Royally Matched (Royally Kissed #2)

Chapter 3Sofia

Chapter 3

Sofia

I take a deep breath. This is it. This is the night I meet my future husband.

“Are you ready?” Alex asks. He’s wearing his red formal jacket with gold piping, the color matching the silk of my dress. Of course, being Alex, he looks utterly handsome and debonair. My brother has been the darling of the press ever since the first photo was snapped of him as a new-born. Once labelled the Party Prince—and, rather unsettlingly from a sister’s point of view, Prince McHottie—he’s now fully reformed, and the inner glow he has these days is all thanks to his fiancée, Maddie.

“You know, you really don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to,” he says, echoing our sister’s words. “There are other ways to meet men. Ways that aren’t quite so—” He pauses, and I know what word he’s about to land on.

“Tragic?” I offer.

I know that’s what he thinks. It’s what everyone thinks. The Pitiful Princess can’t find herself a man, so she has to get her daddy to arrange a ball to pick one for her. I would protest if it weren’t for the fact it’s true.

“Fairy tale,” he replies with a smile, surprising me. “But then you are a princess, so I suppose it goes with the territory.”

I lift my chin. “Fairy tales end with a happily ever after, if I’m not mistaken, and that’s what I’m hoping for tonight.”

He opens his mouth to say something, and I hold my index finger up. “Don’t remind me that some of the brothers Grimms’s fairy tales were often rather gruesome, because I don’t want to hear it.”

“Disney fairy tale?”

“Disney fairy tale.”

“Let’s get this story underway then,” he says. He nods at the herald, who is brandishing a large stick, ready to announce my arrival to the ballroom.

“Wait. Where’s Maddie?” I ask.

I’m stalling.

Don’t judge me. Tonight is a big deal.

“My fiancée is waiting for us in the ballroom.” He’s got that goofy grin on his face, the one he always gets when he talks about the woman he loves.

“You love saying ‘fiancée.’ ”

“Perhaps you’ll be saying it someday soon, too.”

Nerves zing through me like an ostrich across the African plains.

That’s the plan.

The heavy red curtain is pulled back and all eyes in the ballroom turn to look up at us, standing at the top of the grand staircase. The herald bangs his stick on the ground, and even though I’m expecting it, it makes me jump.

“Princess Sofia of Ledonia, escorted by her brother, Prince Alexander of Ledonia!”

I clutch onto Alex’s arm like he’s a lifebuoy. I pull my lips into a serene smile, as though Father throws a ball for me to find a husband every day of the week.

Inside of course is a different story entirely.

There’s a sea of men in dinner suits before me. Dashing men. Young men. Single men. Men who are all looking at me, waiting to see what I do.

“We’re walking down the stairs now,” Alex murmurs, and I grip onto his arm even tighter as we take one step at a time, our footsteps echoing the banging of my heart as I present the world with my Princess Sofia face, a pleasant smile and polite incline of my head.

The room is lit by chandeliers, the music soft and elegant—a string quartet, of course—and through the big windows, the lawns and trees are glowing in the setting sun.

It couldn’t get more romantic if it tried.

At the center, my parents are all smiles, watching me with pride. I know that me finally getting married will bring them so much joy, and I so want that, both for me and for my family.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs we’re immediately surrounded by my siblings, Max, Amelia, and my soon to be sister-in-law, Maddie .

“You made it down the stairs! Great start, sis,” my brother and the youngest sibling, Max says. He’s teasing me, but it’s gentle. He knows how much this means to me.

Everyone does.

“You look absolutely beautiful tonight, Sofe,” Maddie says as she grips my hands and kisses my cheeks. “You are lucky red is your color. It goes so well with your dark hair and eyes. Just like Alex’s.” She gives her fiancé a goofy grin, and he beams back at her.

Love . I look away.

“We have no choice in the matter,” Amelia says, her mouth twisted. “It’s red or red or red in this family. When you’re King, Max, you need to tell them we’re allowed to wear whatever color we feel like.”

“I think everyone looks wonderful,” I exclaim as I look around at them all. We’re all in in red, other than Maddie, who is in Malveauxian blue. The women are wearing tiaras, and the men look appropriately regal in their red jackets with gold buttons and blue sashes.

“Sofe, there are more men here than at a sports bar during the Superbowl,” Maddie observes in her utterly American way. “You’ve got your pick of the room, girl.”

“Oh, Sofia doesn’t need the pick of the room. She already knows who she wants,” Amelia says, and I shoot her look. “What? Everyone knows you’ve got a spreadsheet.”

