by Pippa Roscoe
His dark look at her must have thrown her as her words trailed off. Her eyes were overly bright, her words just a little too quick. What was going on? A slight noise behind him drew his gaze to see the retreating figures of the king and queen, discreetly spirited away through a side exit. And once again anger whipped through him.
‘Your father isn’t sticking around for the toast, then?’ he couldn’t help but bite out. Couldn’t help but be transported back to a time when all he’d wondered was why his own father hadn’t stuck around. Couldn’t help but remember the way his family had treated his mother and himself because of it. Heat and hurt scorched him in an instant.
‘No. He couldn’t.’ Before the growl could escape his lips, she pressed on. ‘He’s been...working hard and is tired.’
He was used to reflecting that every single word from her mouth was a lie, but this was different. There was the ring of truth in what she said, but there was also a shimmer of falsehood there too or, if not, then evasion distracting him from his reflections on the past.
The toast was given to them by a man he’d never seen before, but was probably a whole lot more appropriate than what Sebastian might have said to a room full of royals. He felt Maria’s gaze on him throughout the evening, and not for the first time wondered whether if it might have been better to have let her believe the falsehood he was weaving through the night. She was young and impressionable and wholly overprotected by her brother.
Within an hour Theo was surprised to find himself on the verge of exhaustion. As a successful businessman and vintner, he was used to heading up million-dollar business meetings, but this constant diplomacy was tiring, yet Sofia showed no signs of fatigue, her fake smile—for he knew it to be fake—was undimmed and as fresh as the first one she had offered.
‘Little Sofia,’ said an older man with shocking white hair and a broad purple sash spotted with medals and pins that proclaimed his importance. He felt Sofia bristle beside him at the patronising appellation. Unconsciously his protective instincts rose, and he drew to his full height.
‘Theo Tersi,’ he said, stretching out his hand to sever whatever connection had sprung between his fiancé and the older man.
‘Georges de Fontagne.’
‘Monsieur de Fontagne is the Minister of Agriculture,’ Sofia said, apparently finally finding her voice.
‘Sofia,’ greeted the small, birdlike woman standing beside Georges, her diminutive stature only serving to magnify her husband’s largess.
‘Louisa,’ Sofia replied with much more warmth.
When Louisa turned her smiling attention to him, Theo took her hand in his and raised it to his lips in such an old-fashioned move, he nearly surprised himself, satisfied to see that a small blush had risen to the older woman’s cheeks as she smiled coyly.
‘I wanted to offer my congratulations and beg that you satisfy my curiosity once and for all,’ interrupted Georges. ‘Please, do share the story of your rather sudden courtship.’ His voice carried, as did the slight trace of cynicism heavy on his words. ‘Do not tell me it was born of that horrifying trend of using matchmakers!’
The man’s wife was looking thoroughly mortified at her husband’s behaviour and Sofia, for the first time that evening, seemed shocked into silence. It was clear that the man knew something of Sofia’s search in Paris six weeks before and was taunting her with it. It was untenable.
Theo might not have been born to this strata of society, but he knew in an instant that he had more manners in his little finger than this man did. It reminded him of the way that his mother’s family had treated them, before he had turned the little dirt pile he and his mother had bought from her family into an award-winning vineyard. Before he had made enough money to buy out the remaining land his mother’s family owned and shuffled them off to some distant part of Greece, only to be pulled out of their exile when he felt like it. Only his giagiá had taken pity on them, supported them through that first year and then afterwards when his mother became sick. Theo refused to acknowledge the perverse fact that he felt more than justified in seeking his own revenge, but would not counter an attack against Sofia from another quarter. And as such, all temptation to leave Sofia to stew in a mess of his making disappeared.
‘We—’ she started, but he squeezed her arm gently to stop her.
‘Agápi mou, I have heard you tell this story before and your natural instinct towards modesty never does me justice. Allow me?’ He watched her eyes widen just a fraction with surprise, and she nodded.
‘I am sure that you will have heard something of my slightly scandalous reputation,’ Theo confided ruefully to the couple. ‘And I could not lie and say it is not deserved, as I had never thought to find a woman who could live up to the high standard set by my mother.’
From the corner of his eye, he saw Sofia struggle not to roll her eyes, and Louisa struggle not to sigh contentedly. His charm might not have been broadcast in the press, but it was no less potent a skill than his wine-making abilities and he was determined to use it now to its fullest.
‘You see, years ago, when I was a young man, I fell deeply in love. I would have given everything for her, and in some ways did.’ He felt Sofia flinch and could have sworn he heard the beat of her heart pick up in confusion as to where he was taking this fabricated story. ‘But sadly it was not to be. So I hardened my heart, sure that I would never feel the same way again. And I was right.’ He had predicted Louisa’s brief gasp of shock, and had not been wrong as he’d imagined Georges’ avaricious gaze ready for his next words. ‘For when I met Sofia I realised that what I had thought was love was just a pale imitation.’ Louisa melted, Georges scowled, and Sofia...he simply couldn’t tell.
