Page 35 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

The thought grips me, unexpected and consuming. I imagine leaning in, brushing her lips with mine, feeling her soften against me. My hands on her waist, pulling her closer. Her fingers grazing my jaw?—

I slam my palm against the wall, cutting off the thought before it can spiral further.

This is insane.

I can’t do this. I won’t do this.

Sophie Davis is off-limits. She’s here for Riley and Ethan’s wedding, nothing more. And she’s made it clear that she doesn’t need—or want—anything complicated.

I take a deep breath, the cold water doing its job as it cools the heat coursing through me.

The last time I felt this way about a woman, it didn’t end well. My life back at the castle taught me that emotions, attraction, even love—they’re liabilities. They’re weaknesses that can be exploited, used against you.

And Sophie? She’s not just a liability. She’s a walking reminder of everything I left behind.

Her poise, her confidence, the way she carries herself—it’s too close, too familiar. Other women are so easy to ignore, but Sophie isn’t.

I scrub a hand over my face, step out of the shower, and grab a towel.

This has to stop.

I can’t let myself get distracted. Not by her. Not by anyone.

As I sit on the edge of my bed, the towel draped around my shoulders, I make a silent promise to myself:

I’ll keep my distance from Sophie.

I don’t care how much she intrigues me or how drawn I feel to her.

Because letting her in? Letting her see the real me?

That’s a risk I’m not willing to take.

The drive back into Bardstown feels longer than usual. Maybe it’s the exhaustion weighing me down after a full day working with clients out of town. Orperhaps it’s the thought of seeing Sophie again after the way I bolted out of the flower shop yesterday.

I shouldn’t have left like that.

The moment still plays in my mind, a loop of her wide-eyed gaze locking with mine and the way I felt completely unmoored. I didn’t know how to deal with it then, and even now, I still don’t, but the least I can do is apologize.

When I pull into the parking lot of Mia’s flower shop, the sky is turning golden, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows on the ground. I grab my notebook from the passenger seat and head inside, bracing myself for whatever comes next.

As I step through the door, the familiar scent of flowers greets me, mingling with the soft hum of conversation. Mia is standing behind the counter, chatting with a customer, her hands deftly tying a ribbon around a bouquet.

And then I see Sophie.

She’s sitting on the desk, staring intently into the screen of her iPad as she works. She has a pen and journal beside her on the table, where she scribbles occasionally. Her back is to me as she works, wholly buried in what she is doing; she doesn’t even hear my footsteps as I walk toward her.

“Hey,” I say, standing behind her as she finally turns to look at me.

“Hi,” she says, her voice polite but distant, before returning to her task.

I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Usually, she’s the one who breaks the ice, filling the silence with herbubbly chatter. But today, the air between us feels heavier, more strained.

Mia notices, of course. She always does.

“Graham,” she says brightly, gesturing for me to come closer. “Good to see you. You look like you’ve had a long day.”

I shrug, setting my notebook down on the counter. “Just a lot of driving.”

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