"Tell me," Valentin repeated, temper dissipating like sand in a windstorm. Father didn't deserve that from him. It wasn't Father who'd betrayed him. It wasn't Father's fault his heart didn't exist.
"She heard about this high profile matchmaker lady."
"Absolutely not." The words were out before Valentin had time to think them through. It was a ludicrous idea. Out of the question.
Was that what Mother thought of his skill at attracting the opposite sex? That he needed someone to pick a match for him?
"I'll tell her myself," Valentin said grimly. "There will be no matchmaker for me."
Crystal Ramos droveher compact car away from the gatehouse and parked where she'd been directed, beside the royal garage. Was there a different name for it if the garage was so massive it could've fit her apartment inside at least ten times?
She'd been invited to the castle to visit Glorvaird's royal family. Well, part of it.
She was still mired in disbelief as she got out of the car. She stood on the pavers, craning her neck up to admire the castle that rose above her on two sides.
She couldn't believe she was here. Or that Queen Eloise had even heard of her.
Her! A nobody from a family of nobodies. She hadn't even finished college. And the queen had called herdirectly. Not some assistant. Not an email.
She was here to meet with the crown prince because heneeded her services.
If she could find the prince a perfect match, she'd have her choice of future clients. She'd never have to work with sniveling, spoiled men like Ronald Frothingham again.
And maybe—this dream was so far out there that she hadn't really let it coalesce as a thought until this very moment—maybe she wouldn't have to worry about every single penny. She could pay Michael and Reid's college tuition and be able to eat more than ramen with a side of ramen. She could buy lobster.
She was shaken out of her daydream at a polite cough from nearby.
"Oh, hi!" She pushed away from the car, where she'd leaned as her happy daydreams had spun around her.
A man—not the prince—in a dove gray sweater over a starched collared shirt and pressed slacks was waiting near the corner of the garage, where a footpath led around the side.
"Sorry, I was woolgathering." Could he really blame her? She'd jumped at the chance to meet with the prince, but the only time available in his calendar had been early in the day. She'd always considered anything before seven a.m. ridiculous, but she couldn't exactly say that to her newest client, not with everything that was riding on this.
The well-dressed man was still waiting on her as she dragged her leather laptop bag out of the backseat of her car.
When she joined him, he said, "This way, miss."
She'd hoped there was a second door, maybe a servant's entrance or something, around the corner—she'd seen the main entrance at the front of the garage—but that hope was dashed as she followed the guy down the footpath around the base of the stone castle.
She'd worn a knee-length skirt and a button-up blouse with her best pair of black heels. They weren't Louboutins, or even knockoffs, but she was hoping the ensemble made her look professional and conservative. As it was, the humidity was creeping in beneath her skirt and making her underarms damp. Or maybe that was her nerves.
She tried to unobtrusively wipe her palms on her skirt.
And then the stone footpath gave way to sand as the castle wall ended and the ocean opened up in front of them, a panorama that spanned the horizon.
Her escort kept going.
"Uh, excuse me."
She stalled out on the last stone paver.
Her guide turned back and raised one imperious eyebrow.
She wondered what she'd gotten into. This was someone who worked for the prince. Did her client have that same superior attitude? Or worse?
Was he going to be another Ronald?
She made herself focus. "Let's start over, shall we? I'm Crystal."
