Chapter Seven

Oh God No, Anybody But Her

Tonight was the night. The first date.

Lorena was planning a nice night in her suite, her and her binders and maybe a catchup call with Natascha. But when a hard knock reverberated through her door, terror shot through her. Not again. I can’t have screwed up again. She checked her watch. Rose had only left ten minutes ago. It was too soon for her to return to tell her she’d failed, right?

Lorena set down her notes and hesitantly opened the door—but Graeme stood there, dressed up in a black suit and tie, his hands clasped behind his back. “Pardon the intrusion, ma’am.”

“No worries. What’s up?”

He shifted his weight. “I heard Princess Rosamund’s date tonight is Lady Quinlan Campbell Reid.”

Lorena nodded. “You heard right. What about it?”

Graeme hesitated. “I know it’s not my place, but how much time have you spent with Lady Quinlan in person?”

Cocking her head, Lorena planted a hand on her hip. “A few hours, for our interviews. What’s the problem? She’s an aristocrat with good breeding, and she and Princess Rosamund already know each other. The queen loves her, to boot. She’s perfect.”

“On paper, perhaps. In practice…” He winced.

Dread chilled Lorena’s spine. “What does that mean?”

A long pause. Too long.

Finally, Graeme offered, “In the past, Lady Quinlan has tended to…rub the princess the wrong way.” The look on his face said it wasn’t just the princess either.

Lorena’s throat closed. Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. Quinlan had seemed so normal, and she’d spoken so fondly of Rosamund. Here Lorena had thought a family friend was a good place to start. No luck. I have absolutely no luck. She steadied herself against the doorjamb. “What am I going to do?”

“I may have made a reservation to, er, supervise. I think it would be wise if you joined me.”

Which was how Lorena found herself dressed in a fine green gown and sliding into a nondescript sedan. A tall wrought iron fence outlined the property of Dìnnear a ’Phrionnsa, with an attendant to confirm each customer coming through the gate. Lorena and Graeme’s driver dropped them off at the door before leaving to park in the private lot.

Lorena stepped inside and immediately felt like a celebrity. The primary room was a triumph. Glittering gold chandeliers hung from the ceiling, which was a lattice full of blooming, vibrant flowers and strings of fairy lights. A rocky waterfall took up one entire wall, splashing down into a wishing pool. White tablecloths topped small circular tables, accented by tall candles and bouquets of white roses.

A server led Graeme and Lorena to a table across the way from Rosamund and Quinlan, out of eavesdropping distance but close enough they could keep an eye on how things were going.

Based on the look on Rosamund’s face…it was not going well.

Shit.

*

“…and that’s when I told my sister beekeeping is cruel and unnatural,” Quinlan said through a mouthful of food. “Can you believe she was upset? Like, she knows I’m a vegan.”

Rose downed the rest of her wine, and moments later, a waiter refilled her glass. Thank God. She was going to need a lot more of that to survive this dinner.

“But enough about my sister.” Quinlan held up a hand, and Rose thought she might close her mouth, but no such luck. Quinlan chewed with her mouth open, flashing ground-up food on her tongue, and Rose had to avert her gaze before her stomach revolted. After swallowing, Quinlan continued, “I haven’t seen you in forever! And I have to say, you look amazing.” She gave Rose a blatant once-over.

We haven’t seen each other because I actively avoid you ever since you asked me out two years ago. Rose shifted in her seat. “Erm, thank you. You too.” Quinlan was pretty, just annoying.

She preened. “Thank you. Oh, have you seen my new tattoo?”

Obviously not. “I don’t think I have,” Rose said politely and took a bite of her salad. The steak here was phenomenal, but she’d opted for rabbit food to be courteous. Sigh.

Quinlan stood and hiked her gown up to reveal her right thigh.

“Oh, Lord—” Rose motioned sharply for her to sit.

Oblivious to the other patrons staring at her, Quinlan pointed to a dandelion blowing away at the top of her thigh. “Isn’t it unusual?” She sounded in awe of her own edginess.

“It’s—” Risqué? Cliché? Higher on Quinlan’s leg than Rose had ever wanted to see? “—very nice.” The words were sour in Rose’s mouth, but she was trying to be polite. All she had to do was survive the next hour. “Do you mind?” She gestured again for Quinlan to sit, and this time, she did, dropping her skirt into place. Phew.

