Page 36 of Royally Matched

Princess Amelia arches an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

“They’re getting to know one another,” I reply as I watch Enzo telling her something. She smiles the smile I’ve seen in photos, the one that falls south of her eyes. Well south.

“What do you really think of it all? Are they insane, or what?” she asks, surprising me with her bluntness.

“It’s certainly one way to form a partnership,” I reply tactfully.

I’m trying to be diplomatic, but she’s not making it easy with her unexpected directness—not to mention an opinion I agree with.

My comment elicits another arch of her eyebrow. “Come with me,” she says in a conspiratorial tone. Without waiting for my response, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me across the room and out a set of double French doors onto a large balcony, overlooking the beautiful gardens—the gardens I would love to get my hands on someday.

#gardengoals

She rounds on me. “I think this whole thing is total and utter madness.”

Talk about not beating about the bush.

I press my lips together to stifle a smile. “In what way?”

“In all the ways possible! For starters, who wants an arranged marriage?”

“Well, your sister and my brother, it would seem.”

She tsks. “Sofia’s only going through with this whole thing because she doesn’t want to have to put herself out there and risk having her heart broken.”

The word “candid” doesn’t even begin to describe this princess. I’m not quite sure how to respond. But it would seem Amelia doesn’t need a response from me. She’s on a roll.

“So what if he’s right for her on paper in her silly spreadsheet? Anyone can look good on paper, even a hardened criminal if you leave certain details out! It doesn’t mean a jot, not when it comes to affairs of the heart.”

My ears prick. “Your sister’s got a spreadsheet?”

“That’s how she chose your brother for this whole scheme. He checks more boxes than anyone else, apparently. Isn’t that ridiculously insane?”

A spreadsheet to select your life partner, the person to be by your side for probably fifty years or more, to have children with, to form a life with? Well, isn’t that far too clinical? It misses all the nuances of what makes a relationship, the little things that add up to love.

If I wasn’t against the whole idea already, I sure as heck am now.

Not that Enzo is likely to listen to me. I bet he’d think the whole spreadsheet thing is a great idea.

“Sofia assumes that if someone is good on paper they’ll be good in real life, too. But what about love? What about friendship? What about really fancying the pants off someone?” She looks me squarely in the eyes.

I swallow, nervous. How am I meant to respond tothis…oversharingof information? For starters, I’ve only just met this opinionated princess, and then there’s the wholeshe’s a member of the royal familything to contend with, not to mention she could one day be my sister-in-law. It’s a minefield of royal protocol, and I’m stuck in the middle, holding a detonation device, unsure of which direction to take.

Princess Amelia’s eyes widen at my silence. “You agree with me, don’t you, Marco? You think this is all absolutely ludicrous and they shouldn’t be going through with this utter farce, let alone getting engaged.”

“Please don’t go putting words in my mouth, ma’am.” I second guess myself. “If I’m allowed to say that?”

“Of course you are. And it’s Amelia, remember? Not ma’am. Ma’am makes me feel like an octogenarian, and I’m twenty-three.” Then she adds, “And a half.”

“I’m sure the half makes all the difference.”

“It does, actually.” She stares through the window at her sister and Enzo. “We need to put a stop to it. You’re the one who swooped in and saved her from that proposal at the ball. Why don’t you do that again now?”

“It’s an entirely different situation.”

“I suppose. But it needs to happen.”

“Are you serious?”

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