Chapter 7Marco
Chapter 7
Marco
I sit in stony silence in the grand room with its imposing mahogany desk, winged high-backed leather chairs, and paintings of pastural scenes and family portraits adorning the walls as the King, Princess Sofia, and my brother discuss how Enzo and the princess plan to spend time together over the coming weeks.
It’s surreal, and not what I expected on a Tuesday morning.
My brother has quite clearly lost his mind. Although strictly speaking, he hasn’t entered an arranged marriage with the princess the way the media said would happen immediately after the ball, but he’s at least admitted he’s open to the idea.
It’s lunacy, as far as I can see. He only met Princess Sofia a few days ago, and I don’t even know how much time they actually spent together. Sure, I saw them dancing, but she danced with a few men that night.
And more to the point, why Enzo? What is it about him that Princess Sofia seems so sure of?
I study her profile as she concentrates on something the King is saying. As usual, her hair is tied up off her face, exposing her high cheekbones and wide eyes. Although her lips are not painted red today, they are just as full as they were at the ball, and the angle of her chin shows she pays attention to her posture, always aiming to look elegant and serene.
Her gaze flicks momentarily to mine, and in that flash the same feeling I had when I spoke with her at the ball spreads through me, like warm chocolate oozing from a dessert.
I’ll admit, despite her primness, her determination to appear a certain way, and the fact she appears to think Enzo is her perfect match, I feel drawn to her in a way I never would have expected. She’s Princess Sofia. She’s lived her life in the public eye, always poised and put together, never a hair out of place.
But when she looks at me? Yeah, I feel the fire between us. It’s like it’s an unspoken, unacknowledged chemistry, a heat that I felt the moment she looked at me at the ball. Without seeming arrogant, I strongly suspect she feels it, too. Which begs the question, what the heck is she doing pursing my brother?
That same sensation of jealousy I felt when I watched Enzo and the princess dance together at the ball worms its way across my chest. I shove it away.
I’ve got no use for jealousy.
Eventually, we all shake hands, and I begrudgingly apologize for my strong reaction. Of course, I don’t mean a word of it. I’m only being polite. But this is the King and his first-born daughter, so I should at least mind my manners.
Once we’re safely back in Enzo’s car, however, I share my opinion openly.
“Have you totally lost your mind?” I ask as he drives the car through the palace gates and out onto the streets of Villadorata.
“I knew you would react like this, and the way you behaved in front of the King and his daughter was utterly unacceptable,” Enzo snaps, ignoring my question. “Surely even you must know that, Marco.”
“That is beside the point. Are you really thinking of getting engaged in a month’s time? A month is short. Only thirty or so days, and you’re going away on a business trip in the middle of it, which by my estimation leaves about two weeks tops to get to know this woman before you make one of the biggest decisions of your life.”
“I’ve given my word,” he says simply as though it’s really no big deal at all that he’s potentially signed his life away to a woman he barely knows. “And besides, we may not find we have common ground on which to base a relationship.”
“But you might.”
“Perhaps.”
“You’ve met her once in your life. Do you even know what she likes? Who she is? What makes her tick?”
“I suppose I can find all of that out in time. ”
“In the four weeks you’ve got before you make your decision, you mean. What if you don’t like what you find?”
He shakes his head. “I know I will. We’re cut from the same cloth, her and I. It’s obvious to me.”
“How can you tell? You haven’t spent enough time with her to tell anything, other than she looks good in red.”
I would never say this to my brother, but Princess Sofia looks spectacular in red, like a vision from another world. A vision whose eyes are on fire when she looks my way.
“Do you think she finds you attractive?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters!”
“I don’t know.”
“What about you? Are you attracted to her?”
“Attraction is a very hard thing to define, Marco.”
“Well then, let me define it for you. Do you look at her with desire in your eyes and think you’ve got to kiss her, like, immediately?”
He shifts in his seat.
“I thought not. She doesn’t look like all your girlfriends, although she’s definitely as serious and boring as them.”
“Thank you.”
“Come on. You have a type, and Princess Sofia is not it.”
“Oh really? What’s my type? Actually, on second thoughts, don’t answer that.”
