Page 14 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
Distance between himself and Sofia in private was one thing, he thought, as he moved on to the comments and his frown became a scowl. In public, however, it was quite another, and if he’d known in advance how the last couple of days were going to pan out he’d have addressed it at the time. But he hadn’t anticipated distance. He hadn’t anticipated a lot of things, it seemed.
Consummating the marriage had not gone as he’d intended. To prove to himself that he was in complete control of their relationship, that it would present zero threat to his work, he’d planned to destroy Sofia’s defences and ensure her surrender. He had not expected to be challenged. He had not expected a battle.
However, a battle was precisely what he’d encountered, and it was one he’d lost pretty much the minute she started it. She’d twined herself around him like a vine and with the ferocious immediacy of a match to a touchpaper he’d gone up in flames.
Admittedly, it hadn’t taken much. Her scent and taste had already intoxicated him to a dizzying degree. He’d never felt such soft skin. The strength of her reaction to his touch had been mind-blowing. He couldn’t recall ever having been on the receiving end of anything like it. He’d felt as if he could conquer the world. Like some sort of superhero. Little wonder, then, that between the first and twelfth chimes of the clock he’d utterly forgotten who he was.
When he’d recovered, he’d been so shaken by the experience, so horrified by the total reverse of his plan as well as the complete collapse of his control that he hadn’t stuck around for further annihilation. Feeling anything but invincible and badly needing to regroup, he’d lifted himself off her and snatched up his robe. Then, after muttering something about their early start and the importance of rest, he’d disappeared through the door.
It hadn’t been his finest move, even if it had been one borne out of self-preservation. But much to his amazement, Sofia had not called him on it. In fact, they’d barely spoken since, unless to discuss the tour. Breakfast the morning after had been a monosyllabic affair. She’d spent most of the subsequent train journey along the coast to Livigno with her head buried in her laptop. And twice now she’d bidden him goodnight after dinner and headed to her carriage alone.
Because this had suited him, Ivo hadn’t questioned it. He’d been angry with himself for such appalling weakness, and angry with her for having such a hold on him. Even now, two days since that night and with much royal-related business to occupy his mind, every time he so much as glanced in her direction he had a flashback of her, head back, crying out his name as she came for a second time. His body invariably responded with frustrating predictability. The last thing he needed was that to become a permanent affliction so he’d avoided contact as much as possible.
But thanks to the negative press the tour was garnering he could now see that approach to the problem for what it was—utterly unacceptable. Once again he’d forgotten his responsibilities. He’d become self-absorbed in a way he’d always sworn he wouldn’t. He’d succumbed to emotions he hadn’t permitted himself in years, and even more infuriatingly, while he was struggling to get a grip on them, it seemed that she had no such trouble compartmentalising. She’d evidently packed that night away, moved on and hadn’t looked back.
He hated feeling as though he was at a disadvantage and out of control, and he hated even more that he had not managed to contain it. Yesterday afternoon spent in the country’s second biggest city should have been a triumph. It should not have provided fodder for the country’s small but noisy republican movement.
The situation had to be addressed, he thought grimly, as he glanced at his watch and set down his coffee cup. He was not having the monarchy brought down by a marriage designed to do the exact opposite simply because he’d somehow become too involved in it. Obviously he would have to follow Sofia’s example and lock down the memories of bedding her once and for all. But first he had to confront the optics—which were important—and ignore any personal discomfort he might suffer as a consequence, which wasn’t. And since they were due to arrive at their next destination in just under half an hour there was no time to waste.
‘Sofia.’
‘Yes?’ she murmured impassively, without even looking up, damn her.
‘We have a problem.’
Sitting at the other end of the long, narrow walnut dining table, which gleamed beneath the warm, dappled and shifting sunlight, Sofia stiffened and wondered if Ivo could somehow read her mind. Although, really, the problems plaguing her weren’t so much theirs as hers alone.
Random snippets of the fifteen minutes they’d spent together in bed on Saturday night kept darting through her head, and whenever they did, her response was positively Pavlovian. Heat surged through her. Her head spun so fast she went dizzy. She wanted to seek him out, throw herself into his arms and kiss the life out of him, all of which was appalling because she was furious with him, with herself, with the entire bloody mess her emotions were in.