Rose glanced around again at the other patrons in the restaurant—and her gaze landed on two familiar faces. Graeme and Lorena, a few tables away. Quinlan started talking again; Rose only nodded along without listening as she tried to get a better look at what Lorena was wearing. Emerald lace and chiffon flowed to the marble floor, with one strappy heel poking out. Classy. If only Rose could go over there and say hi, converse with normal, non-annoying people.

“Did you hear me?” Quinlan tapped her fork on her plate too loudly.

“Sweet Jesus,” Rose muttered. “No, sorry, I missed it. What did you say?”

“I said I missed you.” Quinlan reached for Rose’s hand.

Moving her hand out of reach, Rose hurried to take another bite of salad. What do I say to that? “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

“I wanted to show you—I was going to wait, but since we’re together—” Quinlan dug into her purse and pulled out a folded-up sheet of paper. She opened it up and smoothed it out before thrusting it toward Rose, who took it hesitantly.

The graph, or whatever it was, was a circle with symbols scattered across it, multicolored crisscrossing lines, and hand-scrawled notes in all the white space. “Erm, what is this?”

“I ran our birth charts! We’re so compatible, you and me. See, you have a—”

“Wait.” Rose crinkled her nose. “You looked up my birth chart? Like, on a fan site?”

“Oh, no, I did it myself. I wouldn’t trust a random person on the Internet to get it right.” Quinlan beamed as if this were completely normal.

Rose stared at the paper. She had no problem with astrology, even read her horoscope from time to time, but this…this felt like an invasion.

The rest of the date was no better, and maintaining the proper politeness took ten years off Rose’s life. Finally, she paid the bill, walked Quinlan to her ride, closed the door for her, and went inside. She slid into the booth beside Lorena. “So, have a good evening eavesdropping on my date?”

Lorena sank back against the cushion, miserable. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Lady Quinlan was so… The interview didn’t give me the full picture.”

“Listen, I need some real food in my belly ASAP. Salad is insufficient.” Rose’s stomach grumbled as if in agreement. She flagged down her waiter and ordered a steak medallion to go, medium rare. “Are you going to ask if I had a good time, or are we done pretending?”

Lorena shook her head.

Graeme slid out from the other side of the booth. “Excuse me.” He disappeared around the corner toward the restroom.

Rose would take advantage of any one-on-one time with Lorena. She inched closer until their shoulders and thighs brushed, the contact sizzling. “How was your dinner? Better than mine, I hope?”

Lorena chuckled. “The bar is low, unfortunately. Again, I’m so sorry. If I had known—”

“I know. Please promise me, no more surprise dates. Run the names past me in the future, just to be sure.”

“Makes sense. Can do.”

“So how much could you hear from over here?”

“Not much, but I could, um, make out a bit from reading your lips.”

“Oh, so you spent the evening staring at my lips?”

“I—not like that.” Lorena’s cheeks darkened. “I mean—I wasn’t—”

Rose laughed. “Relax, I’m only teasing.” She propped her elbow on the table and dropped her chin onto her palm. “You do know how to relax? Fun, have you heard of it?”

Lorena straightened. “I know how to have fun, thank you.”

“Examples, or it didn’t happen.”

She visibly scrambled for an answer, then brightened. “I have a tattoo!”

Rose arched an eyebrow. “Really?” If it’s a dandelion blowing away, so help me…

“It’s a laurel wreath, for victory. I got it on the one-year anniversary of starting Love, Lorena.”

“Where is it?” Don’t say slag tag, don’t say slag tag, don’t say slag tag.

“It’s on my foot. My shoe’s covering it right now, but I can show you later.”

Saving the tattoo exhibition for a more appropriate setting? Rose almost swooned.

“What about you?”

“You haven’t seen them?” The tabloids loved to show them off, to make her look even wilder than she was.

“I might’ve, but I’m asking you, not the paparazzi.”

A nuance Rose had never really received before. “Erm, I have a few. A dog paw print on my ankle, a small heart on my wrist—” She flashed it.

“Nice.”

“There’s also a sun on my shoulder, an outline of Ìovoria on my back, and a lightning bolt on my hip.” She shrugged. “I like a little art on my skin.”

“I’m sure your mom loves them.” Sarcasm.

Rose scoffed. “My mum gave me the cold shoulder for two months when I got the first one, the sun. She’s been progressively less shocked with each one, but no, she’s definitely not a fan.”

