At His Majesty's Request

It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t. She was here to try and match him with one of these women. This choking jealousy had no place in it. Jealousy was an awful emotion. Consuming. It brought out the worst in people, in her particularly.

When she’d found out Gil was getting married again. When she’d found out his wife was pregnant.

A prickle of shame spread from her scalp through her body.

She shouldn’t be jealous of Gil’s wife. Of her ability to give birth. It was small and petty. If he couldn’t find happiness with her, he should be free to find it with someone else.

The thing that sucked was that he’d found the happiness she’d wanted. He’d been able to move on and get all of the hopes and dreams they’d built their marriage on. He’d been able to leave her.

She couldn’t leave herself.

Her body was her body. Her limitations wouldn’t change with a new partner. Moving on for her meant something very different than it had for her ex. Moving on meant rebuilding, finding new dreams. She was happy. She had a successful business. She was financially solvent and she was matchmaking for a prince, for heaven’s sake.

A prince she should have no feelings for at all. And certainly not any kind of longing type feelings.

Crazy was what it was. Crazy.

Stavros’s time with Dominique closed and he made a polite exit, not lingering for a moment longer. Which suggested he couldn’t have gotten too lost in her eyes or anything.

She should not feel satisfied by that.

She felt her stomach free-fall when Stavros changed course suddenly and started walking toward her. His movements easy, his manner approachable. And several people did approach him. He managed to make everyone feel he’d expended attention on them without actually taking much time, barely halting his movement. Every so often, his dark eyes would land on her, leaving her in no doubt that she was his destination.

And, well, he was a prince, and he was a client. So she wasn’t going to dodge him.

She stood, rooted to the spot, until Stavros stopped in front of her. “I’d love a word with you in private,” he said.

She looked around. “As long as we don’t draw attention. I’m hardly the most recognizable face in the world but …”

“Come,” he said. Taking her hand and striding toward the ballroom’s exit, his gait much more purposeful than it had been a moment ago.

She snagged a glass of champagne off of a passing waiter’s tray and followed him out. “Wait. I’m in heels,” she said, taking quick, tottering steps out into the corridor. She flashed a passing guest a smile and tried to match Stavros’s pace. “Hey, Tarzan. Me not Jane. You no drag me out by the hair.”

He ignored her, continuing to walk down the hall until he came to an ornate wood door that she recognized as the entrance to his office. She never would have found it by herself. Not in the maze of halls the Kyonosian palace boasted. He released her hand, entered in a code and pushed the door open. “Come in,” he said.

She shot him a look and walked into the room, wiping her hand on the tulle skirt of her gown, trying to get rid of the heated feeling that his touch had left behind. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, pushed her cleavage up into prominence, then thought better of it when she realized just how prominent it was.

She put her hands on her hips. “What’s up?”

“None of them were acceptable,” he said.

“None?”

“No.”

“But … but …” she sputtered. “What about Dominique? You touched her arm.”

He shrugged. “I know how to flirt.”

“Well, yeah, I know, I yelled at you for it a while back. But why flirt if you aren’t going to follow up?”

He frowned. “Did you just imply that I am a … tease?”

“Yeah. A marriage tease. Why feign interest if you don’t feel any?”

“I’m not seeking to hurt anyone’s feelings,” he said dryly. “I could hardly stand there and act bored. And anyway, that begs the question why you would send me such dull women.”

“Dull? Dominique is a beauty queen, Corinthia is a doctor, for heaven’s sake, and Samantha …”

“Had the most annoying laugh.”

“All right. Yes, her laugh is kind of annoying. But it’s sort of endearing.”

“No. It’s not.”

“You’re being unkind.”

“Maybe. But I don’t have forever to find a wife, and you were supposed to be the best.”

“I am,” she said. “I can find you a wife. Anyway, I didn’t think your personal preferences came into it.”

“I don’t want to be … irritated into an early grave by a woman who laughs at all my jokes, even when they aren’t funny, or by one who can’t seem to make conversation about anything other than the weather.”

“That’s called small talk. It’s how people get to know each other,” she said.

“Boring.” He waved a hand as if dismissing the concept. “Talk about world events. Something other than the ‘balmy evening.’”

“So marriage is more to you than you said. Glad to hear it.”

“I am not glad that you presented me with unacceptable candidates. This is not about … meaning, or emotions. This is about … I have to be able to stand the woman I marry.”

“You really are being ridiculous. They weren’t unacceptable. What’s the problem? You didn’t find them attractive?”

“They were attractive. But I was not attracted to any of them.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is,” he said, whirling around to face her. His dark gaze slid down to her breasts and her own followed.

She looked back up at him. “Elaborate,” she said, teeth gritted.

“You expect that you can show up in that dress, and I can focus on other women?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” She gripped the full, tulle skirt reflexively.

“Other than the fact that you’re showing off much more of your breasts than any straight man could be expected to ignore? It also shows your legs. This was a formal wedding. Every other woman, including the ones I was speaking to, had on long gowns. You … you …”

“This dress comes to my knees. And I didn’t realize you were a fourteen-year-old boy masquerading as a prince.”