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EMILY

M y suitcase gapes open on the bed like a hungry mouth, half-filled with a jumble of clothes I’ve already changed my mind about three times.

The ceiling fan whirs overhead, stirring the warm air but doing little to cool my flushed face as I press my phone between my ear and shoulder and fold a silk blouse for the fifth time.

“I still can’t believe my best friend is going to a real palace to matchmake for an actual prince,” Nova says over the line. “You’re basically living out a Disney movie.”

“Except I’m not the one falling in love with the prince,” I remind her, tossing aside a sweater that’s too bulky. “I’m just finding him someone who will.”

“Details, details.” Her dismissive tone makes me smile despite my packing stress. “So you’re really going to be there for several weeks? In a palace? With servants and everything?”

I pause, holding up a cocktail dress that might be too fancy — then again, maybe not fancy enough for royal events. “That’s what they said. The queen wants this done properly, which means I need to understand the prince’s environment, his duties, the?—”

“The eligible women of the Marzieu upper crust,” Nova finishes for me.

“Exactly.” I fold the dress carefully and tuck it into the corner of my suitcase. “Which means I need clothes for every occasion. Casual meetings, formal dinners, outdoor activities — who knows what they’ll have me doing.”

“You still haven’t told me how this even happened. One minute you’re matching Hollywood’s elite, and the next you’re flying to Europe for royalty?”

I sit on the edge of my bed, pushing aside a pile of shoes. The memory of that phone call still makes my stomach flip with excitement.

“Okay, so I was sorting through profiles for that new client — the tech CEO who wants someone ‘authentic’ but also happens to look like a supermodel.”

“Aren’t they all like that?” She snorts.

“Pretty much.” I laugh, leaning back against my pillows as I continue the story.

“So, I’m sitting there with these files spread across my desk when Micah comes in and says I have a phone call from the royal palace of Marzieu.

And his face was so serious that for a second I thought he was pulling my leg. ”

Even though my assistant isn’t known for practical jokes, I had trouble believing an actual European palace was calling. Why me? Why then?

Nova gasps appropriately, fully invested in my story. “What did you do?”

“I laughed! I literally laughed in his face and said, ‘Good one! Who is it really?’ But Micah just stood there, his eyes wide, and said, ‘I’m not joking, Emily. They’re holding for you right now.’”

I remember how my heart had skipped then, a sudden fluttering of disbelief and wild possibility. But the practical side of my brain immediately suspected a prank.

“So I took the phone, already planning how I’d get back at whoever was behind this.

I said, ‘This is Emily Neale,’ in my most professional voice.

And this man with an accent says, ‘Miss Neale, my name is Leon Duvall, head of royal appointments for the Palace of Marzieu. I’m calling on behalf of Her Majesty Queen Julia. ’

“I still thought it was fake. I actually said, ‘Right, and I’m calling on behalf of the Easter Bunny.’”

Nova lets out a surprised laugh. “You didn’t!”

“I did! I was so sure it was a friend playing a joke.” I cringe at the memory, grabbing a handful of socks from my drawer and tossing them into the suitcase.

“But it wasn’t. He asked if I would be willing to come to Marzieu for several weeks to work with the prince directly.

All expenses paid, plus my regular fee. He started explaining about accommodations at the palace and?—”

“Wait, you’re staying in the palace?” she interrupts, voice rising with excitement.

“Yes! In the guest wing.” I still can’t quite believe it myself. “Anyway, he was going through all these details, and then he casually mentioned they’d like me to fly out on Sunday.”

“Sunday as in, tomorrow?”

“Exactly!” I throw my hands up, nearly knocking over a stack of books on my nightstand. “I almost said it was too soon. I have other clients, appointments, my whole life here. But then I thought…”

“When a queen summons you to matchmake for a prince, you don’t say, ‘Maybe next month?’” Nova suggests.

“Precisely.” I laugh. “So, I told him I’d make it work. I’ve been rescheduling clients and prepping Micah to handle things while I’m gone ever since. It’s been absolute chaos.”

I return to my packing with renewed focus, pulling open my jewelry box to select pieces that will work for various occasions. My head is still spinning, and I’m glad that I have to do so much before I leave, otherwise I would be sitting around doubting whether I’m up to this job or not.

I need to keep reminding myself that the queen asked for me specifically. Apparently she saw my photo with Ricardo and — just like Nova predicted someone would — decided she had to hire me.

“So, what do you know about this prince?” Nova asks. “Is he handsome? Smart? A total mess who needs a miracle worker?”

“Well, after the call, I immediately looked him up.” I feel my cheeks warm slightly at the memory. “Prince Hugo Bastien of Marzieu. And, Nova… the man is gorgeous. Like, unfairly so.”

“Let me guess — tall, dark, and royal?”

“Six-foot-something, dark hair that looks like it’s always perfectly styled even when it’s messy, and these intense blue eyes that seem to look right through you.

” I recall the official photos I’d scrolled through, along with the candid shots from various events.

“But get this — according to all the articles I could find, he’s never had a serious girlfriend.

At least, not one that made it to the public eye.

He used to be quite the party boy until his father died five years ago, and since then it seems to be all work, no play. ”

“So, either he’s incredibly private, or…”

“Or I have my work cut out for me,” I finish her thought, frowning at a pair of heels I’m not sure will be comfortable enough for palace hallways.

“The articles paint him as this reformed playboy. As I said, he was quite the party prince in his twenties — yacht parties in Monaco, ski trips with models in Switzerland — the whole ‘rich royal bachelor’ package.”

I select another pair of shoes and add them to my suitcase. “But when his father died, he completely changed.”

“That’s a lot of pressure,” Nova notes, her voice softening. “Losing his dad and having to step up at the same time.”

“Exactly.” I pause my packing, thinking about the challenge ahead.

“That’s what worries me. The queen wants me to find him a match, but from what I’ve read, this man has made his royal duties his whole identity.

How do you match someone who doesn’t seem to have room in their life for a relationship? ”

“If anyone can figure it out, it’s you,” Nova says with complete confidence. “You’ve matched people with way more complicated issues… and it’s not like you have much room in your life for a relationship right now, so you can relate.”

That stings a bit, but only because it’s true.

“Maybe,” I say. “But I’ve never matched a prince before. The stakes feel higher somehow.”

“Just treat him like any other client,” Nova advises. “Prince or not, he’s still just a person looking for love — even if he doesn’t know it yet.”

I smile at her simplification of my task. “You make it sound so easy.”

“That’s why you’re the matchmaker and I’m just the best friend who gets to hear all the juicy details.

” She pauses. “Speaking of which, you better call me with regular updates. I want to know everything — what the palace looks like, what the prince is like in person, if there are any cute royal guards…”

“I promise.” I laugh, surveying my now packed suitcase with a critical eye. “I just hope I’m packing the right things. What does one wear when trying to find a prince his perfect match?”

“Clothes that make you feel confident. The rest will fall into place.”

After we say our goodbyes, I zip up my suitcase and set it on the floor beside my bed.

The challenge ahead is daunting, but it’s also exactly the kind that I live for.

Finding love for those who think they don’t have time for it, who’ve built walls around their hearts, who need a little help seeing what’s possible — that’s what I do best.

Prince Hugo Bastien might be my most high-profile client yet, but underneath the crown and royal protocols, he’s just a person. And everyone, even a prince, deserves to find their perfect match.