“My parents aren’t either.” Lorena flexed her fingers as if she were thinking about reaching out, but she didn’t, which disappointed Rose more than it should have. Did Lorena have a rough go of it with her family too? Maybe one day she’d open up about her own life, not simply ask about Rose’s.

“So tell me about your tattoos,” Lorena prompted. “They’re lovely. Do they mean anything?”

Rose’s cheeks warmed. They did have deeper meanings, but now she worried Lorena might find them silly. “The paw print is for Iver. I got it four years ago, the same week I got him as a puppy. The rest…I’ll explain some other time.”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Lorena leaned back in her seat and looked away, no pressure.

Suddenly, Rose was afraid she’d cut off the conversation. She couldn’t bring herself to explain the tattoos yet, but— “Who’s your ride home?”

“Home?”

“Back to the palace. You should ride with me.”

“Oh. You’re sure?” Lorena smiled. “Let me tell Graeme, and we can go whenever you’re ready.”

Out in the lot, Rose’s to-go box in hand, they slid into the expansive back seat of Rose’s limousine. Rose rested her arm around the back of Lorena’s shoulders for fun, but Lorena seemed not to notice. Instead, she asked, “Did you still want to see my tattoo?”

“Absolutely.” Rose relaxed and gestured for her to go for it.

Carefully, Lorena slipped off her right heel. There, on the top right of her foot, was the laurel wreath. Neatly done in black line-art, and very pretty.

“In honor of your company, right?”

Lorena nodded. “I live in a rural part of Virginia, so there was a big question of whether or not I’d have enough clients. My own parents didn’t think I could—or should—do it. But that first year, I worked my ass off, and so did Natascha, and word got around. Not only did we stay open, we made a nice profit.” She beamed. “I got the tattoo to remind myself of what I can do when I put my mind to it.”

“That’s lovely.” Rose admired the art for a moment longer. The lines were clean, crisp, minimalist. Gorgeous. “Hey, I don’t think you have my private number. Here, let me give it to you.” She pulled out her phone. “What’s your mobile?”

Lorena recited her phone number. Rose saved it as a new contact and sent a quick text.

ROSE: This is Rose! ❤

When they got back to the palace, Catriona met them at the double doors. “I want the full report.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest, Mum. We’ve only just arrived.”

Lorena took a more diplomatic approach. “The official post-date interview is tomorrow morning, Your Majesty. Could we meet after that?”

But Catriona glowered. “After what happened with Callum, you think I can simply wait it out? Tell me how it went.”

Rose sighed. “It was Quinlan.” This should’ve been enough.

However, her mother actually brightened. “I heard! She’s a great fit, and she loves you. Don’t tell me you messed it up somehow.”

“I—me?” Rose sputtered. “She’s mad. I can’t stand her.”

“We can work through that.”

Lorena intervened before Rose committed treason. “The date could’ve gone better, but none of that was Princess Rosamund’s fault. She was all gentility. I don’t see things proceeding with Lady Quinlan, but that’s not a problem. I have other options, plenty of them.”

Catriona stared at Lorena for so long Rose almost stepped in between them.

Finally, her mother said, “Walk with me, Lorena.”

Oh, shite. “Mum, I can come too. It’s not—”

“Lorena,” her mother repeated firmly.

Lorena touched Rose’s arm reassuringly and gave a crisp nod. It’s okay, her dark eyes said. Rose disagreed. But before she protested further, Lorena turned to Catriona and lifted her chin. “After you, ma’am.”

Rose stared after them in horror as they walked down the corridor, her mother’s voice cool and severe but incomprehensible from this distance. What was she saying to Lorena? Not firing her, surely, after only one date (well, two, if one counted Callum’s)?

Worrying for Lorena, Rose followed, straining to make out the conversation.

*

Queen Catriona led Lorena into the library and closed the door, blocking out the not-so-subtle princess trailing behind them. Lorena felt like she was in the principal’s office.

The queen sat on a plush maroon armchair and steepled her fingertips over her knee. “Good choice, going with Lady Quinlan.” Inexplicably, there was no sarcasm in her voice. “Rosamund needs someone like that.”

Lorena pressed her lips together to stay silent, but the protest came out anyway. “Thank you, ma’am, but it truly wasn’t a good fit. Next time I’ll—”

Queen Catriona waved this off. “You’re heading in the right direction. Rosamund needs someone proper. Someone to show her how to behave. A role model.”

