where he could be a man and not a prince, if only for a few hours.
The odds of a matchmaker pulling a name out of thin air who could do that...well, he’d do better betting a thousand on red and letting it ride.
“I’ll talk to Ms. Arundel.” Finn owed it to his father to figure out a way to stop causing him grief, and he owed it to his country to portray the House of Couronne positively in the international press. If it meant marrying the matchmaker’s choice and making the best of it, so be it.
Relief filled the king’s eyes and a double dose of guilt swam through Finn’s stomach. His father loved him and wanted the best for him. Why couldn’t Finn do the right thing as his brother always did? Alexander would be king one day and constantly kept that forefront in his mind. His behavior was above reproach and he never caused their parents a moment’s worry.
Finn, on the other hand, was the spare heir. Unnecessary. The Party Prince.
An advantageous marriage was a chance for Finn to do something right for once, something of value to the crown. He’d hoped to keep putting it off. But clearly his father was having none of that.
“She’d like you to fly to Dallas, Texas, to meet in person,” the king said. “As soon as possible.”
Dallas. He’d never been there. Maybe he could pick up an authentic cowboy hat if nothing else.
Mentally, Finn rearranged his calendar for the weekend. He’d committed to attending a couple of charity fund-raisers and had planned to hit a new club in Saint Tropez Saturday night. Looked as if he’d be skipping all of it.
“I’ve got a shift tomorrow, but I can go the day after.”
His father put a gentle hand on Finn’s shoulder. “I think it’s a good choice.”
Ducking his head, Finn shrugged. “We’ll see. What’s the worst that can happen?”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. Scandal followed him like a mongrel dog he’d fed once and couldn’t get rid of. Juliet’s betrayal had been the first scandal but certainly not the last. It had just hurt the most.
And that was the kicker. She’d hurt him so badly because he’d loved her so much, only to find she didn’t feel the same way. If she had loved him, she’d never have participated in a protest against everything he held dear—his father, the military, the very fabric of the governing structure that he’d sworn allegiance to.
The irony. Two things he’d loved about Juliet were her passion and commitment to her family. Without them, she’d be uninteresting and lackluster. Without them, the protest wouldn’t have happened.
It didn’t matter. She’d killed all his feelings for her. Except the anger. That, he still had plenty of.
Grimly, he bid his father goodbye and let James drive him back to his Aventador still parked at the coast guard headquarters. His entire life could be summed up in one phrase—dual-edged sword. No matter which way it was wielded, he’d be cut. He would be a man and a prince until the day he died, and it seemed fated that he could never satisfy both sides simultaneously.
Yet he held on to a slim thread of hope this matchmaker might change things for him.
* * *
Juliet Villere did not understand the American fascination with small talk. It was boring.
The packed ballroom wasn’t her preferred scene anyway, but coupled with a strong desire to avoid one more conversation about the ridiculous game confused Americans called football, the wall had become her friend. It warmed her bare back nicely and provided a great shield from the eyes she’d felt burning into her exposed flesh.
Why hadn’t someone told her that a makeover didn’t magically transform your insides? All the makeup and fancy clothes in the world couldn’t convert Juliet into someone who liked lipstick. Or parties.
But she owed Elise Arundel and her matchmaking-slash-makeover services a huge debt for taking her in when she’d fled Delamer in search of some magic to heal the continual pain of Finn’s betrayal. That was the only reason she’d agreed to attend this glittery event full of Elise’s clients.
Maybe Elise wouldn’t notice if Juliet ducked out the side entrance and walked back to the matchmaker’s house in the Dallas district called Uptown, where Juliet was staying until Elise found her an American husband. It was only a couple of miles, and she’d practiced walking in these horribly uncomfortable heels enough times that her leg muscles were used to the strain.
Then she caught sight of Elise heading in Juliet’s direction, a determined look on her mentor’s face.
Too late.
“Having a good time?” Elise asked, her dark page boy swinging in time to the upbeat song floating above the crowd.
“Fantastic.”
The sarcasm clearly wasn’t lost on Elise, who smiled. “It’s good for you to be in social settings, dressed to kill. I invited you to this mixer so you could practice mingling. Hugging the wall won’t accomplish that.”
The reminder tightened Juliet’s stomach, and she resituated the waistline of the form-fitting green dress her new friend Dannie Reynolds had helped select.
“I have nothing good to say about football.” One thing was clear—the American husband she’d asked Elise to match her with would watch it. Therefore, Juliet would likely become well versed in the fine art of faking interest. “So I’m acquainting myself with the benefits of solitude.”
Elise laughed. “Dance with someone. Then you don’t have to talk.”
Juliet shook her head. She’d never danced with anyone other than Finn, and she didn’t want to break that streak tonight.
Finn.
Pain, sharp and swift, cramped her stomach. Crossing the Atlantic hadn’t dimmed his hold over her one bit.
He’d shredded her soul over a year ago. Shouldn’t she be finished healing by now? She wanted desperately to get to that place where he was just some guy she used to date, one she recalled fondly yet distantly.
But the announcement of his upcoming engagement had cut deeply enough to drive her from Delamer all the way to Dallas, Texas. Thank God she’d stumbled over that EA International ad in the back of a fashion magazine she’d thumbed through at the dentist’s office back home—it had given her a place to go.
“I don’t see the point in dancing with one of these guys.”
As she didn’t see the point in having fake nails or painted lips. But it wasn’t her place to argue with the formula Elise used in her matchmaking service.
“None of them will be my match,” she continued. “And besides, they’ve all got sports on the brain. Does scoring more points feed hungry children? Right any wrongs? No. It’s stupid.”
Juliet started to make a face and remembered she couldn’t do that anymore. Actually, she wasn’t supposed to be so outspoken either. Her American husband would want a refined wife with the ability to mingle with the upper crust. Not a woman who had little use for propriety and fluff.
