Chapter 2: Miles

“So?” Caroline asks, pouring me a fresh cup of tea. “Did anyone at last night’s mixer catch your eye? I’m sure there are at least a few names that come to mind. You just have to let me know, and I can pull up their profiles to arrange more formal one-on-one dates.”

We’re in her fancy New York-based matchmaking office. Everything’s lavish to the point of blinding. It’s obvious that she’s had a professional decorator in here because this place looks like it belongs on the cover of Design Weekly. Cream-colored accent pillows on every possible surface, rose gold office supplies, minimalist art up in big white frames, huge floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a lovely view of the busy streets way down below.

I sit across from Caroline and take a sip of tea, doing my best not to grimace. I’ve never been a tea man, but I’ll never admit that aloud. What would people think of me if they found out? Especially with Oxland’s number one export being tea leaves, rivalled only by our competitors in the east.

I’m more of a coffee man.

I clear my throat. “There was one woman, actually.”

Caroline’s eyes slight up. “Do tell. Is it Ainsley? She wouldn’t stop talking about you after the party was over.”

“No,” I mutter. “Not Ainsley.”

She arches an eyebrow, the briefest look of disappointment ghosting across her expression. “Oh. All right, then who?”

“Lisabet. I’m afraid I didn’t catch her last name.”

“The…the cellist?” she asks, slightly incredulous. Caroline forces a smile. “I’m sorry, Your Royal Highness, but I’m afraid she’s not a viable candidate. Your father specifically requested that I set you up with a woman of noble birth.”

My jaw tightens.

Of course, he’d say that.

“What about what I want?” I ask. “I’m the one who’s supposed to be getting married, not him.”

“I understand that, Prince Miles, but—”

“Look, your friend Ainsley is nice. She really is. But I’d appreciate it if you’d help me get in contact with Lisabet. I’m sure you still have her contact information, right?”

Caroline sighs. “I mean, yes. I do. But what if she’s already in a relationship? It’d be a waste of all our time.”

“You don’t know unless you ask, right?”

She runs a finger through her hair and nibbles on her bottom lip in thought. “I suppose. It’s just that I really think you should give the women I selected a chance.” She pats a stack of manila folders sitting just to her right on the desk. “I was observing you with everyone and took extensive notes. These are the profiles of all the candidates I think you have good compatibility with. Please trust me, Prince Miles. This is what I do. I have a one-hundred percent success rate for a reason.”

I set my teacup down.

I can’t argue with that.

“How about we make a deal?” I suggest. “I’ll give these women a chance. But only if you help me track down Lisabet. I just want to…talk to her. She caught my eye, is all. Maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s already involved with someone, or she isn’t interested. And if that’s the case, I’ll let the issue go. I just…I really want to see her again.”

Caroline chews on the inside of her cheek. “And if I don’t agree to this?”

I shrug. “Then I can walk out of here, and you lose yourself a client. Something tells me neither you, nor Lord Greyson wants that.”

Caroline visibly shivers at the mention of his name. Lord Greyson’s an old family friend, so I know that he isn’t the cold, ice-hearted man he makes himself out to be. But even I know not to do anything that’ll displease him.

He's a really heartless bitch when he wants to be.

“You just recently started working together, correct?” I ask.

She nods. “He’s my firm’s most affluent investor. And I guess he’s kind of a business partner too.”

“Look, Caroline. I don’t want to strong-arm you into doing anything you don’t want. But I think I’m being reasonable here. I just want to talk to her. That’s it. I really don’t want to leave a negative impression on Greyson. But I’ll be honest, I take my parents’ marriage as a…warning. They married for convenience, not love. And while I treasure both Mother and Father, I’ve seen what a loveless marriage can do to people. I don’t want that for myself. I don’t want to rule anyone out just because they’re…well, not of high social standing. I know it matters to the King that I marry auspiciously, but…I mean, for fuck’s sake, that kind of thing doesn’t hold much weight nowadays.”

She stares at me for a moment before clicking her tongue. I can practically hear the gears grinding inside her skull.

“Fine,” she says calmly. “I’ll track her down for you. I’ve got the quartet’s number filed away somewhere, so give me a couple of hours to get back to you.”

I smile. “Thank you, Caroline. I appreciate the effort.”

Caroline hands me the stack of folders. “Now, Your Royal Highness, please look through the candidates I’ve narrowed down for you and give me your top three.”

A deal’s a deal, Miles. No honorable man goes back on his word.

*

Jingles jumps on me the second I walk through the hotel suite’s doors. He barks up a storm, tail wagging so hard I’m genuinely worried he might hurt himself. He’s an old boy, getting up there in dog years. I was apprehensive about taking him to New York with me, but I didn’t like the thought of leaving him at the summer palace by himself. The servants don’t pay him enough attention, so I’d rather have him here with me.

He’s probably the most loyal friend I have in the entire Oxlandian court. Jamieson might be the only exception, but he’s got his own problems to deal with right now. I haven’t had the time to speak with him since the protests back in January after his coronation.

I hope he’s doing all right.

“Hey, buddy,” I say with a soft chuckle, scratching him beneath the chin like I know he likes. “You feel like going for a walk before bed?”

Jingles barks again, doing a tiny hop and skip before dashing down the hall and disappearing into the master bedroom to retrieve his leash.

The hotel suite is lavish. Modern décor, every surface covered with vases of freshly cut flowers and bowls of the sweetest fruit. There’s even an electric fireplace in the living room, above which sits a massive flat screen TV that’d be perfect to watch the sports channel. There’s even a fully stocked kitchenette with stainless steel appliances and an on-call chef.

