Page 16 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
But their physical interactions weren’t the only source of her torment. In Pompetto she’d found out what it felt like to have someone in her corner for the first time in her life.
‘Who are your people?’ the outrageously snobbish bishop had enquired as they sat in the pews of his church awaiting an evening of choral delights.
‘My people are the King’s people,’ she’d replied with a smile. ‘But if you’re referring to my family, I come from a long line of professionals—teachers, lawyers and doctors among them. My mother was in HR and my father was an accountant. I’m solid middle-class stock.’
‘Ah,’ the bishop had murmured with a trace of disapproval that had not gone unnoticed.
‘I believe the phrase you’re looking for is “what a breath of fresh air”,’ Ivo had said icily, his voice low and as dangerous as she’d ever heard it. ‘The Queen is an asset this country is extremely fortunate to have. We would all do well to remember that.’
The colour had instantly leached from the bishop’s face. ‘Of course,’ he’d stuttered, perspiration beading at his brow. ‘I meant no offence.’
‘Didn’t you?’
The question had landed like a slap. The bishop had blanched even more and shrunk further into the pew. ‘You have my sincerest apologies, Your Majesties. As well as my full support and my undying loyalty for as long as you desire them.’
Sofia had murmured her acceptance of the apologies and his backing but her thoughts had veered elsewhere. The reminder of how powerful Ivo was and how coolly ruthless he could be had sent a thrill down her spine. She hadn’t needed him to rush to her defence, but independence could be exhausting and it had warmed her soul nonetheless.
Then, in Roncanica, a village situated at the westernmost tip of the country, they’d been interviewed by a roomful of children about their plans for the future. Somehow they’d ended up batting ideas back and forth as if they’d discussed the topic beforehand when they hadn’t, and she’d briefly wondered if they’d ever become the sort of couple who could mentally finish each other’s sentences.
Even though she was well aware that they were simply presenting a united front to the world, Sofia had caught a glimpse of how a proper relationship might work and the togetherness that it might involve. Of course, she had no proof of anything. Her parents had not been good role models in that respect. In fact, they could not have been worse. Presumably they’d been in love at some stage, but by the time she was old enough to be aware of her environment, their marriage had turned into one of vicious animosity, with her more or less invisible. All she’d learned from them—apart from a strong sense of self-reliance and a keen understanding of façade—was a loathing of conflict and an ability to shut her emotions down in the face of it.
But now she’d had the taste of an alternative version. A shiny glittering version that called to her longing for love and the security of a close emotional connection. And she had to besocareful not to fall for it. She’d done an excellent job so far of switching off the public persona in private but it was getting harder by the day. Increasingly, she wanted to talk to Ivo over dinner about what they’d done and who they’d met. To share with him everything there was to know about her.
Yet such danger lay in following that path. It was lined with grenades of pain that would detonate every time he looked at her as if wondering why she was bothering him with unwanted conversation. She might find herself tempted to reveal her feelings for him and that was not a conversation she wanted to have, because she knew what the outcome of that would be and she knew that it would be crucifying.
She must never forget that all she was to him was a means by which he could execute his duty. That she filled a vacancy, nothing else. She must never read something into this display of solidarity that simply wasn’t there. He’d never expressed anything more than a passing interest in her life, and even then only when it impacted on her work. She would be the biggest fool in the world to allow herself even a glimmer of hope that he might one day return her love. If she didn’t want him to inflict irrevocable harm on her, she had to continue to keep everything she felt for him in check.
Never more so than tonight.
The ball at which they were guests of honour was being held at the kingdom’s finest hotel. Built on a rocky outcrop, it was Art Deco in design and had terraces that descended to the sea. It boasted one hundred rooms decorated with exquisite luxury, employed the world’s greatest chefs and staff and deserved every one of its seven stars. A thousand guests from the charity sector would be in attendance, the women in ball gowns, the men in white tie. There’d be a six-course banquet, champagne and dancing, followed by a night in the sumptuous Royal Suite.