‘From the first moment that I laid eyes on her I knew I was completely ruined...’ He paused to see if even this would bring Sofia out of her perfect façade, and, though she paled just slightly, no outward sign of upset showed. ‘Ruined for other women for ever,’ he concluded. ‘I knew that she was the woman that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. You may dismiss that as pure fantasy. Or something based purely on her beauty. But it wasn’t. Every word, movement, decision, enthralled. Her intelligence, her poise and, just as much, her playfulness. Did you know that Sofia has a naughty streak?’
‘I remember as much from her childhood,’ Georges said critically.
‘Ah, but this is what makes Sofia so perfect, for while a country needs an iron-willed ruler, the people need fun and authenticity. And that is what really drew me to Sofia. This I knew in just a moment, but Sofia needed a little more time than I. Oh, she made me work for it, I assure you, Georges,’ he said, leaning towards the obese man to intimate confidence, while his skin crawled. ‘Over our first lunch together, I produced my finest wine...knowing that I had to seduce her senses as much as her mind and heart. It was a very special bottle of wine for me. There were only three made, from the very first grape of my vineyard in the Peloponnese. The first was for my mother, my child will have the third, but Sofia...she had the second.
‘Unbeknownst to me, in the years before we had met, I had created the perfect blend of wine, solely in preparation for her. The playful notes of blueberry and bay leaves grounded in the rich, deep Greek soil were simply...her.’
Theo realised, as he had spoken, he had caught her gaze with his, the words casting a spell that had drawn the attention not just of the horrible Georges and his poor wife, but also that of the surrounding courtiers and dignitaries. A pin dropped to the floor could have been heard in the silence.
Sofia’s face was upturned to his, only a few inches between them, shock and surprise evident in her eyes. He felt, as much as saw, her draw a deep breath, stealing the air from before him. In the silence everything disappeared. The room, the guests, the past...and he was seventeen all over again, looking at the young Sofia as her unpractised body begged him to take her lips. Need and desire encased them, separ
ating them from the rest of the world. The stark sensuality of her calling to him across the years, the months, days and seconds.
He dipped his head, closing the distance between them, and drank from her lips, tasting all the flavours he had just described. The slight sting from where she had indelicately bitten him earlier making it so much more sweet.
Then she opened for him and he plunged into the soft warmth of her mouth, teasing them both with swift movements of his tongue, delving deep within her and relishing every moment.
The roaring in his ears shifted and morphed into the sound of a hundred hands clapping, and just as many voices cheering. He pulled back, suddenly shocked by his own actions mirrored in Sofia’s gaze and kiss-bruised lips.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WHAT ON EARTH were you thinking?’ Sofia demanded the moment she collected herself after that kiss, and the moment they were free of Georges and Louisa’s attention.
‘I was thinking that it would be the only thing that might wipe the insidious smirk from that obnoxious man’s face.’
‘You think he is obnoxious? Really?’
‘I do.’
‘He is an important man in the ministerial cabinet, Theo, I cannot afford—’
‘The girl I once knew didn’t give a flying fig for what she could or could not afford, Sofia. Tell me, where has she gone?’ he asked, searching her face, ‘for I cannot find a trace of her anywhere.’
‘People change,’ Sofia replied, turning away from his penetrating stare. Everyone changed. Her father, Theo, herself. No one was who they once were.
But not everything changed, her inner voice taunted her.
No. The way he had kissed her hadn’t changed. The moment his lips had pressed against hers, first in that momentary initial greeting, and then later with that kiss, it had felt like...home. Some imaginary place in her mind when it had just been the two of them, all those years ago, with no concerns other than how soon they could see each other again. His body had called to hers in the same way it had done all those years ago, and she hated him for it. Because he was right. That girl was gone and she could never come back. Not if she wanted to secure a future for her country. They needed the royal woman she had become, regal and poised. So she delved into the inner strength she had forged from the loss of her hopes and dreams and became that woman again.
She barely spared Theo another glance as she visited with dignitaries, accepted their congratulations, agreed to visit with various countries after the wedding—and if her heart stuttered over that precise word or moment to come, then she ignored it as she made plans for a future she could no longer see.
Despite her attempts to relegate Theo to the sidelines, he hovered almost constantly by her side, dishing out the same charm he had drowned Louisa de Fontagne in, showing a peculiar adroitness in conversation with the various ministers and members of the privy council. And slowly she began to form an image of the man to replace that of the boy she had known. One who had skilfully nurtured an international wine conglomerate from a small part of Greece, one who seemed to have lost some of that inner sense of insecurity she had once recognised as being similar to her own, a sense of not quite being rich enough, or good enough...
‘I must say, I’m impressed,’ he said into the air just above her head. For all the world they would look like a couple very much in love as she tilted her face towards his. Only he could read the confusion in her eyes. ‘One could be forgiven for thinking that this was an engagement party rather than an opportunity for you to network. But so far I have seen you organise at least three potential trade agreements with all the panache of a seasoned CEO.’