Once the marriage had been consummated, Ivo had not stuck around. In fact, he’d sprung off her as if she’d developed syphilis. Unable to get away fast enough, he’d muttered something about the early start and the busy day ahead and had then shot through the door before she’d been able to register what was going on.
Initially, once she’d got over the shock of his whiplash disappearance, she’d been relieved. She hadn’t wanted him to linger. She’d needed the time to recover. The space to berate herself for yielding to temptation so pathetically easily, even if she had succeeded in getting him to lose control too.
But then, tossing and turning, unable to sleep, she’d asked herself what could have caused such a dramatic reaction. Had she revealed her feelings for him, as she’d feared she might? She didn’t think so. No, she wassureshe hadn’t. So what else could have spooked him? She’d drawn a blank, which had resulted in a mad bout of second-guessing until she’d remembered that all he cared about was duty and everything had become clear.
Over the last couple of days she’d tried to ignore the hurt and rejection and get over the feeling of having been ever so slightly used. She knew that for him that night had been about fulfilling their contractual obligation and nothing else. She’d tried to convince herself that it wasn’t personal and that there was plenty of time to produce the children he’d promised her.
Yet frustratingly, despite her extensive efforts to rise above the upset she felt, she couldn’t, which was all the more annoying when, after nineteen years of her parents constantly prioritising their emotions over hers, she’d assumed she’d learned how to deal with such futile sentiments. But apparently she hadn’t and as a result she’d done what she’d sworn not to do and allowed herself to be swayed by passion. She’d allowed her heart to dominate her head.
To prevent the collapse of her entire belief system and the potential detonation of their relationship, therefore, she’d had to put a stop to it. She’d vowed to toughen up. She was way too soft. If she wasn’t careful, this marriage would eat her alive. She had to reinforce her defences. Add another course of bricks or two to the wall around her heart. Because it wasn’t as if she could demand he clarify his thought process that night. She didn’t do confrontation, which was another thing she could blame her parents for. And even if shehadbeen the combative type, she’d have let sleeping dogs lie. What if she’d ended up sounding needy? What if he’d said something that had broken her heart? What if he’d pointed out exactly what it was about her that made her worthy only of second place, that turned people away or made them flee from her bed? How would she bear it? No. The best solution was to bury what had happened and how she felt about it and move on.
Irritatingly, however, this had proved easier said than done. She’d frequently found herself forgetting about the hurt and confusion and instead entertaining the appalling idea of begging him for a repeat performance. How could she want him so badly when she knew that he didn’t want her at all? Where was her pride? Her dignity? In the end, to protect her self-respect as much as her heart, she’d had no option but to adopt frosty detachment and minimise contact as much as possible until she was sure she was bullet-proof.
But by Ivo directly addressing her now with this problem of theirs, it seemed the respite—which, in all honesty, she was slightly surprised he’d let her get away with for so long—was over.
Bracing herself against the impact of locking eyes with him for the first time since she’d come apart in his arms, Sofia looked up from her laptop and channelled her inner ice queen. ‘Just the one?’
‘Several, actually,’ he said, his face dark with displeasure and perversely all the more attractive for it. ‘A number of unfavourable articles are circulating about yesterday’s visit to Livigno.’
‘I know,’ she said, ignoring the objectionable shiver of heat that snaked down her spine. ‘I’ve been going through them. They’re not ideal, are they?’
His eyebrows shot up.‘Not ideal?’he echoed in disbelief. ‘They’re a disaster. We’re supposed to be presenting a strong united front to our people and capitalising on the goodwill of the wedding. But in some parts that is evidently not happening. What’s going on?’
So much.
‘I have no idea what you mean,’ she said evenly, the outward epitome of cool, calm professionalism. ‘Nothing’s going on.’
His jaw clenched. ‘Of course there is. You avoid me. You can’t look at me. You barely even speak to me. The Arctic is warmer than you have been these last couple of days. And in private, that’s fine. But in public, it is very much not. I married you because you were the one meant to be able to pull this off.’