“They do?” I squeak, utterly mortified—despite the fact I’m a big fan of my husband-finding spreadsheet.

“I haven’t heard about a spreadsheet. What’s it about?” Maddie asks.

I open my mouth to reply when Amelia jumps in for me. “She’s listed out all the attributes of the eligible bachelors invited tonight with some kind of weighting system so that she can work out who her perfect match is on paper. ”

So helpful, Amelia.

“That sounds really... sensible,” Maddie replies, and I can tell she’s trying to be supportive and it’s not her real opinion on the matter.

Both Amelia and Max snort, and Alex simply smiles as though he’s thinking of something else. There’s no point for guessing what: Maddie.

“It is sensible, Maddie. You’re right. Good on paper equals good in real life,” I reply with confidence. “Everyone knows that.”

I hope I’m right because oh, how I need good on paper to equal good in real life tonight.

Amelia crosses her arms. “No sizzle whatsoever.”

Again, with the sizzle?

“You probably don’t want to stand around talking to us, Sofe. I imagine you want to get in there and start schmoozing with all these blokes,” Alex says.

“There are an awful lot of blokes here, and not nearly enough women,” Max says as he looks around the room at the sea of faces.

“Duh,” Amelia replies. “That’s the whole point, dummy.”

“Next time let’s hold a ball for me. I want this room full of gorgeous women,” Max says, his eyes bright. “Imagine that. A roomful of gorgeous women, all here for me.”

“Sounds like Alex’s whole life,” Maddie replies, nudging her fiancé in the ribs. “Before he met me, that is.”

“You changed everything,” he murmurs as the two gaze at one another.

Good grief.

“Max, surely you’re not saying you want an arranged marriage, too?” Amelia questions.

“An arranged marriage? Are you mad? I just want to meet a bunch of gorgeous girls,” he replies with a cheeky grin, his eyes dancing at the idea.

“Looks like you’ll be filling your older brother’s shoes. Isn’t that right, Party Prince?” Amelia teases.

“He’s welcome to them,” Alex replies as he hooks an arm around Maddie’s waist. “I’ve got all I need right here.”

“I will gladly take those shoes from you, Alex,” Max replies with a bright smile. “Bring on the gorgeous girls.”

It’s fine for Max. He’s a full five years younger than me, and a male. Father won’t put any pressure on him to get married for years, and by then he’ll be about to become king when Father retires at sixty-five, and he can do whatever he wants anyway.

Life isn’t fair.

And yes, I know I sound like a petulant child. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the truth.

Father joins our group, accompanied by Mummy, both in red, of course, Mummy with a diamond and ruby encrusted tiara atop her head.

“Good evening, parental figures,” Max says.

“Parental figures,” Amelia says with a snort-laugh.

“Amelia. Decorum,” Mummy warns.

“Are you ready, Sofia?” Father asks, and right on cue, my nerves turn up a notch.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” I dart a furtive glance around the room. It really is filled with men, all of them here to meet me, only I don’t see it as quite as wonderful as Max would if the room were filled with women. To me, it’s all rather daunting.

Good thing I’ve already worked out who I want.

“Remember, my darling, this evening is for you and you alone.” Father places an arm around my waist and says quietly, “Is your Lord Strozzi here? ”

Heat claims my cheeks. “He’s not my Lord Strozzi, Father.”

His smile crinkles the skin around his eyes. “Not yet perhaps, my dear. But soon enough.”

“Ronan said he RSVPed, so I believe so.”

“Good, good. Now, we must circulate, as must you all. You in particular, my dear,” he says to me. “All of this is for you, after all.”

I do my best not to feel daunted. I fail. “Yes, Father.”

“Good luck, darling,” Mummy says before she and our father wander away, greeting guests.

Alex rubs his hands together. “Right, Sofe. Let’s get you meeting some of these potential husbands, shall we?” He collects a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and offers it to me.

“No, thanks. I want to keep a clear head tonight,” I say.

“Dutch courage?”

I look down at the glass before I sweep it up and take a hasty sip. The bubbles instantly tickle my nose, the liquid warming me as it slides down my throat.

Alex winks at me. “The Dutch have always been good with courage. Shall we start saying hello to this sea of men?”

“That’s what I’m here for, I suppose.”

I must look utterly terrified because Alex says, “Have another sip.” Which I do. Rather a large one, actually, draining the glass.

If Alex notices, he doesn’t say a word.

