Chapter 8Sofia
Chapter 8
Sofia
Rumor has it that our Pitiful Princess is pitiful no more! That’s right, good people of Ledonia, the Husband Hunting Ball has weaved its magic, producing an eligible suitor for Princess Sofia. Hazar!
Details at this stage are scant to say the least, but more than one onlooker at the ball reported that our princess was rather smitten with one particular handsome gentleman.
I have it on good authority this gentleman gallantly swept in and saved her from a bumbled marriage proposal from a crazed drunkard, and I admit, part of me swooned.
It would appear Ledonia’s first-born daughter sees something rather spectacular in this knight in shining armor, and who could blame her? We all do so love a royal rescue by a dashing suitor.
If only we had a photograph of this chivalrous charmer.
I wager an engagement announcement is imminent!
Your ever devoted royal correspondent,
Fabiana Fontaine xx
#KnightToTheRescue
#PitifulPrincessBanished
#BesottedPrincessVibes
Amelia leans her elbows on the breakfast table, pouring over one of the newspapers that are always set out on the buffet for us to read each morning. “But you’re not engaged to this guy, are you?”
“Of course not,” I reply.
“But he saved you from a drunkard who tried to propose to you?”
An image of Marco, swooping in to my rescue, fills my mind. I clear my throat. “Who?”
“Enzo Revera. The man you and Father met with. ”
“Oh, Enzo?” I ask, not meeting her eye. “That was someone else.”
“Well, according to Fabiana Fontaine, you’re about to announce your engagement to this mystery knight in shining armor of yours.”
“What does she know?” I snap.
“All right. Keep your hair on,” she replies, shooting me a look. “Show me a pic of Enzo, then.”
“I don’t have one,” I admit.
She widens her eyes. “You don’t have a photo of the man you plan on announcing your engagement to in a month’s time?”
I glare at her. “I’ll get one.”
“Leave your sister alone,” Mummy instructs as Max bangs into the room.
“Morning all,” he says as he makes a beeline for the breakfast spread.
“Morning, darling,” Mummy coos.
“I’m going to look this Enzo Revera person up.” Amelia collects her phone from the table and begins to search.
“Do you have to?” I groan.
“I do. Oh, I found him.” She furrows her brow. “Are you sure he’s only twenty-nine?”
“Looks a lot older,” Max sniffs as he takes a seat at the table next to her, plunking his plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast on the crisp white tablecloth.
“I believe he is,” I reply, aware that his receding hairline and more mature features make him look older than his actual age.
“That’s still young,” Mummy says with a smile thrown my way. “Young and vital.”
“Exactly,” I reply.
Personally, I see the fact Enzo looks older than me as nothing but positive. It means he’s mature. Worldly wise. And beside him, I’ll look younger by comparison. It’s a win-win-win.
“Hmmm.” Amelia presses her lips together.
“What does ‘hmmm’ mean?” I ask, and instantly regret it. Amelia loves to offer her opinion on my personal life, and I just opened the gates for her and left them swinging. Again.
This has become a bad habit.
“Nothing,” she replies as she picks up her cup and takes a sip.
“Really? Nothing?” Mummy questions. “That’s not like you not to have an opinion, darling.”
“Don’t poke the beast,” I say under my breath before I take a bite of my jam-smeared toast.
“This one is way better looking. In fact, he’s gorgeous,” Amelia declares, gazing at her phone. She brandishes it at me. “You should go for his hot brother.”
Instantly, I choke on my toast, coughing and spluttering as I gasp for air.
“Are you all right, darling?” Mummy asks in alarm.
“Fine,” I croak, my throat hot, tears springing to my eyes.
“You’ve gone all pink,” Mummy declares.
“Toast. Wrong. Way,” I manage because that’s why my cheeks have turned pink. It’s got absolutely nothing to do with the fact that Amelia thinks Marco is hot and that I should marry him rather than Enzo. Really, nothing at all.
“Have a sip of tea,” Mummy suggests.
I’m not going to risk it. The last thing I want to do is spit tea across the breakfast table if—or rather when —my sister offers more thoughts on Marco’s hotness.
Amelia doesn’t seem to have noticed my near-death experience in the slightest when, still focussing on her screen, she says, “He’s taller and a lot more athletic looking than your guy, plus he’s got a pretty dreamy head of hair and the most lovely aquamarine eyes.”
