Page 19 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
‘Do you ever doanythingfor yourself?’
His eyebrows arched as if he were taken aback by her question and then fell. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You know I don’t. And why.’
‘Do you sometimes wish things were different?’
‘Of course not. This has always been my life. It’s my destiny to defend and protect my country from anything that threatens its peaceful existence. Including the frailties and whims of weak, self-centred rulers like my grandfather. There’s absolutely no point bemoaning that fact. Or hypothesising about a life not led. Why do you ask?’
Sofia didn’t know. What was she trying to prove? What did she want him to say? Something that would alleviate her increasingly rampant frustration with him? The dull ache that felt like…resentment? Where had that even come from?
One thing shedidknow was that her feelings for him were turning out to be not nearly as straightforward as she’d assumed. They were intense, unpredictable, and God, what if she wasn’t equipped to deal with them? What if she really had inherited her parents’ inability to contain volatile emotion and fiery passion? What if she’d somehow created a situation in which she might suffer untold damage, either by his hand or hers? None of that bore thinking about.
She must never forget that every move he made was with the monarchy in mind. She must never let her heart dominate her head. His concern was not forher. It was for his country—as he kept reminding her. And romance had nothing to do with anything, so she must not read something into moments that were highly unlikely to mean what she feared deep down she hoped they might mean.
‘No reason,’ she said, thinking that if she didn’t want to completely self-implode, she’d better reconstruct her façade and her defences right this minute. ‘Are you really not going to go away?’
‘No.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Time starts now, Sofia.’
‘Fine,’ she muttered, as she wrenched her gaze from his with annoying difficulty and trained it once again on the scenery, as if that would provide the strength she was looking for. ‘Do what you feel is right. Just please don’t spoil things by talking.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY MIDNIGHT,after six hours of pure unadulterated torture, Ivo’s patience was at its absolute limit. In fact, he thought darkly, as he and Sofia rode the lift to their suite in thick, sizzling silence, he suspected that any minute now it was going to snap.
In light of his response to her touch and the smiles she saved for the public, he’d expected the ball to be tough. But he had not expected it to be such a downright nightmare. Yet the minute they’d entered the room he’d been overwhelmed by the feeling that he’d somehow stepped into a fairy tale. God only knew why. She was no Cinderella and he was certainly no Prince Charming. Furthermore, he had zero appreciation for such sentimental rot. Nevertheless, there’d been something about the space that had thrown him off balance. The billions of seductively flickering candles, perhaps. Or maybe the vibrant colours and the loud, happy chatter that had given him a headache.
Whatever it was, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off his wife as she circulated around the guests, leaving droplets of magic wherever she went. The stab of alarm he’d felt when he’d realised she was nowhere to be seen had been matched by the wave of relief he’d experienced when he’d found her on the terrace.
It was then that the night had taken even more of a turn for the worse. She’d looked pale and drawn, yes, and he’d found that he hadn’t liked it one little bit, but what he thought he’d been doing by granting her wish for some space and then joining her, he had no idea. Not only had he broken his cardinal rule of putting his people first at all times but also those fifteen minutes she’d asked for had been some of the oddest of his life.
He’d tried to convince himself that he’d simply seen how close she was to breaking point and had felt the need to keep an eye on her. But he had the terrifying suspicion that, selfishly, appallingly, he’d also taken them for himself. Why else hadn’t he left her there alone? He’d lied when he’d insisted she’d be plagued by other people. With one quick call he could have surrounded her with an invisible ring of steel. But he hadn’t.
He’d felt as if they’d stood there for an hour. He’d been aware of nothing but her, the heat of her body and the heavy thud of his pulse. He’d promised her silence but suddenly his head had filled with clamouring questions about her life, her hopes and her fears and the absence of bridesmaids or friends on their wedding day. These he’d given free rein to because at least they’d put a stop to other more troubling ones, such as, why hadn’t he been more appalled by her passionate outburst? Why, instead of lamenting her lack of composure, had he wanted more of the fire that obviously lay beneath her surface? Was thatsomethinghe’d felt stab through him when she’d blown up relief at the thought that in her he’d found someone who understood the emotional burden of rule?
And why, when she’d asked him if he ever wished his life were different had he wanted to tell her that yes, he did, sometimes, in the dead of night when his responsibilities felt overwhelming and he ached with loneliness, or when he stood on a terrace with his wife and wondered about an alternative reality in which he wasn’t royal and bound by duty? As he’d informed her in no uncertain terms, hypothesising was a waste of time. He was who he was. Had his father ever succumbed to such ridiculous whimsy? He didn’t think so, and nor should he.
Naturally, he’d pulled himself together and switched his focus to the job, then taken her in his arms and waltzed her around the dance floor to the melodic strains of the thirty-piece orchestra. But the sensation that something wasn’t quite right had nevertheless sat in his chest like a weight.
Ivo had no clue what he’d ever done to deserve such torment. Perhaps it was merely the intensity of being with one person 24-7 after a decade alone. Or the novelty of having someone whose job it was to back him when he’d only been backed by himself.
But luckily, after much mental wrangling, he’d come up with a solution. He and Sofia would be tied to each other for ever, and for the sake of his country he could not afford to permanently lose the plot like this, so the unbearable tension that arced between them had to be addressed asap. The hankering for something he could never have had to stop, along with the worryingly expanding feelings he had for her that kept breaking their bonds to mess with his head. He had to get the distracting desire out of his system because only then would everything else settle down, he was sure.
This he intended to do by indulging it. By removing the element of mystique that he was certain was blowing how he felt about her all out of proportion. Such a course of action would likely mean a complete loss of control in her bed, but if he was prepared for it, if it was temporary and contained in one locale, then he could live with that. What he couldnotlive with any longer was the crippling and potentially destructive weakness he exhibited whenever he was in her vicinity.
‘That was an enjoyable evening,’ she said, putting down her bag on the table in the lobby and bestowing yet another of her irritatingly cool smiles on him. ‘But an exhausting one. So I’ll bid you goodnight. See you in the morning.’
No, Ivo thought, his jaw clenched so hard it was in danger of splintering. That wasn’t happening. Not until he’d wrestled his desire for her back under control, at least. ‘Wait,’ he said, his voice cracking through the air like a whip. ‘Not so fast.’
Halfway across the space, Sofia stilled, turned and stared at him, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘Excuse me?’
‘This isn’t working.’
A flicker of confusion darted across her beautiful face. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’ she asked in bewilderment. ‘It’s working fantastically. Have you seen the terrible headlines recently? No. Because there aren’t any. I’ve done everything in my power to ensure it. Apart from the minor blip on my part earlier, tonight was a triumph.’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said, thinking that for him personally tonight had been unsettling as hell. ‘The tour could not be going better. As I expected, you are brilliant.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, her flicker of a smile warming to two degrees above freezing, which did strange things to his chest and disrupted his train of thought—until he pulled himself together and refocused.
‘What I meant was, you going to your bed every night and me going to mine is no longer acceptable. I’m all out of patience. Enough is enough. From tonight on, you and I will be sleeping together.’