“Because you know I’ll say petite, blonde, probably an accountant or a lawyer, and most definitely Scandinavian?”
The princess is none of those things. She’s clearly not an accountant or a lawyer, and nor is she Scandinavian. With her dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, she looks thoroughly Ledonian, which means she’s not blonde, and although she’s probably only about 5 foot 5 or so, she’s curvy. Shapely. Sexy. I can tell, under her formal dress and prim and proper manners, she’s got the kind of body men go wild for.
Sue me. I’m a guy. I noticed.
“So, what if the princess isn’t my usual type. A woman is so much more than her looks.”
A thought occurs to me. “Are you doing it because she’s a princess? Is that what this is about?”
“Her membership in the royal family certainly has its appeal.”
I gawk at him. “So, this is a way to social climb? I didn’t think you went in for that kind of crap.”
“Marrying into the royal family will certainly open some doors for me. Surely you see that. It could be beneficial for all of us, you included.”
“How romantic of you.”
He gives me a sideways look. “You and I are very different, Marco.”
“You don’t have to tell me that. I would never say yes to something like this. Not in a week of Sundays.”
“But she’s Princess Sofia, the most eligible woman in our country, possibly in all of Europe. That might not mean anything to you with your carefree lifestyle and lack of direction, but it does to me. And besides, I can tell that she’s a sensible sort of person, an altogether logical thinker. Pragmatic. I admire that.”
I throw my hands up in the air, pushing myself back in my seat. “And those are reasons to marry the woman?”
“I haven’t agreed to marry her. We’re not even in a relationship.”
“But that’s where it’s heading.”
“Marco, I don’t expect you to understand. You’re the youngest son. You don’t carry the weight of family responsibility on your shoulders the way I do. You can swan off around the world, doing whatever it is you want to do, which is wonderful for you. But I’m not like that. I never have been. I see a lot of me in the princess.”
I twist my mouth, my mind racing like a Formula One car around Monte Carlo. “Did you share something more than a few dances at the ball?” I ask, remembering how it felt when she looked at me like I was the only man in the room that night.
“We spoke.”
“About what?”
He pauses before he responds. “The weather.”
“The weather ?” I scoff. “Come on! The weather? If I want to marry everyone I’ve ever spoken to about the weather, I’d have been married three hundred times already, probably more.”
“It wasn’t the topic of conversation that mattered. It was the fact that we shared an understanding.”
It’s insanity. That’s what it is. Insanity, pure and simple. My brother has lost his mind.
“What exactly did she say?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because a conversation about the weather doesn’t usually segue into a marriage proposal.”
“If you must know, she commented that it had been particularly warm for this time of year, and I agreed with her.”
“Oh, it all makes sense now. You like to talk about the weather. You’re a match made in heaven.”
Enzo turns the car onto the wide, busy downtown street where his office is located. “There’s no need to be sarcastic, Marco. I don’t expect you to understand my choices any more than I understand yours. Shall we leave it at that?”
“Do I have any choice in the matter?”
“No, I don’t suppose you do. ”
I clench my jaw, glaring at his profile as he concentrates on driving. “What if you don’t like her at the end of the month.”
“We’ll go our separate ways.”
At last, the man is making sense. “Good. Imagine being stuck in a marriage with someone who lives in a goldfish bowl who you can’t stand. You’d be like two unhappy fish, swimming around and around in circles forever.”
Enzo chortles. “You always did have quite the imagination, Marco.”
Realization dawns on me. Suddenly, it’s all become clear, like clouds parting to show the sun. I know what this is about. It’s about Maren, the woman Enzo dated for several years, breaking up about six or seven months ago now. They met when he needed some legal advice, and within about a week they were dating. It lasted for several years until she moved back to her native Sweden, ending their relationship.
“This is about Maren,” I say with confidence because I’m absolutely convinced it is. She was the one who left, not him, and he was shattered by it.
“It’s not about Maren or any other woman,” he rebuffs.
I stare at my brother, wondering at his choices—and certain this is some kind of knee-jerk reaction to Maren breaking his heart—not that he ever told me that happened, but it was obvious to me in his morose messages and look of utter dejection whenever we Face Timed.