How easy it would be to slip into the role of Cinderella and lose oneself in the fantasy, Sofia thought, resisting the urge to worry at her lower lip as the train pulled into the station and a flurry of activity ensued. To believe that she’d found her very own Prince Charming.
But she had to stay strong and resist the perilous temptation to think that all her dreams were being fulfilled. They weren’t. They likely never would be. So she would smile in all the right places and waltz with him when required. But she would not get carried away. She would not lower her guard and care. Her heartwouldremain safe.
At six o’clock that evening Ivo paced restlessly around the teak-panelled lobby of the Royal Suite, his scowl so deep he feared it might well become permanent. He’d never felt so on edge. Or so at sea.
Over the past week, he’d given so many speeches they’d blurred into one, and been handed so many bouquets that any sort of floral scent now made his stomach turn. He and Sofia had attended three concerts, two football matches and one play, and met countless dignitaries and officials, not to mention great swathes of the population who’d come out in droves to see them.
However, the hectic schedule wasn’t the problem. Nor was his queen. He couldn’t fault her performance as they’d travelled around the southern peninsula. She’d kept her word and had proved herself to be exactly the asset he’d envisaged. The embodiment of grace and elegance, she’d met hundreds of people without complaint. Her smile hadn’t faltered once, not even when the now unemployed Bishop of Pompetto had insulted her so monstrously. She waxed lyrical about how happy she was to be in whatever location they found themselves. She did her homework and had the knack of making everyone she spoke to feel special. And she could not have provided him with more support.
‘Down with the monarchy!’ someone had called in the middle of a walkabout in Cerbano.
Almost instantly a pair of personal protection officers had swooped in to remove the individual from the crowd, but Sofia had stalled them. To everyone’s astonishment she’d walked right up to the woman and had asked, with genuine interest, ‘Why would you want that?’
‘No one elected the King,’ the woman—Giulia, apparently—had protested. ‘Or you. Inherited power is an outdated abomination. We want a say in the government. We want democracy.’
‘But would it result in a better governing of the country?’ Sofia had posited with a thoughtful frown. ‘Isn’t Montemare very well-run already? Name a state that has a higher GDP per capita than ours. You can’t, can you? Because there isn’t one. Investment is at a record level. Taxes are low. Every minute of every day the King works impossibly hard for each of you. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. He’s tireless in his pursuit of fairness, justice and progress. Would an elected government riddled with ego and vested interests elsewhere be prepared to sacrifice personal desires for the greater good like he does? I don’t think so.’
A reluctantly mollified Giulia had left with an invitation to visit the palace sometime, while Ivo had gone away thinking that he couldn’t have made a better case for the monarchy himself, although Sofia had been wrong about the sacrifices she’d alleged he’d made. He hadn’t, because he had no personal desires. Strong successful kings didn’t.
Now that she was one hundred percent engaged, she was so damn good at her job that almost overnight the negative headlines had been wiped out. The press couldn’t get enough of the royal couple who, to all intents and purposes, were besotted with each other. Everyone was fooled. The tour was progressing apace and in precisely the direction he and the palace had intended, all of which proved beyond doubt that in selecting her to be his queen he’d one hundred percent picked the right woman.
The cause of all his tension and stress, therefore, was Ivo himself. He was the one who’d suggested warmer, closer interaction, yet now he wished he’d come up with a different, less traumatic strategy. Eye contact with Sofia singed him like a laser. Her smiles struck him square in the chest and stole his breath so comprehensively that his head spun. The light touches on his back, his arm, his hand electrified every nerve ending he possessed and played havoc with his focus.
Two days ago, they’d met with the Mayor of Stallaglie, and she’d laughed at something the man had said. Ivo didn’t think he’d ever heard her laugh quite like that before, and it had frozen him to the spot. Suddenly gripped by the need to elicit such a joyous sound from her himself, he’d instantly lost track of the conversation and would have looked an utter imbecile had she not stepped in to rescue the situation.
He was driving himself insane. He couldn’t concentrate and couldn’t sleep. He was in a permanent state of semi-arousal, which only added to his stress. He could feel his control unravelling faster with every passing minute, but the more he tried to hold on to it the more it seemed to slither out of reach.
