Chapter Five

You’re Not Supposed to Flirt with Your Matchmaker, Dumbass

Princess Rosamund’s life was more documented than her brother’s and often in graphic detail. Lorena had done some basic background work on Rosamund when she was researching Callum and his family, of course, but this was next level. She was learning things about the princess she’d never wanted to know. The clickbaity headlines didn’t always match the stories, but Rosamund never disappointed her fans.

When it was time for the interview, Lorena gathered up her binders and laptop. She opened her suite door to go find a meeting room, and the princess herself was standing there, as gorgeous as the first time Lorena had seen her.

Princess Rosamund had changed clothes since their introduction in the library, exchanging her silky black dress and gold jewelry for a ruffled baby-blue blouse and short shorts. Her long blonde hair curled in beach-casual waves, her brown eyes wide with long, elegant lashes. She stood tall at five foot nine inches, and her full, curvy build lit a flame in Lorena’s abdomen.

Then the princess smiled, and fuck, that was how she’d won so many lovers in so many countries. Those pouty lips had the power to buckle knees and bend empires to her will.

Not that Lorena was planning on bending. She had a job to do.

“I figured I’d cut you off before you claimed one of those boring conference rooms.” Princess Rosamund winked. “I prefer the great outdoors.” At her feet, a terrier sniffed at the open doorway.

Lorena’s outfit wasn’t exactly outdoorsy, but if the client wanted to go outside, outside they would go. “We can do that.” She could do her work just as well on a bench as at a table. Probably.

“Perfect. Follow me.”

Lorena followed Rosamund and her dog down the halls and out the back of the palace into a full pear orchard, the tall trees planted in neat, straight lines. She loved the evenness.

Rosamund hiked herself up into the third tree down the first row. “Come on up.”

Lorena shifted her weight, clutching her binders. “I’ll stay down here, thanks.”

The princess settled onto a high branch. “Why? You chicken?” Without warning, she swung upside down and dangled from her knees. “No haaands!” The dog barked at his owner’s antics.

Lorena’s pulse jumped in her throat. So precarious. So high up. What if she fell? Her hands trembled. “Um…my clothes. They aren’t good for climbing trees. So I’m gonna stay on the ground.”

“Okay, your loss!”

Lorena perched on the wooden park bench beneath the tree and opened her first binder. She clicked the recorder on. “Tell me a little about yourself, Your Highness.”

“Okay, first of all, let’s kick the ‘Highness’ thing. You can call me Rosamund. Or Rose, if you like. That’s what I let cute people call me.” Rosamund winked.

As if Lorena would be caught dead calling a client by a pet name. “Rosamund, then. Tell me about yourself.”

Rosamund watched her for a moment, then dropped to the grass, landing lightly. “It’s not as fun to climb by myself.” She dusted herself off and sat beside Lorena on the bench, brushing her knee against Lorena’s.

Ignore it. Lorena shifted away and waited for the answer to her question.

Rosamund sighed, scratching her dog behind the ears. “What about me?”

“Anything you think would be useful for me to know so I can find you a good match. I know your mother is the one who hired me, but this is all about you.”

But Rosamund surprised her. “No, it’s not. It’s about my country. What I want has precious little to do with it.”

Lorena leaned forward. “What do you want though?”

“Well, I’ve always been a sucker for brunettes.” Rosamund’s gaze lingered on Lorena’s dark bun. “Especially ones who are a little too focused on work. I get a kick out of, shall we say, helping them unwind.” She drew her long, loose curls over her shoulder, baring her neck. Smooth skin, long arch. Classically, painfully beautiful.

Lorena’s stomach burned at the idea of unwinding in Rosamund’s skilled hands. A few hours to forget parents and bills and clients, to think of nothing but pleasure… No. Get it together. Swallowing hard, she wrote brunettes preferred. “And how do you identify your sexuality?”

Rosamund gave her a double thumbs-up. “Biiiisexual.”

