Page 10 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
It was only when their mouths met that he realised how very wrong he’d been.
When she’d grabbed his arm as if it were a lifeline, seeming to melt into him on a soft breathy sigh, the burst of heat that had shot through him had nearly taken out his knees. Suddenly racked with overwhelming need, he’d been on the point of wrapping her in his arms and kissing her properly when a low clearing of the throat from beside him had pierced the thundering desire and snapped him out of his daze.
That had very nearly become a kiss that was for anything but show, he’d thought grimly as he’d fought for the control that had momentarily deserted him. If the archbishop hadn’t brought him up short, he might well have had Sofia flat against a pillar within seconds, her with her skirts around her waist and him beneath them. In full view of the congregation. The clergy. His mother. In a cathedral. Without a thought for the scandal. Or the sacrilege.
So much for assuming he had his response to her in hand. He’d been right to suspect she might be dangerous. She threatened his equilibrium. She made him want to forget all about his obligations and his priorities, and the irony of the situation was not lost on him. He’d specifically selected her to be his bride because she understood the requirements of the role. He’d banged on about them enough. Yet it seemed thathewas the one in need of a lecture on the importance of duty and commitment.Hewas the one in jeopardy of putting his needs before those of his country. And what appallingly primitive needs they were. The reception had been torture. He’d strengthened alliances and paved the way for lucrative new trade deals, but all the while he’d been agonisingly aware of her—every second of every minute of every hour. During dinner, the speeches, the dancing.
His mother’s passing comment about the heat of the kiss—which he’d been trying to forget—hadn’t helped. She’d admitted to being envious, but she had no business being envious. Royalty didn’t have the luxury of such self-centred emotion, so what on earth had she been thinking?
And then there’d been the unpleasant encounter with his dissolute second cousin, who’d rudely interrupted a conversation he’d been having with Finland’s ambassador shortly after the speeches.
‘Congratulations,’ Tommaso had said boozily, giving him a slap on the back that had nearly knocked him into the Finn. ‘And thanks for saving me from a fate worse than death. Phew. Just in time, right? All that responsibility. Marriage. Kids. Jeez. Where’s the fun in that?’ His unfocused gaze had landed on Sofia then, and his grin had turned disgustingly predatory. ‘Mind you,’ he’d added, oblivious to the mine-strewn territory he was entering, ‘if I’d had to marry her it might have not been so bad. She’s hotter than the sun. Let me know when you’re done with her, cuz. We could have good times.’
Ivo had never thought he possessed either a protective or a violent streak but in that moment, in response to such unfathomable disrespect, he’d experienced both. A red mist had clouded his vision. His pulse had pounded so hard at his temples that he’d felt as if his head were about to explode. He’d wanted to rip Tommaso’s throat out and feed it to the sharks in the aquarium on the other side of the city.
Somehow he’d managed to resist the temptation to slam his fist into his cousin’s jaw, but the roaring surge of emotion had thrown him further. He’d never felt so unhinged. It had taken him a good half an hour to calm down. He still wasn’t entirely himself. And he would shortly have to take his brand-new wife to bed, which would test his control like it had never been tested before.
But he would prevail, he vowed as, having retired to his suite, he toed off his shoes, stripped off his clothes and headed for the shower. He would not lose his head and the monarchy because of a woman. The attraction he’d shared with the Countess Carolina had led him to very nearly miss his investiture as Grand Duke of Ficanza. A search party had eventually tracked him down to her hotel suite and he’d never been so shaken up, so mortified and ashamed. But had that put him off? No. Astoundingly, he’d fancied himself in love with her. So in love with her, in fact, that he’d been blind to the treacherous nature that had not only concealed her faithlessness but also her loyalty.
When he thought about what could have happened had he actually married her, he felt physically sick. At some point she’d have revealed her true colours and he’d have been destroyed, unable to focus and dangerously preoccupied. There’d have been no unity. Stability and security would have been compromised. He’d have been no better than his grandfather, and once again the country would have suffered because of the selfishness of its rulers.
As a result of that horrendous experience, he’d promised himself that he would never let anyone down again, least of all himself. Like his father before him, duty and responsibility would always be his number one priority. And right now, that meant suppressing everything but the need to consummate the marriage as per the clause in the constitution designed to legitimise the union and his heirs. As quickly and efficiently as possible.