Who was Rosamund, a twelve-year-old? Lorena crinkled her nose. “I don’t know—”

“Correct, you don’t know. So listen to what I’m saying. Rosamund has been out of control. Find her someone with a title, of course, but someone with class, with self-restraint. If they’re older, that’s fine. She might benefit from some maturity.”

Oh, no. She wants me to find Rosamund a mother. Lorena let out a long breath so she wouldn’t do something stupid, like retch.

“Rosamund just wants attention, so make sure your selected dates hold back. I don’t want anyone encouraging her nonsense.”

Ouch. Lorena opened her mouth to protest this misdiagnosis.

Queen Catriona held up a hand to quiet her. “On top of that, advise her not to…get intimate with these people. She throws herself at everything on two legs, so it’s a tough sell, but a little reserve wouldn’t hurt her chances.”

The queen continued on, giving ever more inaccurate and awkward advice, and all Lorena could do was stand there and nod as if she planned to implement any of it. Finally, Catriona glanced at her watch. “I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. You may go.”

Oh, thank God. Lorena curtsied and fled.

She closed the suite door behind her and, to be safe, went into the bedroom and closed that door too. Only then did she press the Call button under Natascha’s contact information in her phone.

“Hey! What’s up?” Tascha’s bright voice was a welcome familiarity, even distorted by technology. “How’s it going over there?”

Heaving a sigh, Lorena flopped onto her bed. “Terrible.”

“Aw, really?” Tascha’s tone deflated. “I thought Rosamund was less horse-obsessed than Callum.”

“I mean, she is, which is nice, but five hundred other problems cropped up instead.” Lorena pinched the bridge of her nose. “For instance, the queen told me to convince Rosamund to go abstinent. Ugh.”

“Ew, gross. I hate when parents try to involve themselves.”

“I know, right? And everybody knows each other, apparently. It’s not that big of a country, so it should’ve occurred to me, but—”

“Wait, who knows each other?”

“Rosamund knows Quinlan. Knows her and hates her. Which is fair because it turns out she’s annoying as shit. How could I have missed that?”

“Hey, you’re not infallible.”

“Well, from now on I have to be. I’ve used up my margin for error.”

Natascha sighed. “Okay, do you want solutions or do you want to vent? I can do either.”

“Solutions.” Despite how good venting felt, it didn’t accomplish anything, and Lorena needed a win.

“Okay, so if the Ìovorian royalty—”

“Aristocracy.”

“—whatever, people know each other, bring in someone from a different country. And in case you forgot, you’re allowed to go to the princess and straight-up ask her if she knows the person.”

Lorena blew out a harsh breath.

Tascha huffed right back. “Why are you upset? You know I’m right.”

“Fine. You are.” Lorena slithered off the bed, opened the door, and went over to her line of binders on the desk. She pulled out the Suitors binder and flipped to the Non-Ìovorians tab. Lady Giulietta, Lord Philip, Lady Andromeda…Prince Edoardo of Umbria. A title, like the queen wanted. Fun, like Rosamund wanted. Down to earth, and handsome to boot. A solid second option. She let Natascha go and called Rosamund.

“Well, hello.” Rosamund sounded pleasantly surprised. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Have you ever met the prince of Umbria?”

“Not to my recollection. Why? Should I Google him?”

“Please don’t. He’s your next date.”

“In that case, I’m Googling him right now.”

“Don’t—”

“Oooh, he’s cute. No, I don’t know him. But I’m excited to change that.”

The flirty tone set Lorena’s teeth on edge, though Rosamund finding Prince Edoardo attractive should’ve been good news. “Okay, good to know. I wanted to check, after—”

“After Quinlan showed me her upper thigh in the middle of a crowded restaurant?”

Lorena winced. “Yeah.”

“Aye. Good call.”

“Okay, well, that was all.” Yet Lorena found herself reluctant to hang up, reluctant to let go of this private moment with Rosamund. Damn it. That alone means I need to hang up. “Okay,” she repeated, “I’ll let you go.”

“How was your chat with my mum?” Rosamund asked instead of ending the conversation. “She wasn’t too harsh, was she?”

Lorena latched on to the new topic with an enthusiasm that surprised even herself. “Your mother was fine. She wanted to give me some input.”

