Chapter 9Sofia
Chapter 9
Sofia
I swallow, my heartrate instantly kicking up a notch. Marco Revera is here? The man I have inappropriate feelings for, the man who rescued me from that ill-advised marriage proposal at the ball, the man whose eyes are seared into my memory bank, the man who voiced his opinion on Enzo and me, is here in the palace library, waiting for me? Well, not me exactly. He’s here to meet with Ronan. But still. The point is, he’s here, and I’m about to see him, and I’m totally ill- prepared for this.
Before I can come up with an excuse not to enter that room other than admitting to the feelings I’m never going to admit to, Gianni pulls open the door. Instantly, my eyes land on the very man I should not ever see again—at least until this inconvenient crush of mine has worn itself out.
As he turns from the window to face me, I can’t help but drink him in, like an ice-cold glass of water on a hot, hot day. He’s wearing what looks to be gardening clothes, a pair of cargo pants, a zip up sweatshirt, open at the neck, exposing his tanned skin and a hint of chest hair, and nothing less than a pair of grubby wellington boots on his feet.
He hasn’t exactly dressed up for today’s appointment. But, I admit, despite his decidedly casual attire, he looks breathtakingly handsome in a rough and ready kind of way, and as his eyes land on mine, I feel that now familiar rush of attraction, my heartrate rising, and a blush blooming in my cheeks.
“Good morning, Mr. Revera,” I say, seizing control of the situation.
“Princess Sofia,” he exclaims in surprise, clearly thrown by my unexpected presence. “I thought I was meeting with your personal secretary, Ronan Clementine?”
I turn to Gianni. “I’ll take it from here. Thank you, Gianni.”
“Of course, ma’am,” he replies before he throws a critical gaze over Marco. “If you’re certain?” he asks in a quieter tone.
“Absolutely. I’m sure I’ll be just fine with Mr. Revera. Thank you.”
“As you wish, ma’am.”
I wait for Gianni to close the door behind us before I step over to Marco and offer him my hand. “I’ll be taking the meeting with you this morning, Mr. Revera. ”
He takes my hand in his, confusion furrowing his brow. “Why?” he asks simply, his face unsmiling despite my business-like approach.
Really! He’s being altogether a little rude in my books. But then this is the man who actively questioned his brother’s decisions in front of his King. Decorum doesn’t appear to be a word in Marco Revera’s dictionary.
Although sexiness certainly is.
Argh! Stop it!
I lift my lips into a professional smile. “Please, take a seat, Mr. Revera, and I’ll explain.” I gesture at one of the comfortable reading chairs, and we both sit. “Regrettably, my personal secretary has met with an accident, so you’ll be dealing with me from now on, until he’s back on his feet.”
Or foot. Dang it, Max.
Marco arches a brow. “That sounds sinister. Was it a paid hit?”
“A paid hit?” I exclaim. Then it dawns on me that he’s teasing as a smile twitches his lips. “You’re making a joke, Mr. Revera.”
I do my best not to let the way his smile lights up his face affect me. It does not go well. Against my will, an excited group of hummingbirds flap their wings in my belly as though they cannot believe this gorgeous man’s smile is directed my way.
I remind myself what I’m currently feeling is only attraction to Marco, and attraction never lasts.
But if it could hurry up and fizzle out right about now, that would be great.
“You’re right. I’m joking. I do hope it’s nothing serious?”
“Unfortunately, I believe he has broken his leg in an accident. I’m hoping to visit him in the hospital later, once he’s seen the doctors.”
“Please send him my best,” he replies with sincerity, wrongfooting me. The last thing I need is for this alarmingly attractive man with the decidedly gorgeous eyes to be thoughtful. His smiles are already difficult enough to cope with.
“Thank you. I will. Now, we need to get down to work. There’s a lot to plan.” I pick up my phone and press my mail app, searching for the email Gianni sent me with today’s meeting agenda. I concentrate hard on looking at the words on my screen but they’re a jumble of black squiggles.
“Ronan and I had intended to plan yours and Enzo’s schedule,” he says.
I give up on my sudden lack of ability to not only find the relevant email, but to read actual words. I place my phone on the seat beside me. I lace my fingers in my lap and square my shoulders. “Let’s address the elephant in the room first, shall we?”
“The elephant?”
“Do I take it from your presence here that you’re now comfortable with the idea of your brother and I entering this… situation?”
“About that,” he begins hesitatingly, looking shamefaced. And so he should. “I believe I owe you an apology, ma’am.”
This is a turn up for the books.
“Oh?” I say, holding my composure while inside I’m high fiving myself.