Really? Straightening, Lorena smiled. “Hey, I’m bi too.” She hadn’t expected to have anything in common with Ìovoria’s party princess.

Rosamund brightened. “Seriously? When did you figure it out? For me, it wasn’t until secondary school, but I can remember having crushes on girls in primary school.”

Lorena laughed. “Yeah, I remember that—being obsessed with pretty girls ‘just because.’ I came out in college, myself.”

“How did that go?” Rosamund touched her hand where it rested on the binder.

Cheeks warming, Lorena pulled her hand away. “Fine, thankfully. Most of my friends are queer, too, and my parents didn’t care.” Because her mom had been more concerned with her business, and her dad had been busy fucking his secretary. Details. “How about you? Can’t imagine it’s fun to come out as a public figure.”

Rosamund shrugged. “A lot of people thought I was doing it for attention, but little gay babies around the world took comfort from it. I tried to focus on the positive.”

Rowdy Rosamund, a comfort? Yet Lorena did remember feeling relieved at the online lists of bi celebrities when she’d been discovering who she was. There are other people like me, it had told her. But homophobic fans could be savage. “People can be mean.”

“Aye.” Rosamund tossed her hair. “They can be. But after a while, it’s water off a duck’s back.”

Was it? Despite twenty-seven years in the public eye, was it so easy to brush off cruelty from masses of people who didn’t even know her? But if Rosamund didn’t want to talk about it, it wasn’t Lorena’s place to push. She tapped her pen on the binder and moved on.

“Do you have any preferences for the gender of your matches?”

Rosamund toed the dirt. “I prefer women, femme women, but anyone is fine.”

“No judgment. Everyone has their preferences, whether they like to admit it or not. That’s why I ask.” Lorena circled bisexual and women in the corresponding lists, with a handwritten note of femme. The dog nudged Lorena, and when she didn’t respond, he jumped up, his claws digging into Lorena’s leg. “Ouch! Down, boy.”

“Iver, down.” Rosamund shooed him, and he plopped onto all fours. “Sorry.”

What was it with dogs always knowing she was a cat person? Not that she hated dogs or anything, but there was something to be said for personal space. Nevertheless, Lorena scratched the terrier behind the ears as Rosamund had, and his tongue lolled out. He was cute, in a scrappy way.

“He really likes you.” Rosamund draped her arm over the back of the bench. “He has good taste.”

Lorena shot her a look. “Thank you. Now, about your—”

“Are you single?” Rosamund glanced her fingertips over Lorena’s left hand. The touch of skin on skin burned. “I don’t see a ring.”

Lorena pulled her hand back and examined it to make sure it wasn’t actually singed. What was Rosamund’s power over her body, and how the hell could she turn it off? “Yes, I’m single, but we’re not here to talk about me.”

Rosamund dropped her chin into her hand with a smile. “We could be. Have you ever set yourself up with a client?”

“No, of course not.”

“First time for everything.” The princess’s grin widened. “How do you choose these people, anyway? Who’s to say you’re not as good a match as any of them?”

Lorena straightened. “I do my research, then I interview them, then I run the pairs through my special algorithm.”

Rosamund bit her lip. “Ever run yourself through the algorithm? To see what happens?”

Frowning, Lorena shook her head. “That would be completely unprofessional.” Besides, she had no interest in seeing the low scores she’d churn out. Her solitude hurt enough without confirming there wasn’t anyone for her.

Rosamund cocked her head. “What’s the highest score a couple can get? Like, what’s the scale?”

“It’s a percentage. Theoretically, a couple could get up to 100 percent, but life isn’t that simple. I find 70 to 90 percent more common and more reasonable.” Below 70 percent was trouble, and above 90 was fairy-tale, happily-ever-after territory. Achievable, but rare. She’d never found a 100-percent-compatible couple; something always got in the way of perfection. Life.

