Royally Matched (Royally #2)(45)

Her comment magnifies the hollowness in my chest.

“Yes.” I force a smile. “Lucky.”

“Henry—”

Before she can continue, a golf cart drives up and Vanessa Steele springs out and up the beach to us.

“Hey—we have a problem. You have some unexpected guests down at the gate. You should go check it out.”

Guests? Who would come here to see me?

I hop in the golf cart and drive down to the main gate. Just in time to hear Franny Barrister, the Countess of Ellington, tearing into a poor, clueless Matched security guard.

“Don’t you tell me we can’t come in, you horse’s arse. Where’s Henry—what have you done with him?”

Simon, my brother’s best friend, sees me approach, his sparkling blue eyes shining. “There he is.”

I nod to security and open the gate.

“Simon, Franny, what are you doing here?”

“Nicholas said you didn’t sound right the last time he spoke to you. He asked us to peek in on you,” Simon explains.

Franny’s shrewd gaze rakes me over. “He doesn’t look drunk. And he obviously hasn’t hung himself from the rafters—that’s better than I was expecting.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Simon peers around the grounds, at the smattering of crew members and staging tents. “What the hell is going on, Henry?”

I clear my throat. “So . . . the thing is . . . I’m sort of . . . filming a reality dating television show here at the castle and we started with twenty women and now we’re down to four, and when it’s over one of them will get the diamond tiara and become my betrothed. At least in theory.”

It sounded so much better in my head.

“Don’t tell Nicholas.”

Simon scrubs his hand down his face. “Now I’m going to have to avoid his calls—I’m terrible with secrets.”

And Franny lets loose a peal of tinkling laughter. “This is fabulous! You never disappoint, you naughty boy.” She pats my arm. “And don’t worry, when the Queen boots you out of the palace, Simon and I will adopt you. Won’t we, darling?”

Simon nods. “Yes, like a rescue dog.”

“Good to know.” Then I gesture back to their car. “Well . . . it was nice of you to stop by.”

Simon shakes his head. “You’re not getting rid of us that easily, mate.”

“Yes, we’re definitely staying.” Franny claps her hands. “I have to see this!”

Fantastic.





I give Simon and Franny the grand tour, filling them in on the rules and the contestants. When we walk into the great room, where much of the crew has gathered, Cordelia and Elizabeth back away from Franny like snakes making room for a cobra. Back in the day, Franny was Queen of the Mean Girls—but since she fell for Simon, she’s much nicer.

She glances at the landing at the top of the stairs.

“Interesting. Are those the Titebottum sisters?” she asks. “Penelope and Sarah?”

My voice softens involuntarily when I gaze up at them. “Yes. Do you know them?”

Franny’s expression sobers. “I know of them. Quite a bit.”

“Good. Now that I think about it, you could be helpful to Sarah. She’s terribly shy and you’re so . . . not. I’m trying to bring her out of her shell.”

“Everyone knows the best way to get a turtle out of its shell is to stick a finger up its arse. Have you tried that?”

I snort. “I would if I could, believe me.”

She sighs. “Mmm. All right then, I’ll go introduce myself to the shy sweetling.”

She climbs the steps, her black heels clicking, to do just that.

I watch as the trio exchanges pleasantries and then Franny loops her arm through Sarah’s. “I like you already. Let’s be best friends.”





As the afternoon fades into night, Penny, Elizabeth, Laura, and Cordelia head upstairs to change for dinner and Sarah tags along with her sister. Apparently, it’s a group date night—they’ll be filming as I take all four ladies out to dinner to “shake things up,” as Vanessa put it.

Simon and Franny sign release papers in case they’re caught on camera. Before they start rolling, Sarah comes down the stairs. Her hair is down and shiny and curled at the ends. She’s wearing an elegant, form-fitting silk cocktail dress and I lose the ability to speak. Granny would be so pleased.

She looks beautiful, but she rarely looks anything else. The reason I’ve gone mute is because instead of her typical black clothes, the dress Sarah’s wearing is . . . red.

Ruby red.

The color warms her skin and brings out the gold in her eyes.

“Wow,” I whisper.

She smiles, cheeks going pink, and flattens her palm against her stomach, fidgeting. “Thank you. It’s Penny’s. Franny helped me give it a quick alteration—did you know she sewed?”

“Franny is a multifaceted woman.”

“Yes.”

Then I’m the one fidgeting. “What’s the occasion? Hot date?”

Sarah swallows and looks up at me, hopefully. “No. I just thought it might be time to . . . try something new.”