Page 8 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
The sharpness of his voice jolted her out of her head. ‘Sorry,’ she said, parking the many clamouring questions for later analysis and pulling herself together. Now was not the time to tumble down that particular rabbit hole. Or to imagine stepping in close and undoing a few more of his shirt buttons. Who knew what the camera might capture in an unguarded moment? ‘I was miles away.’
‘That’s a first,’ he said with a frown. ‘Is there somethingIshould know about?’
Definitely not. ‘No.’
‘Sure?’
‘Absolutely. I was simply wondering why you look like thunder.’
‘Do I?’
‘Yes. So much so that I fear for the photos.’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It doesn’t seem like nothing.’
For a moment, he continued to glower at her. But then the frown lifted and his jaw unclenched. He released a breath and his shoulders relaxed—and, ah yes, there was the man she recognised once again. ‘Is that better?’
Hmm.She didn’t know aboutbetter. Quite honestly, she was even more confused because now she could addmercurialtosteelyanddangerous. But at least he no longer gave the impression he was about to march into battle, guns blazing. ‘Somewhat.’
‘Good. So whathasbeen going on in my absence?’
‘Mainly, yet more dress fittings,’ she said, stamping out the rogue flare of heat she felt when his gaze flickered over hers. ‘The latest poll, taken after the interview, shows a 5 percent jump in your popularity, which is an excellent result. And yesterday afternoon, your mother and I had a long chat over tea. That was illuminating.’
‘In what way?’
In the ‘don’t ever forget what this is about’ kind of a way. Having shared a mountain of practical advice, Elenor, the Dowager Queen, had certainly hammeredthatpoint home. She’d intimated that she’d held out for love for the entirety of her marriage to Ivo’s father but to no avail. He’d been so preoccupied with restoring the monarchy and then running the country it sounded as though he’d had little time to woo his wife. The tips she’d passed on were to have children asap. More than one if nature cooperated, which sadly it hadn’t with her. To keep busy. And most importantly, to remember that the job would always come first.
‘I never realised hers was a marriage of convenience too,’ Sofia said, thinking of the disappointment and regret that had tinged her future mother-in-law’s guidance and vowing that, whatever the future held, she would do her utmost to avoid the same fate. She would prioritise her head over heart at all times and keep her feelings for her fiancé firmly under control. Unlike Elenor, she would never make the mistake of wanting her husband to put her first. She would never set herself up for such crushing devastation. She had no interest in the pain that could cause. ‘She and your father always seemed so…together.’
‘They were skilled politicians. My mother still is. But they did have a lot of respect for each other and they did get on well. I like to think they were friends. As a team they were unparalleled. They devoted thirty-five selfless years to duty. Not once did they fail to present a united front to the public. They kept it up even in private. I don’t remember them ever arguing.’
Now that sounded like utter bliss. Sofia couldn’t remember her parents evernotarguing in private. Both highly volatile people, they’d let rip over the slightest of slights. A misread look here, a point to be scored there. She’d invariably got caught in the cross-fire, not that they’d ever noticed. Their passion was so wholly selfish that for years she’d felt unloved and unlovable, which was why she now abhorred and feared it in equal measure. Could passion and love coexist within a relationship? Not in her experience, and if she had to forgo the former to achieve the latter, that was fine with her. She wanted chaos and implosion like a hole in the head.
‘We have huge shoes to fill, but I have no doubt that fill them we will.’
‘Mine are killing me,’ she said, leaving the trauma of her upbringing in the past and focusing on the considerably less distressing present. ‘I’ve been on my feet for hours.’
‘Then let’s get things moving.’
Ivo summoned the production crew with a barely perceptible nod of his head and almost immediately they were being dabbed and brushed and tweaked. Finally, they moved into position. At the photographer’s suggestion Ivo stood behind her, just to her left. The pulse at her temples pounded so hard she could hardly hear what was being said, but a moment later he placed his right hand on her right shoulder, at which point her brain disintegrated.
It was the first time he’d touched her, and even though the move was utterly impersonal, for the camera alone, Sofia felt it like a brand. Her breath caught in her throat and every cell of her body froze. She’d never been so aware of anyone in her life. The urge to spin round and press herself up against him, to find out if reality lived up to her dreams, burned so fiercely it hurt.
The stress of the interview was nothing compared with this, she thought as she frantically willed herself to calm down. Then, she’d had to fight the temptation to lean into him and snuggle, but at least she’d had a script to stick to. At least she’d been kept on her toes fielding questions about the royal family’s relevancy in this day and age. Now she had nothing to distract her from the brush of his body against hers apart from the occasional instruction of the photographer. All she had to do was smile and pose and try to suppress the intoxicating heat that swept through her.
But she had no intention of acting on the impulse to hurl herself at him. She did still possesssomedignity. So, drawing on every professional instinct she had, Sofia stayed right where she was, on fire—thanks to his hand searing through the thin fabric of her dress—her heart galloping like a racehorse in the final furlong and riddled with envy at his ice-cold composure.
When the torment was finally over, after a half hour that felt like a decade, she ducked away from him. She flashed him a super bright smile and said, ‘Right. Well. Good to have that out of the way. I’d better get going. There’s still lots to do. I guess I’ll see you next at the rehearsal.’
And then, just about clinging onto the remnants of her self-control, she turned on her heel and left.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT FEWdays sped by in a blur of logistics and protocol. But whenever Sofia had a moment of calm, she took the opportunity to address the concerns she hadn’t had time for at the photo shoot and soon realised that she’d badly overreacted. She hadn’t slept well. She’d skipped breakfast. She’d been running on fumes that morning, which was obviously why she’d succumbed to such appalling theatrics.
Of course Ivo wasn’tdangerous, she told herself with a mental eye-roll every time a vision of him striding across that lawn entered her head. He was hardly the mafia type. Nor was he mercurial. On the contrary, he was the most steadfast, honourable, honest man she’d ever met. He was exactly who she thought he was. And so what if hedidpossess a steely side? Wasn’t that proof of his iron-clad control? Didn’t it demonstrate the supremacy of stoicism over emotion?
