Chapter 10Marco
Chapter 10
Marco
I stand discreetly at the back of the lavish throne room, trying to feel at home in the outrageous opulence as dignitaries from several Eastern European countries chat politely with members of the royal family, balancing cups and saucers in their hands. This is so far from how I usually spend my days, and the new suit Enzo insisted on buying for me feels like a straitjacket, the highly polished lace-up shoes on my feet fitting far too snugly for my comfort.
Give me a roomy pair of wellies any day of the week.
I wish I was with my good friend, Mohammed, working the soil over in preparation for the gardens we’ve planned, vegetables and fruits, free to the locals as part of the community garden that part of town is screaming out for. Sure, it might not be an exciting new park that I’ve won the commission to plan—a total pipedream right now—but having discovered my passion for plants and the earth and nature while working with a group in the Amazon, replanting areas that had been decimated by now abandoned industry, getting to work on any project from beginning through to its end feels like an absolute honor to me.
But instead, here I am, stuck at the palace as Enzo spends time with the princess, schmoozing dignitaries and the royal family alike, while I do my best to fade into the background.
A flash of red catches my eye, and I look over at Princess Sofia with my brother. They’re talking about something, but their voices are lost in the chatter in the room. Her head is inclined, a look of concentration on her pretty face as she listens carefully to whatever it is Enzo’s saying.
Standing together as they are, they look about as comfortable and natural with one another as a couple of mannequins in a shop window.
That’s the opposite of the way she was with me that day in the library. Well, not until after we both stopped walking over eggshells. She loosened up with me, and I began to feel as though I was seeing the real Sofia, not the princess she projects to the world in her formal skirt suits with a single row of pearls at her neck, her dark hair captured in a sensible updo.
My fingers twitch to tug her hair free, to see how she would look with tousled locks, so much less controlled. Free.
My bet is she’d look nothing short of magnificent. And if she gazed at me the way she has before with those deep brown eyes like pools of melted chocolate, warm and inviting, drawing me in with their depth? Well, I’d be a goner.
But I can’t think that way.
She’s not for me. Even if she wasn’t interested in getting to know Enzo, I know a woman like Sofia would never go for a man like me. It’s as clear as day I’m not her type. I’m a laid-back guy who loves to nurture plants and explore the world. To me, life’s an adventure, and I take it one day at a time, finding joy in simple things—like a new bloom or a fresh passport stamp.
That’s about as far from a woman like Sofia as you can get.
Best I kick any feelings I may have for this unobtainable princess to the curb.
I scrape my fingers across my chin. It’s hard enough having to come to an event like this without having to watch Enzo and the princess do their best approximation of a couple of wooden dolls with less than zero chemistry between them.
I know they’re only spending time together to get to know each other right now, but all of this will inevitably lead to them becoming engaged. Enzo is determined, and if there’s one thing I know for sure, when my big brother sets a goal for himself, he achieves it.
The thought tightens my chest.
Is it just concern for my brother, entering what would probably be a loveless marriage, at least at the start? Or is it something more, something I don’t want to admit, even to myself? Something that’s been gnawing away at me since the moment I first met Sofia at the ball .
Why is she choosing him when it’s me she so clearly wants?
I clench my jaw. It shouldn’t matter. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to agree to something as certifiably insane as an arranged marriage with her. I do feel a pull of attraction, a desire to get to know her better, to see what makes her tick. And yes, knowing how she feels in my arms, getting to breathe in her scent, pressing my lips softly against hers? Oh, yeah. That’s something I know I want to explore.
But I’ve felt like that about other women before, and I know from experience that attraction can wither and die just as easily as it blooms.
She’s not for me. She’s for Enzo. I need to remind myself that.
I make my way to the back of the large room where a waiter pours me more coffee from a silver pot. Surprisingly, I notice two labradors, one golden and one black, sleeping on a large mat. I bend down to pet them, and their tails thump against the floor briefly before they snort back to sleep.
Those have got to be the best trained labs I’ve met in my life, with the place teaming with people, sipping coffee and talking. I guess when you’re royal you can afford the best pet trainers.
At least they offer me a reprieve from trying to work Princess Sofia out.
I lean up against the wallpaper and pull out my phone to check for emails. Nothing, at least not from the organization I’m hoping to hear from.
Despite my lack of experience, I applied for a redesign of one of the city’s parks, a place I know well. My friend, Muhammad, who I met when we played for the same soccer club as teenagers, grew up across the street from it. It’s overgrown these days, complete with cracked concrete paving and people’s unwanted stuff, everything from a mattress to a broken sink. It’s in desperate need of a freshen up, and a repurpose, in my mind, as a space fit for the community it’s located in.
