You're not quite sure how this happened.
There is something wrong with him, not you, and you're quite confident in this. You've been able to pair every other male nation with another (including your ex-husband), and it's mind-boggling that no matter whose history he's intertwined with it just doesn't fit. He's too obnoxious, too undesirable to be suited for anyone.
France? No. No matter how good of friends they are, they act more like brothers and are simply too different (though you have no objections to incest since America and his brother go so well together). France goes together better with England anyhow.
He and Spain have a similar relationship. Though Spain acts very affectionate and finds no discomfort draping himself over his friends, everyone knows that he favors South Italy over everyone else.
Your ex-husband, Austria, is indeed friends with him, but their track record isn't quite positive. He annoys Austria almost as much as he annoys you, and he seems more intent on making Austria's life hell than flirting.
His relationship with Russia is nothing short of a nightmare, and you were far too close to the situation to believe for a second there's a possible romantic connection. Russia is too evil, too dangerous, and not even you would think that the kind of torture he put you and him through is kinky. You don't like to admit it, but you still fear Russia to an extent, so you know that your reluctance to pair them together is justified.
These nations and more you've attempted to match with him, and despite all of your efforts not a single slipper fits, and above all else it's infuriating. It challenges the very basis of what you call love, and that irritates you. What right does he have to poke holes in your notions of romance? What makes him think that it's acceptable to be a pompous, unshippable jerk?
Your inner turmoil is interrupted by the ringing of your phone, the caller ID revealing the caller to be him. Distracted from your anger for the moment, you flip the device open calmly.
"Hey, Lizzy! Sorry I didn't call you, I've been hanging out with Antonio and I lost track of time. You holdin' up without the awesome me?"
"Of course. It's not like I'm dependent on you. I'm not a child."
"Are you kidding? Of course you need me! Who doesn't? Anyway, I'll be home in about an hour. Want me to pick up dinner or somethin'?"
"That would be great. I really don't feel like cooking."
"What, is somethin' wrong? We can talk about it when I get home. Love you, babe. I'll see ya in a bit."
"Love you too. Bye."
You shut your phone with a loud sigh, slumping into your chair tiredly. The malice you were feeling earlier is gone, replaced with a slight irritation.
It's his fault that your judgment is clouded, and it's his fault you've become so bias. It's his fault for making you fall in love. Not yours.