks. “And that’s exactly why I need to go. I’ve crossed a professional boundary, even if I tried to correct it immediately. The integrity of my process is compromised.”

I take a step toward her. “What if I don’t want another matchmaker? What if I don’t want any of the four women you’ve selected?”

She takes a step back, maintaining the distance between us. “Then David will find new candidates. Or perhaps you should consider a different service altogether.”

“That’s not what I meant.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Emily, what if the reason none of these matches feels right is because?—”

“Please don’t,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “This is exactly why I need to leave. Prince Hugo, I’ve never had this much trouble finding someone a match before. You’re—” She stops, seeming to search for words.

“I’m what?” I ask, a sense of dread building.

Her expression hardens slightly, her professional mask slipping into place.

“You’re beyond help. You say you want one thing, but your actions suggest something else entirely.

You claim you don’t want to marry, and yet you say you will humor us with dates.

You say you’ve outgrown your playboy past, but at the first opportunity, you?—”

“Kiss the woman I’m genuinely attracted to?” I finish for her.

She flinches slightly. “Compromise the professional boundaries of someone trying to do their job,” she corrects. “I can’t help you if you won’t be honest about what you really want. And I certainly can’t help you if you… if we …” She shakes her head. “This is precisely why I’m leaving.”

Each phrase lands like a small knife. Beyond help. Not serious. Still a playboy. Is that really how she sees me? After all our conversations, after everything I’ve shared about my commitment to Marzieu?

“I see,” I say, my voice hollow.

“I’m sorry,” she says, and she does sound genuinely regretful. “I’ll still attend breakfast with Her Majesty to explain the transition process. David will arrive tomorrow to take over.”

I want to argue. I want to tell her she’s wrong about me. I want to explain that I kissed her because after days of talking, of her actually seeing me as a person and challenging me, I felt something real. But the certainty in her eyes stops me. She’s made up her mind.

“Will you at least consider?—”

“No,” she says firmly. “This is for the best. For both of us. For your future and mine.” She glances at her watch. “I should go prepare for breakfast. I’ll see you in the Blue Dining Room at eight.”

With that, she turns and walks to the door, her steps quick and decisive. She pauses with her hand on the doorknob, and for one wild moment, I think she might turn back, might say she’s reconsidered.

“Good luck, Your Highness,” she says instead, not looking back. “I truly hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a slam would have.

I stand frozen in the middle of my office, my carefully planned speech unspoken, my hopes deflated. The silence rings in my ears. Beyond help, she said.

Was it pointless to even hope that something could happen between the two of us? To imagine we could be more than a passing fantasy?

Is there a way to turn things around? To convince Emily that she’s wrong about me, and I can be the man that she wants and needs? Sitting at my desk, I drop my head in my hands and wait, but I sit and sit, and an answer does not come.