Feeling the weight of my gaze, he looks back at me. “I’ve made up my mind, Marco. There’s nothing you can say to change it. You live your life your way, and I’ll live my life mine.”
He turns off the street into the parking garage, where he pulls his Mercedes into his parking space. Turning to me, he says, “Whatever your personal thoughts are, I need you on board with this as my personal assistant. I’ll need your help with coordinating the events the King wants us attending together.”
I pull my lips into a line. “Sure.”
His phone beeps and he skims a message. “Remember to compile all the papers for the Inigo-Forsyth project,” he says.
“I will.”
“And get the final stock take figures at the plant to Bettina by close of business on Thursday.”
“I will.”
“And ensure you send the revised sales targets to Stefan once you get them back from Jenny.”
“I will.”
“And—”
“Enzo,” I interrupt, wanting him to avoid repeating another instruction from a list he already sent me earlier today. “I’ve got this.”
His mustache twitches. “The thing is, Marco, you’ve not exactly got the best track record with seeing things through. Do you? I’m trusting you with quite a lot.
“Don’t start,” I warn because it’s the same conversation we’ve had so many times before. As the oldest child, Enzo has always been the responsible one, the reliable one. At high school, he was voted “most likely to succeed,” and succeed he has, running multiple businesses, from importing to exporting, IT solutions to retail. He’s not one to sit still, always moving on to the next metaphorical mountain to conquer.
As the youngest of the small pack, I was always allowed to get away with whatever I wanted. As they say, with the first child, parents follow every rule to the letter, but by the last, they’re just happy if they get you to school with pants on. I’m proud to report I wore pants to school every day of my life. Well, other than when I wore a dress that one time, but that’s a story for another day.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve become fully aware that the way Mum and Dad parented us has had a significant impact on the lens through which we both see the world.
He hesitates. “I know you’re older now, and you’ve come back to Ledonia to make something of yourself. I respect that. You’re growing up.”
I’m sure he’s resisting the urge to add “finally” to his statement. But I choose to see his words for what they are.
“It’s about time at a quarter of a century, right?” I say with a smile.
His features relax. “At least you’re back here now. Dad would be proud of us working together.”
“He would be proud,” I reply, my throat thick as a stab of sorrow pierces my chest. We lost our father suddenly when I was only twenty years old. Heart attack. Mum fell apart. Enzo stepped up as the “man of the family.” Me? I was at university, studying business and hating it. My dad’s death gave me the impetus I needed to drop out. Why pursue something I didn’t want to do when life suddenly felt so tenuous? So short. So unpredictable.
So, without looking back, I slung on my backpack and left Ledonia. It was the easiest thing to do in a world in which I suddenly felt alone. Dad had been my best friend, my partner in crime. Enzo took after our mother, a very serious and driven human being who wanted the best for her children. To her, I think Dad and I were enigmas. Sure, she loves us both. I never doubted that. But she doesn’t get me the way Dad did. When he died I was rudderless, and I set sail without a compass. I spent years traveling the globe, sucking up everything life had to offer .
But through it all, I always knew I’d run away—and that someday I would need to come home.
Now that I’m back here in Villadorata full time, making the city my home for the first time in over five years, it’s hard not to think of him and wonder what he would have thought of the man I’ve become.
We ride the elevator in silence, and I take my seat at the desk Enzo gave me when I took up this job a couple of months ago.
My phone buzzes and I see I have a message from a number I don’t recognize. I click on it to read.
01122579731912:
Mr. Marco Revera, I’m Ronan Clementine, HRH Princess Sofia’s personal secretary. I wondered if we may meet at your earliest convenience. We have much to plan, and I would like to get started as soon as possible. Shall we say Thursday, 9 a.m., at the palace?
Princess Sofia’s personal secretary? Why can’t she just message Enzo herself, like a normal person? But then I suppose she’s not a normal person. She’s a princess with staff.
I shoot a quick message back.
Me:
Let’s talk tomorrow.
I’m not in the mood to make plans with one of Princess Sofia’s minions, not when I can’t even comprehend why my brother is choosing to go ahead with this totally ridiculous scheme. He’s putting his happiness on the line for a woman he appears to feel absolutely nothing for, and I’ve got to be his social coordinator for it all.