Nevertheless, it’s nothing compared to my private quarters at the summer palace. My whole family has moved into it now that April’s warmer days are here. It’s only a matter of time before the Oxlandian summers heat things up to an unbearable degree, nothing but the cold marble of the summer palace and the breeze off the nearby ocean to keep us cool.

I hear the soft click of a door opening behind me. I spot Tobias and David, my attendants, stepping out of their rooms. They’re still dressed in their uniforms—spiffy business suits with Oxlandian flag pins stuck to their blazer lapels.

“Prince Miles,” Tobias greets with a stiff bow. “Welcome back.”

David bows as well, his wild mop of red curls flat against the back of his head. I wonder if he’d been taking a nap. I wouldn’t blame him for it. We’re all feeling ridiculously jetlagged. New York is almost ten hours behind us, so our days are completely reversed.

“Are you hungry, Prince Miles?” David asks. “The hotel’s restaurant is closed now, but I’m sure I can get them to deliver something for you.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

Tobias twirls the end of his gloriously thick salt and pepper moustache. “How was your meeting with Miss Raines? Fruitful, I hope.”

A tick of annoyance leaves my neck tense.

“Yes,” I say dryly. “Fruitful.”

“Have you and Miss Raines successfully chosen a potential candidate?”

“Maybe. We haven’t come to a full decision yet.”

It’s not that I don’t trust Tobias. He’s been in my family’s employment since I was a boy. The man’s been my caretaker, my tutor, my most hardworking attendant. But his allegiance lies with the King. If he had to choose between serving Father or me, he’d choose the former in a heartbeat. There’s no doubt in my mind that he’s keeping tabs on me and reporting to the King whenever he gets a spare moment alone.

I’m sad to say that I’m used to it.

That’s just how it’s always been.

Tobias’ wrinkly face is unreadable, still as the surface of a quiet lake. “Very good, Prince Miles. I have taken the liberty of packing your suitcase. Our flight home tomorrow has been confirmed for seven sharp.”

“I want to stay in New York a while longer,” I argue. “There’s still a lot that I want to do.”

Someone I really want to see.

David clears his throat and looks at me with a sympathetic expression. “With all due respect, Prince Miles, that wasn’t what King Albert ordered. We were instructed to return after meeting with Miss Raines and the selection of your candidates. His Majesty said he’d make arrangements for them to be hosted at the summer palace so that you may be better acquainted in private.”

“I know what he said,” I grumble. “I’m saying that I want to stay for a few more days. Don’t you want to go see the sights? You’ve never been outside of Oxland, right, David?”

He shifts from foot to foot. “I…no. I’d admittedly love to stay a while longer, but—”

Tobias huffs. “We are leaving first thing tomorrow morning, Your Royal Highness. The King’s word is final.”

I grit my teeth. No matter how much I argue, I know Tobias is right. It’s frustrating to say the least. I love my father, but he’s always been a bit of a control freak.

That’s putting it generously, but whatever.

“Fine. I’m taking Jingles for a walk and then calling it a night.”

“I’ll escort you,” Tobias says quickly.

I raise a hand and stop him in his tracks. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

“But sir—”

“We’re just going around the block a few times. There’s no need for security detail.”

“Tobias is right, Prince Miles,” David interjects. “You’re the talk of the town right now. Every paparazzi in New York is going to want to get a picture of you.”

“Then I’ll wear a cap and sunglasses.”

“Sunglasses at night?” Tobias says with the tiniest trace of a sneer. “A little conspicuous, don’t you think?”

I ignore him. Jingles has returned with his leash in his mouth. David’s already moved to retrieve me a black cap and my sunglasses, much to Tobias’ apparent chagrin.

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” I say.

I leave before Tobias can get a word in.

New York is a strangely beautiful place, a perfect balance between new and old. As Jingles walks about a foot ahead of me, trained to never get too far away in case I need help, I take in my surroundings. Golden streetlights illuminate the cold sidewalks as lines of cars and their red brake lights reflect off shop windows. It’s impossible to go very far without seeing colorful graffiti decorating brick walls, fire hydrants, or bus benches. The faint smell of subway air, running vehicles, and the slight freshness left behind by the rain fills my nose.

Jingles runs up to every street performer he comes across, sniffing around while earning himself an abundance of attention from everyone he comes across. We even happen to pass by a cellist, who’s set up on the street corner with an old tomato can set out to collect tips. I toss the guy a twenty-dollar bill and listen for a bit, allowing my mind to drift as the deep notes of his cello reach my ears.

From what I can tell, the guy’s a complete amateur in comparison to Lisabet.

Her playing was delicate, careful. And somehow deliberate and sure at the same time.

I still can’t believe she left so suddenly the other night. I’m used to women doing everything and anything they can to get a word in with me. It’s actually quite a problem. I can’t step out most days without being bombarded by requests to take pictures or sign autographs or to be the subject of terrible flirting attempts. Everybody in the world knows that the King is looking to set me up with a pretty wife, hence the reason he reached out to Lord Greyson, who in turn reached out to Miss Caroline Raines.

I don’t know that I’m really ready to get married.

I understand that I have an obligation to find myself a wife and keep the royal bloodline going. But obligation isn’t the same as want. I have to get married because I need to, not want to.

If I need to, I at least want to find someone who makes me happy.

I wonder what Lisabet’s doing right now.

As I listen to the cellist play his simple tune, I find myself thinking about Lisabet’s gorgeous black hair. Her dark black eyes. The gentle slope of her neck into her slender shoulders. The length of her elegantly graceful fingers.

The tired look in her eye.

I wonder why she walked away. Surely she must have known who I am.

Now that she’s caught my eye, I can’t stop thinking about her.

It’s enough to make me feel crazy.