“I was rude.”
I can’t disagree. He was terribly rude.
I lift my chin. “You were.”
“My brother pointed out that it wasn’t my place to offer my opinion, particularly in the way I did, and for that I am sorry. I forgot myself. It was inappropriate of me.”
“But you haven’t changed your opinion?”
“My opinion in this matter is irrelevant, ma’am.”
Usually I ask someone to call me Sofia at about this point in a conversation. It’s a lot less elitist, and this is the 21st century, after all. Not even my parents have any real power these days. But Marco not using my name allows me to hold him at arm’s length, which is as close as I ever need to allow this man to get.
“Come now, Mr. Revera. We’re all friends here.”
Suddenly animated, he replies, “How can I change my opinion when what the two of you are proposing to do goes against everything I believe in?” He raises a hand in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Doing it again, aren’t I? I need to keep my big mouth shut. My goal today was to be friendly and helpful, not carry on about love and all that stuff.”
“You started out well,” I say and win a faint smile from him.
“I believe you should love the person you intend to spend the rest of their life with. Perhaps that’s too romantic, but it’s what I believe.”
“What does your brother believe? Isn’t that the point?”
His jaw flexes, and I can tell he’s finding this conversation with me tricky to navigate. “You’re right. You have both agreed to the scheme. Who am I to stand in the way?”
The shockingly attractive brother whose very presence makes my pulse quicken, the man who can send electricity coursing through me with just a hint of a smile. If he can’t stand in the way of his brother and I theoretically heading down the aisle, who can?
I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. The sooner this crush burns itself out, the better for everyone. “I’m glad you see it that way, Mr. Revera.”
“Marco.”
“Marco. Sure. Now, what’s the first item on the agenda?” I plaster a pleasant, businesslike smile on my face, metaphorically drawing a line under the subject. We can move on. Get down to business. That’s what we’re here for.
“The agenda. Right.” He consults his phone. “There are a couple of things Ronan suggested. First, was to agree to a schedule for the two of you to spend some time together. The second was for Enzo to appear at some formal occasions with you, not as someone you’re dating, because we know you’re not doing that yet, but so that people can get used to seeing him.”
“Right. Let’s see, shall we?” I pull up my calendar, hoping my sudden and inconvenient inability to read words has disappeared. I’m in luck. My appointments are listed across the next week. “I’m attending an official function to greet dignitaries from several Eastern European nations, and the next day, I’m opening the new wing of the National Ledonian Portrait Gallery. Could he attend either of those?”
“What are the dates and times?” he asks, staring at his own phone, and I admit, I take the opportunity to slide my gaze over his large, tanned hands. They’re hands that look like they could handle anything, strong and capable. They’re not manicured hands with tapered fingers and clean nails. No, they’re a man’s hands, and I find myself gazing at them.
When I don’t respond—who knew a man’s hands could be so very diverting—he looks up from his phone, and I quickly return my attention to my calendar, knowing I’ve been busted.
I give him the dates and times for the two events .
“I can move a couple of things around so he can attend the Portrait Gallery with you,” he says.
“Thank you. Tell me, Mr. Revera, what is it that you do?” I ask before I can stop myself. “If you don’t mind me asking. We don’t have a lot of visitors who turn up in wellington boots here at the palace, and I thought you were Enzo’s assistant.”
He has the good grace to look embarrassed. “Time for my second apology of the morning, ma’am, and we’ve only been in the meeting for five minutes. I’ve got to get back to work straight after this. But the way I see it, it doesn’t matter what I look like. You’re not interested in me.”
“Quite.” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. If only you knew. “So, your job?”
His face lights up in a smile that reaches his eyes in a way it hasn’t during this conversation until now. “Landscape gardening. It’s a new direction for me, but one I’m passionate about.”
“You’re passionate about plants?” I ask.
“To be perfectly honest, I guess I lose myself in the rich soil, coaxing life from tiny seeds. To me, each bloom is nothing short of a triumph, a burst of color that I’ve nurtured. A garden’s rhythms connect us all to nature’s cycles. We are of the earth, no matter how sophisticated and complicated our cultures have become. No matter how we’ve lost sight of that. It’s who we are at our deepest core.”
I hang on his every word, watching his eyes sparkle with excitement as he speaks. His face is lit up, his hands moving as he describes what he so clearly adores. He’s mesmerising to watch, his love for how he spends his days palpable .
It hits me afresh how exciting and vibrant this man is, and I find it impossible not to be swept up in his passion.
He pulls his lips into a self-conscious line. “I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
“No. It’s interesting,” I protest dreamily, despite knowing I should treat this conversation as nothing more than a planning meeting—and most certainly not a way to get to know who Marco is and what makes him tick.