“Turquoise,” I state as I wipe my eyes with my cloth napkin.
Amelia raises her brows at me. “What did you say?”
Beast officially poked.
All eyes at the breakfast table are turned on me. Mummy’s, Amelia’s, and Max’s. Even my two labs, Lemon and Pepper, who are lurking around, hoping for scraps to fall from the table into their waiting mouths, seem to have lifted their heads to stare at me in surprise.
Heat rises once more in my cheeks, only this time I can’t blame a piece of toast going down the wrong way.
“That’s the color of his eyes,” I say, as though it’s perfectly fine for me to have thought about the precise color of what could be my future brother-in-law’s eyes. Which it is. Perfectly fine. It’s not like I’m mentioning his scent or the shape of his lips. Eyes are eyes. Everyone has them.
“I’ve only noticed because although Enzo’s eyes are also blue, they’re less turquoise and more ocean blue,” I add for good measure, even though they’re more gray than blue, and certainly don’t have Marco’s sparkle.
Yes, that’s good. Move the conversation onto Enzo, the man who’s my perfect match, and away from his brother. Much more appropriate—and much safer.
“Actually, I think they’re a sort of murky dishwater blue,” Amelia pronounces, looking up at me from her screen, her nose scrunched. “See?” She turns her phone around to show a zoomed in image of one of Enzo’s eyes, staring back at me like some kind of freakish, oversized eye monster.
It’s disconcerting .
“The polite term is gray-blue, Ami, not dishwater blue,” Mummy corrects.
“Nope. Definitely dishwater blue,” Max agrees, peering at the screen as he chews some bacon.
I scowl at him. “Don’t you have to get back to Cambridge?”
“I feel so very welcome in my home,” he replies sardonically. “But you’re right, I do need to get going soon, so I’d better eat up.” Max proceeds to shovel his breakfast into his mouth as though food is scarce, and he doesn’t know where his next meal is coming from.
“I think Enzo has lovely eyes, darling,” Mummy says.
“I do, too,” I reply with confidence, flashing her a grateful smile.
“Do you know, I think I would make rather a splendid private investigator,” Amelia announces, thankfully putting her phone with the one-eyed monster Enzo face down on the tablecloth.
“Why is that?” Mummy asks.
“Because I’ve worked out that Enzo’s much hotter brother is the one who saved Sofe from the drunkard’s proposal,” she says with satisfaction. “Something even Fabiana Fontaine hasn’t worked out.”
“How do you know that? There were loads of men at that ball, and absolutely no pretty girls for me,” Max grumps.
“I’m right, aren’t I, Sofe?” Amelia says, her eyes like laser beams, trained on me.
Self-conscious at the memory of how gallant Marco was helping me out with that tricky situation, I reply, “Good guess.”
To be honest, the way he stepped in and took control set my heart alight. I may be a princess and used to being treated with respect—the media and their silly nicknames aside—but even I could see that was next level behavior. Chivalrous, that’s what it was. Chivalrous and thrilling and, dare I say it, awfully manly. The fact Marco’s also dashingly handsome in that wildly tousled way of his only adds to his allure.
I suppress a sigh.
“Hot and your knight in shining armor. I’d say you’ve definitely chosen the wrong brother,” Amelia states with a self-satisfied smile.
“Amelia,” Mummy warns.
“What? Why would Sofe choose the dull one when she could have the handsome, exciting one?” she says with a waggle of her brows.
“I have my reasons,” I sniff, suddenly realizing I’ve agreed with her that Marco is handsome and exciting and Enzo’s not. “And Enzo is not dull. He’s considered and mature.”
“Yes, aka dull . And we know all about your spreadsheet,” Amelia replies.
“I think your spreadsheet was a very sensible idea, darling. You worked out the qualities you want in a man, which are far more important than good looks,” our mother states, and I shoot a triumphant smile at my sister.
“So, when do we get to meet this Enzo?” Max asks.
“You won’t be able to meet him until you’re back from Cambridge, darling,” Mummy replies.
“You should invite him for lunch,” Amelia announces.
I shake my head. “If I do that, you’ll just interrogate the poor guy.”