Rosamund groaned. “Mum gives the worst love advice. Please tell me you’re planning to ignore it all.”

Lorena suppressed a laugh. “I…was not planning on taking her advice, no. But that’s between you and me.”

“Whew. Good.” Rosamund heaved a relieved sigh. “Once she told me I should lie to people’s faces to get them to like me. Can you believe that?”

“Sadly, I can.” Lorena chuckled. “All this is perhaps not her forte.”

“Perhaps not,” Rosamund drawled.

Lorena wanted to be able to say it’s okay, she has your best interests at heart, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. “Did your dad give better advice?”

“Yes, mostly because he didn’t try to force-feed me advice at all. He just listened.” Rosamund went quiet. “You don’t realize what a nice trait that is until there’s no one left to do it.”

Lorena’s heart went out to the princess. “Listen, I don’t know much about the royal way of life, but if you ever need someone to vent to, or a shoulder to cry on, or anything…I’m here, okay?”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Rosamund let out a small breath.

Lorena wished they were together in person so she could get a better read on her. What did she need? She almost got up and went to find the princess…almost. No, don’t do it. Better to keep some distance. Instead, she pulled up Rosamund’s schedule on her tablet and skimmed through the next few days. “Anyway,” she said, “you’re open Tuesday morning for the date with Prince Edoardo. You okay with that?”

“Absolutely. Schedule him in ASAP.” Rosamund put on a sexy purr, then laughed. “Sorry, that was bad, even by my standards. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior when the actual date comes around.”

On her best behavior because she thought the prince was hot. Why did that idea bother Lorena? “Remember, I don’t want you to lie about who you are. A good match will love and accept you, the real you, for your flaws and your quirks and your virtues in equal share.”

Rosamund chuckled. “Sure would be nice, eh?”

“I’m not joking. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not.” Lorena was firm on this, and not because of whatever conflicted feelings she had toward her client. “I can’t match you correctly if you’re not honest with the people I set you up with.”

Instead of getting upset the way some of her clients had in the past, Rosamund considered this. “Aye, all right. I get that.” Her tone went playful. “I’ll be good, but not too good. Deal?”

Lorena smiled despite herself. “Deal.”

Good but not too good.

Why did that seem even more dangerous than the Rowdy Rosamund persona?

*

Tuesday afternoon, Lorena was typing away at her laptop in the Kinlochy Room when the door opened and Rosamund strode in, a vision in a black dress accented by gold hoops and a long gold necklace. Lorena’s pulse jumped, but she looked back to her screen as if nothing had happened. Reaction? Reaction who?

Rosamund sank into a chair and kicked her heels up onto the table. “Afternoon, sunshine.”

“Good afternoon. How did your date go?”

Rosamund sighed. “It was fine—he was sweet and funny and nice. Cute accent too. But there was no spark.”

Shit. Lorena deflated. “Could you elaborate?”

“No connection, no electricity. I didn’t feel anything when we touched, and I had zero desire to kiss him. Thank God he never tried anything.” Rosamund shrugged. “I mean, he was great. But we had zero chemistry. He could’ve been Callum.”

“Did you feel like it could’ve developed with time?”

Rosamund shook her head. “No, I don’t. Sorry.”

Shit, shit, fuck. Another person crossed off the list. Still, Lorena didn’t blame the princess. “Okay. Well, I appreciate you giving Prince Edoardo a shot.”

Rosamund blinked. “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”

“I can’t manufacture chemistry. All I do is set up opportunities. If the spark isn’t there, it isn’t there.”

Rosamund’s lips parted in surprise. “I agree! This kind of thing can’t be forced. And I can’t be in a relationship with no chemistry.” She shuddered. “It wouldn’t work. Not for me.”

Lorena shooed away the very idea. “I would never ask that of you.”

“Och, my mum would.”

“No.” Her voice went firm. “I’m going to find the perfect match for you. Someone you have chemistry with. Someone even your mother can’t complain about.”

Rosamund met her gaze then, her brown eyes smoldering, and it seemed to mean something. But all she said was “Promise?”

Like an idiot, Lorena reached out and clasped Rosamund’s hand. The skin-on-skin contact burned, heat crawling from her palms up her arms and setting butterflies fluttering in her stomach. The princess’s fingers tightened around hers, and in that moment, Lorena would have done anything to keep Rosamund for herself, for a week, a day, an hour, a minute. To have the princess in her arms, to feel those full lips on her own, to explore her curves fully.