The princess grinned. “Can I try it?”

“No. It’s proprietary information.”

“I’m the future queen.”

“Not of me. Good try though.” Lorena flipped to the next page in her binder. “Which of these animals would you identify as?”

“Dolphin,” Rosamund said immediately. “I’m fun as fuck.”

Lorena sighed. “That is technically one of the options, but if you let me read them all—”

“What about you?” Rosamund asked instead. “What’s your personality in animal form?”

“We’re not here to talk about me.”

She waited, one brow raised.

Lorena wasn’t getting out of this one, was she? “Fine. Cheetah.” Self-sufficient, determined, insightful, ambitious, independent. Definitely the cheetah.

Rosamund’s lips curved. Such full lips. Lorena’s gaze caught on them a moment too long before she blinked twice and looked her in the eye. “I’ve always loved cheetahs,” the princess purred. Her finger trailed along Lorena’s shoulder.

Lorena warmed at the compliment despite herself. No. Get it together.

Rosamund leaned in close. Awareness spiked in Lorena’s nerves, the close quarters an unwelcome temptation that hadn’t crossed her mind with any of her other clients. Rosamund smelled of cinnamon. Just Lorena’s luck—her favorite spice. “Let’s talk date ideas. Or better yet, act them out. I reckon you need a good tour of the country anyway.” She tilted her head with a winning smile. “How can you say no to this face?”

That was the problem. “This face” was the crown princess of Ìovoria, and Lorena’s highest-stakes client ever. Lorena pressed her lips together. “My work partner and I have already discussed date ideas, but thank you.”

Rosamund pretended to pout. “You don’t want to go out with me.”

“Correct,” Lorena said coolly. “My entire career is on the line here, so forgive me if I’m unwilling to throw it all away for a little flirting. I almost lost everything thanks to your brother.”

“Oh.” Rosamund sat back, stumped. “He kinda threw both of us to the wolves, didn’t he?”

Yet another way Lorena was like Rosamund. How unexpected.

The princess touched Lorena’s hand, then pulled away. “I’ll let you do your job,” she said, and for the first time all afternoon, she seemed serious. “What else do you need to know about me?”

Lorena’s skin still burned where Rosamund had touched her. What had she signed up for? Stay focused. “Okay, so I know what the news says your relationship history is like. What’s the real story?” She tapped her pen on the binder. “Real relationships. What have they been like?”

Rosamund looked away. “I haven’t had a lot of them. The news isn’t totally wrong. I’m more…love ’em and leave ’em.”

Lorena crossed her legs at the ankles. “Have you ever had a real relationship before?” No judgment in her tone.

A pause, then a nod. “Once. It would’ve been—” She counted on her fingers. “—ten years ago now. Wow.”

“Time is fake.”

“You’re not kidding.” Rosamund blew out a harsh breath. “I went out with a countess when I was seventeen. Just a ride in the Highlands and a kiss. Nothing wild. We thought the date stayed under the radar, but the paparazzi saw everything. It was everywhere, in all the papers. She was so embarrassed she didn’t want anything to do with me after that.” She rolled her shoulders. “Me, I figured out what I was good for. Kissing and telling.”

Lorena couldn’t bring herself to write that down. “I’m sorry they harassed you. Especially so young.”

Rosamund shrugged. “I should’ve known it would happen. Anyway, if you get anything out of this interview, know there are limited places the press can’t find me. They know I sell stories, and they can make anything a headline.”

“Good to know.” Lorena had already deduced as much, but to hear the princess confirm she had to live under that threat every day…with no privacy and little hope of finding love… Her throat closed up, a lump forming. “Well, don’t worry. I’m committed to making the matching process as enjoyable as possible. That means zero paparazzi if I can help it.”

Rosamund screwed up a smile. “I don’t know if you can help it, but I appreciate the effort.”

She didn’t touch Lorena again, but Lorena almost wished she would.

What was happening to her?