Page 14 of That Prince is Mine
The constriction in her chest loosened a smidgen at the same time something sharp dug into her stomach. She welcomed his warmth, but didn’t like thinking that this Isabelle person might’ve prompted its return. When Michel cocked his head to the side, she realized he was waiting for her answer.
“My date from the other night,” she said. “He looked a lot like Hyun Bin.”
“I don’t see it, personally.” He coughed, glancing away. “But why an android?”
“This is mean”—Emma cringed—“but he had no perceivable personality.”
“Is that why you…” He stared pointedly at her napkin, his mouth twitching suspiciously.
“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again.” Affronted laughter burst from her as relief rushed through her. Michel seemed like… Michel again. “That’s so ungentlemanly of you.”
“My apologies,” he said with a very gentlemanly bow of his head. But the amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes didn’t look apologetic at all—just ridiculously attractive.
“But yes,” Emma continued before she became completely sidetracked, “I practically chased him away by being gross. He was perfect on paper but…”
“Perfect on paper?”
“Mm-hmm. Remember that complicated story I mentioned?” She waited until Anne finished setting down their tea in front of them. “In Korean culture, there are these arranged first dates called matseons. A matchmaker—my godmother in this instance—collects and compares loads of background data on the candidates and their families to find a match that ensures compatibility.”
“So these dates you’ve been having… they were matseons?” That bland, unreadable expression settled across his features again. “Your goal is to enter into an arranged marriage? Based on a common background and compatibility? Based on data collected by a matchmaker?”
“Y… yes.” She didn’t like how unsure she sounded—how unsure his questions made her feel. What happened to being a die-hard believer in the Madame Ddu Method?
“But why?” His frustration broke through his stoic façade. “What about the unquantifiable… the real-life connection? What about… about love?”
“Real-life connection? You mean attraction? Attraction only makes people illogical. It makes them ignore obvious incompatibility.” She sat up straight, certain in her conviction again. “As for love, what happens when it fades? They’ll have nothing to fall back on if they don’t have anything in common. What began as an exciting, hopeful relationship would turn into an ugly lie they’d trapped themselves into.”
Michel slowly shook his head, his eyes a little sad. “You can’t really believe that.”
“You might find it odd, but it’s just a cultural difference—” She bristled, going on the defensive.
“I think our cultures are well aligned in this instance,” he cut in with an edge to his voice. “I’m quite familiar with arranged marriages.”
She snapped her mouth shut at his tone and studied his face. “And you don’t approve of them.”
He sighed and spoke more gently. “That hardly matters now, does it?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t.” She wrung her fingers under the table.
It didn’t—it shouldn’t—but Emma couldn’t ignore the ache spreading in her chest. She wanted to know if he really believed in love. How was he so certain? And how was he familiar with arranged marriages? Why didn’t he approve of them even though they were accepted in his culture like hers? She wanted to know in what other ways their cultures aligned. She wanted to know him.
She felt herself wavering on her decision not to see him again. What was the harm in one date? Just a few hours, really. What Auntie Soo didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Even the Crones wouldn’t be able to make an issue out of a single date. Not that they would ever find out. It wouldn’t delay her from achieving her dream, and she certainly wouldn’t be risking her heart. It would be something fun to do. A rare self-indulgence.
“Have you decided to marry the man you met today?” Michel held her eyes, willing her not to look away. “Is that why you won’t see me again?”
“I…” She couldn’t draw a full breath. Was that what she meant? She couldn’t even remember what Paul Lim looked like with Michel sitting in front of her. Why was it she couldn’t see him again? “I haven’t decided that I’m not going to marry him.”
“What about the other men?” He took a slow sip of his tea, watching her from under his lashes.
“I have definitely decided not to marry them.” Of that, she was certain.
“So the last one had the personality of a microwave.” He rubbed his jaw in thought, drawing her gaze to his five-o’clock shadow. “What was wrong with the others?”
“There was nothing wrong with them…” She trailed off, distracted by his motion. What would it feel like to scrape her fingernails along his jaw? She shifted in her seat, her fingertips tingling with phantom sensation. “I couldn’t imagine going on another date with them, much less spending the rest of my life with them.”
“Because?” he cajoled.
“The man at my first matseon hardly spoke at all.” She couldn’t even recall his name.
