Page 5

“Ms. Neale.” He waves his hand at one of the two seats in front of the desk. “Please sit.”

I do, placing my bag on the floor. “Thank you for meeting with me, Your Highness. Though I was under the impression our appointment was at two o’clock.”

A flash of something — irritation? amusement? — crosses his face so quickly I almost miss it. “My apologies. An urgent matter with the finance minister required my attention.”

It sounds rehearsed, like an excuse he’s used many times. I decide to let it go. For now.

“I understand. Shall we make the most of our remaining time?” I pull out and open my tablet. “I’d like to start by understanding what you’re looking for in a partner.”

He sits back, his posture perfect, hands folded on the desk. “I assume my mother has briefed you on the situation.”

“She shared some background, yes. But I’d like to hear from you directly.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Very well. I require someone who understands the unique demands of royal life. Someone with appropriate education and social standing. Someone diplomatic, poised, and discreet.”

I write this down, though it sounds more like a job description than a romantic wish list. “And what about personal compatibility? Shared interests? Emotional connection?”

I already know that getting an answer out of him will be like pulling teeth, but going through my standard protocol seems the best icebreaker to use. And it’s really a sense of his personality that I’m after at the moment — which will come through as I talk with him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Those are secondary considerations.”

“Secondary?”

“Ms. Nelson.” His tone is patient, as if explaining something to a child.

“Neale,” I correct, though he continues on as if he doesn’t hear me.

“I am not looking for a romantic fantasy. I am looking for a partner who understands that this arrangement is about duty, not love.”

I sit back, studying him. His face gives nothing away. “With all due respect, Your Highness, that’s not what I do.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not in the business of arranged marriages. I was brought here to help you find real love. A genuine connection.”

“Ah.” His lips curve into what might technically be a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I see my mother has misrepresented the situation.”

“Has she?” I lean forward. “Or have you convinced yourself that love isn’t something you need or deserve?”

His eyes narrow slightly, the only indication that my words have hit a nerve. “My personal feelings are irrelevant. I have responsibilities that take precedence.”

“Your mother had those same responsibilities. So did your father. Yet they found love together.”

“My parents’ situation was different.”

“How?” I challenge.

He stands abruptly, walking to the window. His back is to me when he speaks again. “My mother has romantic notions about matchmaking. I agreed to this process to appease her, nothing more.”

I stand too, gathering my things. “Then I’m afraid we’re at an impasse, Your Highness. Because I don’t match people who are just looking to ‘appease’ someone else.”

He turns, surprise evident in his face. Perhaps people don’t often walk away from princes.

If he really won’t budge, though, I won’t press him.

I’m not above backing out of a job once I realize it’s a hopeless situation.

I would rather quit than end up failing and have that become part of my reputation.

“I believe in what I do,” I continue. “I believe everyone deserves to find their person — the one who makes everything else make sense. Even stubborn princes who think love is beneath them.”

His jaw tightens. “I never said?—”

“You didn’t have to.” I tuck my tablet under my arm. “I see how busy you are.” I nod at the phone on his table, which is lighting up with a silent call. “Perhaps we can try again tomorrow, if you’re actually interested in the process I was brought here for.”

For a moment, he looks thrown off balance, which I suspect doesn’t happen often. Then his expression smooths over, becoming unreadable again.

“My assistant will contact you to reschedule,” he says formally.

I nod and turn to leave. At the door, I pause and look back. “For what it’s worth, Your Highness, duty and love aren’t mutually exclusive. The best partnerships strengthen both.”

I don’t wait for his response before I walk out, my heart pounding. I’ve never spoken to a client like that before. But then, I’ve never had a client who seemed so determined to avoid happiness.

Was coming here the wrong thing? Should I go ahead and cut my losses? Return the payment and apologize to the queen before explaining that her son is beyond help? Because if I can’t match Hugo… if I fail…

I bite my bottom lip. Word hasn’t yet gotten out that I’m working for the palace, but it’s only a matter of time before it does.

If I crash and burn this job, it’ll tank my reputation.

But if I succeed… I’ll enter a new level of visibility.

I might be able to start expanding the business, opening new offices and training other matchmakers, just like I’ve been dreaming of the last year.

So, there’s only one option. I have to succeed. Sure, this prince is stubborn — but you know what?

So am I.