But Rosamund was her client. Her responsibility. Not hers to keep.

Lorena released her and pulled back, flexing her hand under the table.

This is bad. This is really bad. She’d never had this problem with a client before. If she couldn’t suppress these feelings…well, it didn’t matter. She would suppress them, and that was that.

Rosamund was watching her, an eyebrow cocked. “You all right?”

Lorena cleared her throat. “Yes. Sorry. I was…lost in thought. Anyway, tell me more about the date so I can apply that information going forward. What you liked, what you didn’t…”

They sat at the conference table and discussed the date for another hour before Rosamund had to leave for a university dedication. Lorena was packing up her things when her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt in her throat—Rosamund missed her already? But then the caller ID flashed. José Luís García Ruíz. She grimaced and put on her Bluetooth headset before answering. “Papá, what time is it there?”

“How’s your little vacation going?” he asked instead of replying.

Lorena gritted her teeth. “This is a work trip, not a vacation.”

“Uh-huh. You’re buddy-buddy with that party princess now, aren’t you?”

“I’m her matchmaker, not her friend”—a budding lie—“but we’re spending a lot of time together, yes.”

“Right, right, that’s what I said. Did you know she was in a Parisian orgy a few days ago?”

Lorena sighed. “That’s what’s in the tabloids? How ridiculous. She’s been home all week.”

He snorted in disbelief. “Listen, if I have to choose between a matchmaker or professional reporters—”

“They aren’t reporters if they’re making up stories to sell magazines!”

“Pfft. Isn’t that what the news is?”

“No!”

“Anyway, have you found her a date yet?”

Sigh. “Technically, yes. She’s been out on two first dates. Neither of them was the right fit, but we’re working on it.”

Her dad chortled. “How can you not find someone Rowdy Rosamund likes?”

The derogatory nickname raised Lorena’s hackles. “Don’t call her that. And the point isn’t to find someone she likes. It’s to find her a lifelong partner. Her match.”

He snorted again. “I hope she’s eating up that ‘everlasting love’ drivel because I’m sure as hell not. Take one look at your mother and tell me how I’m supposed to love that forever and always.”

Lorena pinched the bridge of her nose under her glasses.

“Speaking of your mother, yesterday she—”

“I have work to do,” Lorena interrupted him. “Can I call you later?”

“Yeah, whatever. Good luck failing at your silly little business.” He hung up.

Well, that settled it. Lorena was going to find Rosamund a partner or die trying.

She backed out the conference room door—and bumped into someone. “Oh, ’scuse me. I wasn’t—” She turned and found herself face-to-face with the queen herself. “Your Majesty! Sorry, I, um—” Stammering, she curtsied as best she could with her hands full. “Can I help you with something?”

Queen Catriona pursed her lips with utter disdain. “These dates aren’t working.”

“No, they are. They will.” Lorena gripped her laptop and binder tightly and, unexpectedly, wished Rosamund were there for moral support. That’s ridiculous. She pushed the thought away…but it had been there nonetheless. She forced herself to focus. “This is part of the process. Not everyone clicks.”

The queen frowned. “Isn’t that your job? To find the people who ‘click’? And after all, my daughter’s standards aren’t terribly high. The paparazzi catch her with riffraff every other day.”

Lorena sighed. Not this again. “There’s a difference between a one-off date and finding your life partner.”

Queen Catriona dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, I met you here to tell you I’m hurrying your process along.”

Lorena was afraid to ask what that meant. “H-how’s that?”

“I’m holding a mixer here at the palace.” There was no arguing with that tone. “All eligible Ìovorian nobility will be invited.”

“I—when?”

“Next week. And the royal tailor will be stopping by your suite later today to ensure you have something appropriate to wear.”

Lorena furrowed her brow. “Me?” Since when was she invited to royal balls?

“Well, yes. How are you to supervise Rosamund’s speed dating if you don’t attend?”

“Oh, I…”

“That will be all. This was a courtesy advisory. You may go.” The queen inclined her head in dismissal.

Lorena curtsied again and backed up the hall until the queen was out of view. Once she was alone, though, she slumped. Great. All eyes on her, and the queen had taken it upon herself to interfere publicly. There was no possible way any of this could go wrong.