“Naturally,” she replies.
“Does this mean that you’re definitely marrying him?” Max asks.
“They’re spending some time together before they both decide whether they’re a match, like a trial period,” Mummy explains, saving me the trouble.
“But I thought this was an arranged marriage,” Max says through a mouthful of toast. “Doesn’t that mean you and Father decide everything?”
“Will you and Father get to decide what nicknames Sofe and Enzo give each other, too?” Amelia asks.
“My vote’s for snookums and peachy-poo,” Max says, and both he and my sister fall about laughing.
I lean back in my seat and glare at my younger siblings. “You just wait until you’re my age. Our parents will be arranging your marriages, too.”
“Fat chance of that ever happening,” Max scoffs.
“I’m not going to leave it up to our parents to choose my lifelong partner. I’m going to go on a wild adventure and meet some wonderful man and fall in love,” Amelia declares.
“Princesses don’t get to go on wild adventures,” I tell her.
“I hope you do, Ami, but if you don’t then you too will end up with an arrangement, just like Sofia,” Mummy replies, and I smile with satisfaction at my once smug siblings, who are now looking a touch panicked. “Your father and I agreed that it would be best in this day and age for your sister to get to know him first. Marriage is a serious business and the last thing we want is for your sister to make a hasty decision.”
“Where’s Alex?” I ask, less because I want to know where my brother is, and more because I am thoroughly over this conversation.
“He’s gone to Malveaux with Maddie. Some kids’ charity thing,” Max says, referring to the country where Maddie will be queen in less than a year.
There’s a knock at the door and Gianni Caldera, the head of palace staff, strides in, his face grim. He bows at us all. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highnesses.”
“Gianni. Whatever on earth is the matter?” Mummy asks.
“I’m sorry to tell you there’s been an accident and Ronan Clementine has been taken to hospital, ma’am,” he says without preamble.
There’s a collective intake of breath.
“What happened? Is he okay?” I ask, thinking of my personal secretary who has been so helpful to me these past weeks as we’ve searched for my ideal future partner.
“We suspect a broken leg, ma’am.”
“Oh, no! The poor man. I must see him.” I rise to my feet, my white linen napkin falling to the floor.
“With all due respect, ma’am, perhaps you could delay your visit until after the doctors have assessed him?” Gianni replies diplomatically.
I sink back into my seat. “Good point, Gianni.”
“He has messaged me his schedule for the next couple of weeks,” Gianni says.
“That’s fast,” Max declares. “Did he send it to you from the ambulance or something?”
“The timeframe suggests he did, sir,” Gianni replies.
“That sounds like Ronan. He’s very organized and takes his job awfully seriously,” I tell everyone.
“He does, ma’am. Organized and dedicated. As for his workload, I would be happy to pick up the slack myself, as time allows,” Gianni offers.
“No. Don’t be silly. It’s my schedule. I can take things over for a while until he’s back on his feet,” I say.
“You mean his foot,” Max adds with a smirk, and I shoot him a look. Younger brothers.
“Sofia is right. You do enough already, Gianni,” Mummy says. “My clever daughter is more than capable of helping out.”
“As you wish, ma’am,” he says with another bow of his head. “Unfortunately, Ronan’s first meeting is due to begin in only five minutes’ time in the library, regarding you spending time with Lord Strozzi, ma’am,” he says to me.
“That sounds like something I can manage perfectly well.” I take a final sip of my tea. It’s gone cold. “I’d better get a move on. Have a safe trip back to Cambridge, Max,” I say to my brother as I drop a kiss onto the top of his head. “And I’ll see both you, Mummy and Amelia, later on.”
“Ditch him and go for the hot brother, Sofe!” Amelia calls out as we leave the room.
I don’t respond.
As Gianni and I make our way down the corridor toward the library, he outlines a few of the meetings Ronan had planned that need to take place, starting with a meeting with Enzo’s staff to agree to the details of our “getting to know one another” phase over the coming weeks. I wonder briefly at why Enzo isn’t organizing this directly with me but push the thought away. He’s a busy man. It makes sense to have someone else manage the details.
“That all sounds straightforward enough. Who am I meeting first?” I ask.
We come to a stop outside the library door. “Lord Strozzi’s personal secretary, a Mr. Marco Revera.”