My idea is to dispense with the disused rose gardens that’ve been a feature of the park since I can remember, replacing them instead with a playground the local kids will love. I’ve planned a wooden painted pirate ship with tall slides, climbing nets, and tons of space to run around. It would be like a mini adventure park, surrounded with trees and hedges, an expansive lawn for kicking a ball around, and park benches for parents to sit and chat as their kids play. This area of town, with its tall, soulless apartment blocks and almost total lack of greenery, is crying out for this park.
It’s a big commission, and one I would be lucky to get with my lack of experience. But I have a clear vision of what I think the park could be. And anyway, don’t they say nothing ventured, nothing gained? I’m venturing in the hopes of gaining, and I’ve got nothing to lose.
A young woman, who looks a lot like Princess Sofia, approaches me, and I push myself off the wall, wondering if I’ve broken some royal law by leaning against it.
“You’re the brother,” she says without preamble as she proffers her hand. “I recognize you from your photo.”
“I am. And you are?”
“Amelia, the younger sister,” she says.
Right. Princess Amelia. I bow my head. “My name is Marco Revera. It’s an honor to meet you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Oh, forget about all that,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Call me Amelia.” She gestures at my brother and Princess Sofia. “How’s this disaster-in-the-making going?”
If I was in any doubt as to how Amelia feels about her sister’s scheme, I’m not now .
“It’s… err, going,” I reply as tactfully as I can.
I’m not exactly going to tell her the truth, that it’s like watching a couple of people have their fingernails pulled. Or like a train wreck, moving in slow motion. I’ve not decided which. Maybe a slow-moving train wreck in which the passengers are having their fingernails pulled? Yup, that’s it.
Now, if it were me out there with the princess, and she was looking at me the way she does? Well, let’s just say we’d be the opposite of a slow-moving train wreck.
A high-speed one?
I chortle.
Princess Amelia arches an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”
“They’re getting to know one another,” I reply as I watch Enzo telling her something. She smiles the smile I’ve seen in photos, the one that falls south of her eyes. Well south.
“What do you really think of it all? Are they insane, or what?” she asks, surprising me with her bluntness.
“It’s certainly one way to form a partnership,” I reply tactfully.
I’m trying to be diplomatic, but she’s not making it easy with her unexpected directness—not to mention an opinion I agree with.
My comment elicits another arch of her eyebrow. “Come with me,” she says in a conspiratorial tone. Without waiting for my response, she hooks her arm through mine and leads me across the room and out a set of double French doors onto a large balcony, overlooking the beautiful gardens—the gardens I would love to get my hands on someday.
#gardengoals
She rounds on me. “I think this whole thing is total and utter madness. ”
Talk about not beating about the bush.
I press my lips together to stifle a smile. “In what way?”
“In all the ways possible! For starters, who wants an arranged marriage?”
“Well, your sister and my brother, it would seem.”
She tsks. “Sofia’s only going through with this whole thing because she doesn’t want to have to put herself out there and risk having her heart broken.”
The word “candid” doesn’t even begin to describe this princess. I’m not quite sure how to respond. But it would seem Amelia doesn’t need a response from me. She’s on a roll.
“So what if he’s right for her on paper in her silly spreadsheet? Anyone can look good on paper, even a hardened criminal if you leave certain details out! It doesn’t mean a jot, not when it comes to affairs of the heart.”
My ears prick. “Your sister’s got a spreadsheet?”
“That’s how she chose your brother for this whole scheme. He checks more boxes than anyone else, apparently. Isn’t that ridiculously insane?”
A spreadsheet to select your life partner, the person to be by your side for probably fifty years or more, to have children with, to form a life with? Well, isn’t that far too clinical? It misses all the nuances of what makes a relationship, the little things that add up to love.
If I wasn’t against the whole idea already, I sure as heck am now.
Not that Enzo is likely to listen to me. I bet he’d think the whole spreadsheet thing is a great idea.
“Sofia assumes that if someone is good on paper they’ll be good in real life, too. But what about love? What about friendship? What about really fancying the pants off someone?” She looks me squarely in the eyes.
I swallow, nervous. How am I meant to respond to this… oversharing of information? For starters, I’ve only just met this opinionated princess, and then there’s the whole she’s a member of the royal family thing to contend with, not to mention she could one day be my sister-in-law. It’s a minefield of royal protocol, and I’m stuck in the middle, holding a detonation device, unsure of which direction to take.
