Page 46 of Her Red Hot Secret Royal Fling

“Humour me.”

“She’s in England.”

“Do you ever see her?”

“Around Christmas, each year.”

“And you don’t talk?”

She shook her head, telling herself it didn’t matter. None of this mattered.

“What happened to you, and her, is a very rare thing. She didn’t deal with her grief well. She let you down. That is her mistake—and it’s a bad one. But you shouldn’t perpetuate it in your own life.”

She opened her mouth to say something, to deny it but then closed it again. She expelled an angry breath. “We all do what we have to do in order to get by.”

“And you’ll never trust anyone again,” he said, gently. “Even when that means you’re closing yourself off from a better life.”

“My life’s just fine,” she assured him, trying to cling to that, to think of all the things that made her life wonderful and happy. And in that moment, she couldn’t think of a single one. She knew she liked her apartment, the way the light hit the polished floorboards at a certain time of the afternoon, she loved her first cup of tea in the morning, and she enjoyed walking through the old, cobblestone streets, but that all seemed so intangible and unimportant. So isolated.

She tilted her chin, refusing to show the direction of her thoughts.

“Okay,” he kissed her then, just a simple brush of his lips over hers, before wrapping her into a hug. “I’m glad to hear it.” She stood there, feeling his heart thumping in unison with hers, their bodies so close that a strange, tingly warmth spread throughout her, and she felt almost as though he was passing something of himself into her. A strength, an encouragement, a promise.

No, not a promise, she mentally screeched. She would take no such thing. Not from him, not from anyone. This was all getting too dangerous. Too emotional. She needed to pull them away from the ledge and remind them what had brought them together in the first place.

Simple, good, old-fashioned sex.

“Are you ready to go back to the stables, Your Highness?” She tried to inflect her words with a purr, but she wasn’t sure she’dmanaged. Sure enough, when she pulled away to look at him, she saw a hint of sympathy in his face, and it made her want to crumple up into a ball and cry.

“Ares,” she said, a warning in her voice.

“I want you to promise me something.”

She swallowed hard. She didn’t believe in promises, so what was the harm?

“If you ever want to talk about this—I don’t care if it’s in a month or ten years. I don’t care if I’m married, if you’re married, I don’t care where life takes us. If you ever want to talk to someone who understands how grief and loss can shape you, who will never judge you, who will always…see the best in you, and understand you, I’m here.” He caught her hand and lifted it to his chest. “I’m here if you need me, Sofia.”

Oh, God. She had to get out of here. The nicer he was, the harder it all got. She nodded, knowing she wasn’t capable of speech, and he seemed to understand that she was almost at breaking point. Emotions were not a natural part of Sofia’s world. He squeezed her hand and then, surprised her—and offered relief—by reaching down and lifting her up, so he could throw her over one shoulder and run down the beach.

It was so unexpected that she laughed, and with every step he took toward the helicopter, she left the trauma of her past behind and felt the pull of this very precious moment. Living in the present, not thinking about the past, or the future, was the only way she would get through this night, and the final goodbye that tomorrow would bring.

The light wasdifferent the next morning.

Colder somehow, as if even the Mediterranean had finally realized that winter was on its way. Or maybe that was just Sofia’s imagination, a presentiment of what was to come. Leaving Ares and Moricosia and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she’d never be back.

Because she couldn’t.

She couldn’t face being in this country without being with him. And after this week, that just wasn’t possible.

He understood why—and so did she. Sofia couldn’t take a risk on someone like Ares, and he certainly couldn’t take a risk on someone like her. Another failed relationship was the last thing he needed, and Sofia didn’t have what it took to stick around. She wasn’t brave enough.

The thought tightened in her belly, accusatory and anger-inducing. Because surely if that was the problem, she couldmakeherself brave. She could make herself forget the past, the pain, the isolating sense of being unloved, and take a risk on Ares?

But a whole lifetime of programming was almost impossible to rewire. Besides, she had no idea if that was even something Ares wanted.

He obviously liked her. Cared about her. Wanted the best for her. But when it came to his future, she had to presume that Ares would seek out a woman like Louisa. Someone from an aristocratic background, and someone from the same country. Sofia ticked absolutely none of the requisite boxes, besides the fact that she happened to have attended an elite school and university, and that, as a byproduct of having grown up between Italy and England, she spoke several languages with passable fluency. But Moricosian was not one of them.

She flipped over in the bed, turning her back on Ares, so she could stare more intently at the window, the weak, morningsunlight of her last day in the country, and with Ares. And she closed her eyes because she wasn’t yet ready to face that reality.

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