2
Crystal hadn't been kicked out. She guessed that was something.
Her feet were hurting, and she was regretting the heels for the second time as she followed the prince and his assistant up at least two flights of stone stairs and down a series of twisting passageways.
The prince—she still couldn't think of him as Valentin—had asked her to bear with him as he spoke to Conrad. Which left her to follow and watch the rapid-fire interplay as Conrad flicked through an iPad while he spoke of engagements that the prince either accepted or rejected. There was a reminder about a new bill parliament was reviewing before Conrad handed him a single sheet of paper as they reached a doorway cut from the stone. Then the prince opened the door and held it for her as Conrad peeled off down the hallway.
"Uh, thanks." She slipped by him, getting a blast of his body heat as she passed. Inside was a sitting room that was so formal it reminded her of her grandma's parlor. There were no knickknacks or doilies here, but the air was stilldon't touch. She gave the dark, square sofa the side-eye but followed the prince through an adjoining doorway.
This room was an office. Light streamed in from a window cut into the wide stone castle exterior, illuminating floor-to-ceiling bookcases along two interior walls. They were stuffed with what looked like boring legal tomes. No novels in sight, sadly.
The prince used a remote to turn on a large flat-screen telly, and a national news channel came to life. The volume was so low it was hardly audible. He barely glanced at it before moving behind the desk, which was massive and carved out of some kind of heavy wood. It was neat, almost bare. Only a few papers were scattered across the surface along with a closed laptop. The paper Conrad had given the prince joined the others.
He didn't sit in the comfy-looking leather chair behind the desk but stood with one hand planted on the wooden surface.
"When can we schedule the first date?"
Oh yes. He was going to be as high maintenance as Ronald. At least he was handsome. And a catch, all things considered.
Think about the rewards. She could do this. For Michael and Reid.
"Do you mind if I sit?" she asked.
She didn't wait for him to answer but perched on the chair on this side of the desk. She opened her bag and vacillated between the laptop and the notepad. Notepad it was. She flipped to a clean sheet of paper.
"What are you looking for in a woman?"
His expression instantly closed off. "That's what you want to ask me? We're not doing a questionnaire from a dating site. I agreed to four dates. You provide the match."
She smiled tightly. "How am I supposed to find you a match if I don't know what kind of person you're looking for? Do you want to meet someone you can talk to about current events? Politics? What level of affection are you most comfortable with? If you like her, how often do you want to see her?"
The prince was still leaning on his desk, but his smile had turned brittle. "Miss Ramos."
"Crystal."
"Crystal. I'm sure you're aware of my history."
Of course she was. The breakup with his fiancée had been public and ugly. Although all of the media coverage had been gathered from Valentin's brother and his ex-fiancée. Valentin himself had never answered an interview question about what happened. Never spoken badly about them or how he must've been hurt by the whole thing.
Several articles had accused him of having a heart of stone. Being uncaring, because the prince had gone on as if everything was business as usual. Who knew if it was true?
She met his stare squarely. "I don't read gossip rags, but it's impossible not to know that something happened."
Now his expression turned grim. "So it is. I imagine every eligible single woman in the country knows."
She considered him. "So you've given up on finding someone."
If so, he presented a challenge that she'd never faced before. All of her previous clients had at leastbelievedin love. They’d even wanted to find it. If Valentin didn't, would she be wasting her time?
So you've givenup on finding someone.
Though he was supposed to be made of stone, Valentin felt like his insides were a pot, merrily simmering away on the stovetop. Every push from the pretty young matchmaker felt as if she was turning up the heat on the burner.
He'd been the one to bring up Annika and Max, and now it felt as if his lid was rattling. Ready to blow off if he didn't release some steam. His regular morning run was supposed to have done that, but it hadn't helped.
What could he say to make her understand?
I trusted them both, and look what happened.