“I’m glad you think so,” he replies, his gaze soft as it locks on mine. He holds my gaze for a beat too long, and I force myself to cast my eyes down to break the spell.
“Is that why you turned up here in your rubber boots?”
“I’m due at a project on the other side of town shortly.”
“In that case, we should press on.” I return my attention to my calendar. “We have a garden party coming up soon. We hold them during the summer months to honor leaders in the community, that sort of thing. Enzo could come to one of those.”
“A garden party sounds like something Enzo would enjoy,” he replies. “Tea with scones with jam and cream?”
“Of course.”
“Yep, totally my brother’s speed.”
“Good. Great.”
Marco takes a note of the date, and we move on to book similar events over the next few weeks, including going to the royal races and dinner with family—both his and mine, which of course means Marco will be there, but I decide to cross that bridge when I come to it. Who knows? I may well be over my ill-advised attraction to him by then.
Here’s hoping for everyone’s sake.
“Did you see that there is already chatter among journalists that I may be announcing an engagement soon? You might have seen Fabiana Fontaine’s column.” I’m testing the waters to see whether he saw what she wrote.
“Never read her, ma’am. But I suppose it’s a good thing people are talking about it, isn’t it? You can build suspense until the grand reveal.”
“You make it sound like we’re on a home makeover show.”
His brows ping up. “Do you watch home makeover shows?”
“Of course I do.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing. I suppose I’ve never really thought about what princesses do in their downtime, but it turns out it’s watching home makeover shows.”
“And romcoms. I like to watch them, too, occasionally.”
Why am I telling him this? It feels too personal, too unguarded to share even a small amount of my personal life with this man. But for reasons I am not going to pick apart, I want him to know that I’m more than just Princess Sofia, first-born daughter of the King and Queen, currently seeking a husband.
“You see that I don’t get. Why watch a movie when you know the two main characters are going to end up falling in love and sail off into the sunset together? Isn’t it more exciting to keep you guessing, to not know what the outcome will be?” He pauses before he adds, “Ma’am.”
“You clearly don’t understand why people like to watch romcoms, Mr. Revera. Of course, we know the couple is going to end up together, but it’s the journey to get there that’s the enjoyable part.”
He shakes his head. “Give me a good action movie any day of the week. Although I do admit to quite liking one romcom.”
“Which is?” I lead against my better judgment.
His smile stretches across his face. “Guess.”
I raise my brows at him in surprise.
“If you want to, that is, ma’am,” he adds hastily.
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep the pretence up of not liking this man. He may have strong opinions, but his easy demeanor and willingness to get along with me is disarming, and I find myself at ease with him.
I roll through the myriad of romcoms I’ve watched over the years, trying to work out what a landscape gardener whose nickname is Duck would like. “I’m guessing something with Ryan Gosling because men consider him to be cool. At least that’s what my brothers tell me. So, I’m guessing Crazy, Stupid Love .”
“Never heard of it.”
“Okay, maybe The Notebook ? No, that’s way too sentimental. I know. 17 Again , so you get to imagine yourself reliving your youth as a teenage basketball player.”
He shakes his head, his smile firmly in place. “Shall I put you out of your misery?”
“All right.”
“ Serendipity .”
“The Kate Beckinsale movie?”
“She certainly adds to the appeal.”
“Oh, I see. You have a crush,” I say on a laugh before I chastise myself for being overly familiar in a way I rarely am with people I’ve just met. Or anyone, really.
Why do I let Marco have this effect on me?
“A crush? How old are you? Twelve?” he asks with a chortle, before his features suddenly drop. “Err, sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt, aware our conversation has gone from reasonably business-like to far too overly familiar in a blink of an eye.
I need to pull it back in.
“Perhaps we should get back on task,” I suggest.
“Good idea. I was being too familiar. I forgot myself.” He studies me, as though trying to work me out, and I feel suddenly self-conscious.
I clear my throat. “Let’s schedule a family dinner for a few weeks’ time. Do you think the 20th would suit your brother?”
He holds his phone up. “I’m his personal secretary, so I can schedule whatever I like.”
“Good.” I give him a business-like smile that tells him I know I’ve chosen the right brother.
Enzo might not have Marco’s obvious appeal, but I’m not looking for obvious. He might not have Marco’s easy nature, but that makes him all the more challenging, and I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge. And besides, all those checked boxes prove that Enzo is the very best fit for me. In the end, it will be Enzo and me, compatible in every way that counts, just as my spreadsheet says.