“How about those two over there?” He gestures at a couple of men, both of them tall with wide shoulders. They’re laughing about something and look approachable enough. I suppose I need to start somewhere, and I haven’t seen Enzo Revera yet .

My eyes land on the taller of the two men. He has dark blonde hair that’s longer and scruffier than the others, and his suit—far too small for him—strains at the seams, with sleeves and pants ending awkwardly short. His skin is tanned from the sun and he’s in possession of one of those square jaws heroes in movies always seem to have. Altogether he looks like he could do with a shave and a jolly good haircut, as far as I can see. He’s altogether too rough and… manly. Yes, that’s the word. He’s awfully manly .

Without warning, I feel a spark of attraction for him, my lizard brain activating, telling me, “He attractive man: together we make baby.”

I send that part of my brain packing, it’s little lizard suitcase in hand, off to the desert where it belongs. I need someone who’s polished and well-groomed, not this rugged, disheveled version in stark juxtaposition to the palace’s refined elegance.

I steal another look at him. He’s laughing at something the other man is saying, but when his eyes land on mine, his features immediately drop, as though he’s been caught by the teacher talking in class.

I suppress a smile. “I’ve got this, Alex. Go and enjoy your fiancée.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” I say with more confidence than I feel. Before I can change my mind, I step over to the men and say, “Good evening, gentlemen.”

The shorter one nudges his companion, Mr. Disheveled Manliness—because right now, I can’t think of a better way to describe this man before me. Mr. Disheveled Manliness . Yes. Definitely.

“Your Royal Highness,” the shorter one says, bending into a bow, and I can’t help but study the bald patch at the crown on his head, mainly because it’s right in front of my face and the light from the chandelier bounces off of it. “It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too,” I reply, holding my hand delicately in front of me, just as I was taught, smiling benevolently.

“I’m Austin Hargreaves, of the Santinoga Hargreaves. I’m sure you’ve heard of us. We’re big in lumber.” His olive skin and dark eyes remind me of my own.

“Lumber? Fascinating,” I say with a practiced smile.

He hasn’t let go of my hand yet, so I tug on it to release his grip.

“Sorry, I rather lost myself there for a moment,” Mr. Hargreaves says. “You’re so very beautiful, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” I murmur before I turn my attention to Mr. Disheveled Manliness, although I really should stop thinking of him in those terms. “And you are?”

“This is Duck,” Austin Hargreaves, evidently famous for lumber, says as he gestures at his friend.

“Duck?” I question. I allow my eyes to sweep over him once more.

Sue me. I’m still a woman, even if I have a spreadsheet.

Unlike the other men here, “Duck” doesn’t look totally put together. The buttons of his white shirt strain against his chest, which, I admit, I notice is sculpted, and I would guess, firm to the touch. His tousled hair more than skims his jacket collar, enhancing his rugged appeal, and I get the distinct impression this man isn’t often in a suit.

“It’s a nickname, Your Royal Highness. From back in high school,” the man called Duck replies, his voice deep and velvety—the kind of voice I could listen to all day long, allowing it to wash over me and envelop me in its velvety warmth, each word a soothing caress to my ears .

I could be getting a touch carried away right about now.

“I managed to shake the nickname once I left school, although Austin here hasn’t forgotten it,” he finishes.

“You’ll always be Duck to me,” Austin proclaims, his voice not nearly as dipped-in-honey-velvety as Duck’s. He proceeds to quack a couple of times, and then laugh at his own joke.

Duck shakes his head at him, smiling.

“Why Duck?” I’m eager to hear his voice once more—and avoid any more quacks from Mr. Lumber.

“It’s rather an embarrassing story, actually, ma’am,” Duck replies, and I notice for the first time his arresting bright blue eyes that seem to pierce through the grand hall’s opulence.

“I’ll tell it,” Austin says and immediately launches into the story. “Back in high school, Duck here had a mishap with a BBQ grill, after which he had to waddle around the place for days. It was hilarious. He walked like this.” Austin moves stiffly from one leg to the other, successfully pulling off a human embodiment of a duck, and I press my lips together to stifle a laugh.

“Thanks for that,” Duck says with a shake of his head.

“You’ve got to admit it was bloody funny at the time,” Austin says with a slap to Duck’s back.

“What was the mishap with the BBQ grill?” I ask, intrigued.

“Believe me, ma’am, you don’t want to know,” Duck replies.

“Oh, but I do want to know,” I insist. I’d quite like to take the opportunity to listen to his lovely voice some more.

Who knew a voice could be so alluring? Other than Barry White, of course.