So why, he wondered with a frown, having emerged from the bathroom and donned a robe a good thirty minutes after he went in, was he stalling? Why was he stalking to the drinks cabinet and pouring himself an enormous whisky? He’d never needed Dutch courage. He’d never shied away from doing what was necessary, however much he might want to. So why now, when only half an hour remained for him to fulfil his obligations, was he procrastinating—again?
The delay in finding a bride had been one hundred percent down to work, but on this occasion the trouble was Sofia still messing with his head. And such a situation was as ridiculous as it was unacceptable, he thought grimly as he downed the drink in one and felt the heat of alcohol burn its way through his body. He had to stamp out these appalling…jitters…and get a grip. He could not continue to allow himself to be derailed like this. He was the King, for God’s sake. He ran a country. He negotiated multibillion-dollar deals on a daily basis. He crushed insurgents. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t vulnerable. He was invincible.
And so he would not, he vowed as he slammed down his glass and braced himself, be felled by a wife.
CHAPTER FIVE
WHERE ON EARTHcould he be?
Sofia stood at the floor-to-ceiling sash window staring out into the dark night, uncertainty knotting her stomach. She and Ivo had left the reception and parted company nearly an hour ago, he to his suite, she to hers. Doing her best to contain the thrills of anticipation and reminding herself that she wouldnotgive herself away, that shewouldremain unmoved, she’d taken a quick shower and changed into a cream satin slip and robe and then sat down at the dressing table to wait for what she’d assumed would not be long.
She’d been preparing for this moment all evening. Outwardly, she’d spent the reception and then the dinner following the schedule and chatting to the guests. Inwardly, however, she’d worked on her control until she could look at him without reacting. Until she could think of what was to come and not feel even the hint of a shiver.
But not once had it occurred to her that he simply wouldn’t show up.
As the nerves twisted harder and her throat tightened, her composure fractured a little more with every minute that ticked agonisingly by. What was keeping him? The likelihood of a matter of state claiming his attention at midnight on his wedding day was virtually zero, so could it be her? Was the idea of sleeping with her so unappealing he was putting it off for as long as he could? Was he planning to defy the constitution and forgo his duty entirely? Just how far down his list of priorities was she?
She knew he wasn’t interested in her as a woman. He’d made it exceptionally clear that his sole focus was protecting the monarchy and she accepted that. But a stab of hurt nevertheless struck her square in the chest. Her feminine pride stung. She was no supermodel, obviously, and yes, she lacked the breeding of the few aristocratic women he’d dated in the past, but surely she wasn’tthatunattractive.
Deeply frustrated by the pointless whirling of her thoughts, Sofia was contemplating tracking him down to remind him of his responsibilities—possibly in the hope that the negligée would succeed where she had evidently failed—when there was a sharp knock on the door that separated their suites.
She jumped and spun round, her heart giving a great crash against her ribs. The door flung back and Ivo stood in the space, wearing nothing but a black robe that hung open to the belt that was tied loosely at his waist and finished half way down his long muscled calves. The light behind him gave him a sort of corona that made him look like even more of a god than he usually did, and as her pulse spiked, her mouth dried.
‘May I come in?’
His expression was unreadable but he sounded as if he were going to the gallows, and her confidence plunged. ‘I assume that’s a rhetorical question,’ she said, drumming up a smile that she hoped disguised how vulnerable she suddenly felt. ‘What took you so long?’
He advanced into the room, running his dark, flat gaze over her as he did so, and came to a stop behind a red velvet armchair that stood in front of the rococo fireplace. ‘I had some loose ends to tie up,’ he said, resting one large hand on the back of it as a muscle flickered in his cheek.
In response to his clinical inspection of her body, a flurry of hot shivers raced down her spine. ‘What ends?’
‘Ones that unfortunately couldn’t wait. Today went well, I thought.’
He slid his other hand into the pocket of his robe, the epitome of steely control and cool authority. Despite his indifference, she was so relieved that he’d shown up, she wanted to run across the room and throw herself into his arms. To express her embarrassingly pathetic gratitude for not rejecting her after all by pushing aside his lapels and exploring what looked like a hard-muscled chest with her mouth. But, horrified by her lack of self-respect, she remained where she was, her guard up, the smile on her face as practised as it had ever been. ‘It couldn’t have gone better,’ she replied. ‘It was faultless from start to finish.’