Princess Amelia’s eyes widen at my silence. “You agree with me, don’t you, Marco? You think this is all absolutely ludicrous and they shouldn’t be going through with this utter farce, let alone getting engaged.”
“Please don’t go putting words in my mouth, ma’am.” I second guess myself. “If I’m allowed to say that?”
“Of course you are. And it’s Amelia, remember? Not ma’am. Ma’am makes me feel like an octogenarian, and I’m twenty-three.” Then she adds, “And a half.”
“I’m sure the half makes all the difference.”
“It does, actually.” She stares through the window at her sister and Enzo. “We need to put a stop to it. You’re the one who swooped in and saved her from that proposal at the ball. Why don’t you do that again now?”
“It’s an entirely different situation.”
“I suppose. But it needs to happen.”
“Are you serious?”
“As serious as they’re not meant for one another.”
“Let me get this straight. You want us to somehow stop our respective siblings from going through with this thing because you think this is all a farce and your sister should be marrying somebody she fancies the… err, pants off.”
She gives a single nod of her head. “Precisely.”
“Amelia—” I begin but get cut off.
“And don’t forget about your brother. He should be in love with whomever he marries, too, and fancy the pants off them. ”
I pull my lips into a line. Of course, everything she’s said is right. She’s only echoing what I think myself. Neither of them are in love and neither of them look particularly like they’re enjoying getting to know one another. “Grim determination” is the term that springs to mind when I look at the two of them. Is that any basis for a relationship?
But it is interesting that a member of Princess Sofia’s family feels the same way as I do. That’s got to be worth exploring. Hasn’t it?
“Why?” I ask simply.
“Because it’s the right thing to do, of course. As I said, my sister is too scared to actually get out there and find the right man for her, so she’s hiding behind this whole arranged marriage thing, mainly because she’s always wanted to be Father’s heir, but of course that’s going to go to Max, so she’s missed out completely.”
I hold my hands up in the air. “Wait. What’s your father naming his new heir got to do with Sofia marrying my brother?”
“Only absolutely everything!”
“You might need to clue me in a little.”
“It’s no secret that Sofia has always wanted to be Father’s heir and that she thinks the Ledonian laws of succession are completely outdated and sexist.”
“They are.”
“Which would mean that being the first born, she would be the next monarch, instead of Alex or Max.”
I narrow my gaze at her. “I understand that but what does it have to do with Sofia and Enzo?”
“Don’t you see? This whole thing is one big marvelous distraction from what she really wants.”
“So, you’re telling me that if your sister gets what she really wants, which is to be named as your father’s heir, she’ll stop this whole thing and not become engaged to my brother.”
“That’s exactly what she’d do, yes.”
“With all due respect, how do you know that?”
“I know my sister.”
I press my lips together and glance at the roomful of people once more. Sofia is now speaking with a woman in a dark pants suit, her smile genuine for the first time today. Enzo, for his part, is chewing the ear off some poor diplomat, who looks like he’d rather be talking to anyone else.
I turn back to Amelia. “What did you have in mind?”
Her pretty face lifts in a smile. “So, you’ll help me?”
“I’m not saying that. Let’s hear your idea first.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? We need to find the perfect people for them both. Their soulmates. The people they should be with. Then they’ll both forget this silliness when they see how amazing love actually is, and how it’s never good to give up on it because it’s so, so wonderful.”
I draw my eyebrows together. “Your idea is that we find soulmates for Princess Sofia and Enzo?”
“Exactly that,” she replies eagerly, her face bright.
“Sure. And while we’re at it, why don’t we organize world peace and find a cure for cancer, because both of those are about as likely as finding people’s soulmates for them.”
Surely, she can see the impossibility of the task she’s suggesting?
She lifts one side of her mouth into a lopsided grin. “You’re cynical. Just like Sofia,” she sniffs. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to, but from what Father said, you really were quite against the match, so I thought you might leap at the opportunity, much as you leapt at the opportunity to rescue Sofia at the ball. ”
“It was a shock, that’s all. I want my brother to be with somebody he loves.”
“See? You do agree. We want the same thing, you and I, Marco. If we work together, we might just succeed.”
She created a trap, and I walked straight into it.
It’s a totally half-baked idea, trying to find people’s soulmates in order for them to realize love exists and they’re better off marrying the right person for them. But really, as hairbrained as the whole thing is, she’s got a point, a point I wholeheartedly agree with. Enzo should marry someone he loves—not someone whose smiles for him aren’t genuine.
“How exactly do you think you can pull this off?”
“I have an idea, but you must be sworn to secrecy.”
A secret idea. Can you blame me for being intrigued?
“Tell me everything.”