It’s clear to me that this man is the exact opposite of the sort of husband I’m looking for, yet I find myself drawn to him, full to the brim with Amelia’s “sizzle.”

But this man proves that sizzle is totally overrated in the husband hunting stakes. Duck can’t be right for me on paper. But in person? Well, that’s another story all together.

So, I can allow myself a brief flirtation tonight, although that’s as far as it can ever go.

“Come on, Duck, tell the princess your story. I’m sure she wants to know all the gory details,” Austin teases.

Duck’s eyes slide from his friend back to mine. “I… err… sat on it,” he says with obvious reluctance.

“You sat on a BBQ? Was it hot?” I ask.

“Scalding.”

“That must have hurt,” I exclaim.

“Rather a lot as it turns out,” he replies, his eyes dancing, his face lit up in a smile.

Having to tell someone you just met that you burnt your bottom by sitting on a BBQ and then having to waddle like a duck is probably not the first impression he wanted to make on me tonight, and yet here he is, genuinely smiling about it.

“Is your… Are you all healed now?” I resist the temptation to refer to his bottom because, you know, decorum.

“It was a long time ago, ma’am,” he replies.

“But it’s still one of the funniest stories from our year,” Austin says with a smirk. “Quack quack, eh, Duck? Quack quack!” Austin laughs uproariously at his joke once more before he takes a gulp of whiskey and reaches for my hand. “Princess Sofia, allow me to tell you how utterly enchanting you look this evening,” he slurs, sloshing his whiskey against his jacket sleeve, and it strikes me that this man is drunk .

He lifts my hand and plants a sloppy kiss on it, leaving a sheen of saliva that quickly cools. “I am at your service.”

“Thank you,” I reply politely, the saliva on my hand reminding me of my two labradors. I tug it from his once more and discreetly wipe it on my gown.

But Austin isn’t finished with me yet.

“I know you’re holding this Husband Hunting Ball to find yourself a husband, and I wish to offer myself as your prize.” He winks. “A rather spectacular prize, if I don’t say so myself.”

I open my mouth to reply—although what I can say to that, I do not know—when, to my horror, he fumbles in his pocket and produces a small black velvet box before sinking down to one knee, his hand still clasped onto his drink.

My eyes dart in panic from Austin to Duck. Is this really happening?

Swaying slightly, Austin clutches for my hand like it’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. He gazes up at me, his features serious as a crowd gathers around us.

I fight the urge to flee.

Despite clearly having indulged in too much whiskey tonight, he deftly snaps open the box with one hand, revealing a diamond so large it could be mistaken for one of the chandeliers in the room. “Princess, your search is over. You have found your Prince Charming! And it is I who is she. No, wait. That’s not right. It is you who is her. Nope. Still wrong. Oh, you get what I mean. I’m your husband.”

“Oh, I—” I try to tug my hand away from his vice-like grip, but he’s latched on like a determined barnacle.

“No need to fight it, princess. You and me? We’ll be like... like... bacon and eggs. ”

“More like bacon and toothpaste,” I mutter to myself.

As Austin attempts to force the ring onto my finger, my eyes dart around the room, briefly locking eyes with Duck, silently pleading for help.

Where are my siblings when I need them? And why are all these people staring?

Duck swoops in, smooth as silk. “I think you might be rushing things a bit, Austin. Why don’t we grab a drink and discuss the finer points of courtship?”

“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something?” Austin huffs. “What do you say, my dear Princess Sofie?”

“It’s Sofia!” someone in the crowd shouts to a roll of laughter.

This. Is. Humiliating .

“I know that!” Austin snaps, his face flushing.

Duck places an uncompromising hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Come on, pal. I hear the bar’s giving out free shots to rejected suitors. First round’s on me.”

Austin’s eyes light up. “Free shots, you say?”

Taking advantage of Duck’s distraction, I yank my hand free and practically throw the ring at Duck, who catches it with one hand, flashing me a smile as he pulls Austin to his feet.

“I would say that this crisis is averted,” he says to me as he throws a smile my way, and I mouth a grateful “Thank you” at him.

He steers the befuddled Austin away, his arm held firmly around his shoulder. “Now, Austin, my good man, let’s discuss something I find truly fascinating, shall we? The intricate world of lumber mills. I’ve always said there’s nothing quite like the aroma of wood chips in the morning.” Duck gives me a discreet thumbs-up behind his back as they walk away, the crowd dispersing .

Breathing a sigh of relief, I put my head down and make my escape, silently vowing to ask Father to knight Duck at the earliest opportunity—right after I update the palace security protocols.