‘Don’t think I didn’t miss the mention of your precious wine whilst you were talking to Georges. He was practically begging you for shares in your company once he realised that his wife, along with half the world, would seek out the magical wine blend that tasted just like me. It was a nice touch, by the way.’
‘It was, wasn’t it?’ The pleasure was evident in his voice. ‘You’ll have to add it to the cover story your council made so hastily. Really, Sofia? You thought that the world would believe we had been introduced by a mutual friend? That’s akin to saying we met on Tinder. But, as you know well, the best lies always have a hint of the truth.’
He waited until he had caught her gaze once more. ‘Why did you not tell them we had met at school? Worried they would dig up my expulsion?’ He wanted to look in her eyes as she answered his question. Wanted to see the truth she had somehow been able to hide from him. ‘Or were you just worried about the world’s press uncovering my low upbringing?’
‘I never thought that of you, Theo. You were the only one who did,’ she said in softly spoken words, and it was not an accusation, but he felt it as such.
Theo scoffed. ‘You really have no idea, do you?’ It took nothing to bring to mind a childhood that had felt like death by a thousand cuts, a thousand stares, snide comments and a fair few beatings when his mother wasn’t looking. ‘Up there, the little princess in the ivory tower.’ He jerked his head up through the floors above the grand ballroom towards an unseen turret. ‘Did you really not see the stares, or hear the words whispered by teachers and students alike? Do you really not know how the world works, Sofia? How the powerful turn on the weak in any attempt to guard their pedestal of superior wealth or position? Is it an accident of your birth, or wilful ignorance? I honestly can’t tell any more. Because you were, are, many things, Sofia, but I didn’t think that naïve was one of them.’
Her eyes turned the dark blue of an electrical storm. ‘Naïve? You know nothing of what I have sacrificed—’
‘What have you ever sacrificed, Sofia?’
You, the thought screamed silently in her mind. Anger rode her pulse to impossible speeds, her chest heaving against the low cut of her dress. An anger so much like desire—the fire in her blood quick to make the leap from one to the other. She felt the breadth of his shoulders expand beside her, and the way he stood proprietorially seemed to encase her, preventing her from seeing beyond the wall of the toned muscles of his chest, cutting her off from the room beyond. It was too much, the closeness of their bodies, the heat pulsating between them, the way her own body seemed to lean towards him as if wanting to pull rather than push him away.
‘I didn’t think so,’ Theo said in the space of her silence. ‘I look around the room, this party, this palace and see numbers. Because after I returned to Greece with my mother, it was all about numbers. The number of universities that retracted their scholarship offers after my expulsion. The number of family members that turned their backs on us, the single digit representing the one person willing to help. The number of euros begged and borrowed to buy that first plot of land, the number of times my mother and I went without food, the number of sleepless nights that wrecked us both as we plunged everything we had into that first grape harvest. The number of bottles we were first able to sell, after the number of failed attempts that preceded it. But do you know what doesn’t have a number? How hard it was.’
She watched him with large, round eyes, and he imagined the pity there, surely. The way her eyes glinted with compassion just a remnant of what he wanted to see.
‘I’m so sorry. Truly. I wish I could have helped.’
‘Helped?’ he demanded, the word almost getting stuck behind his outrage. ‘I’m not talking about the work. I would do that every day for the rest of my life and still be happy. What was hard was the belief that I had done this to my mother. That I had brought this upon the one person in my life who had ever loved me. That, had I not fallen for your pretty lies, then I would have graduated at the top of my class, I would have attended one of the finest universities in the world with a scholarship. My future and my mother’s would have not been filled with struggle and numbers of loss... I could have given her the world. For years I felt the weight of that on my shoulders. Until I realised that I was wr
ong. It wasn’t my fault, it was yours. You laid a trail of pretty little lies like breadcrumbs for me to follow all the way to my destitution. And I believed those lies.
‘How ironic that we survived the abandonment of my father, only to be cut down at the knees by a pampered princess. One that, no matter how exhausted I was, how many hours I worked in the dust, the mud, the earth, no matter how much I sweated, gained or lost...was the only thing I could think of each and every night. You.’
But his words had come out wrong. He felt the way they tasted on his tongue, heard the way they hit the air between them. He had meant it as a castigation, as an explanation or excuse for what he felt he had to do, all the things that Sofia didn’t yet know of. But even to his own ears it had sounded more like a plea. A plea that he could not allow for, so he pressed on with the cruel taunt he knew would drive his desire for her away like no other.
‘Until you married someone else.’
* * *
The last blow was too much for Sofia to bear. Each word, each statement filling in the blanks in her knowledge of him, changing and reforming what she had imagined for him in the years since that night ten years ago, had twisted the knife deeper in her breast. Until that final mention of Antoine. Her fingers reached for the comfort of the wedding band that was no longer there. Instead they scraped against the cold cut of the diamond that had been delivered to the palace two weeks before, the unfamiliar shape beneath the tips of her fingers cold and harsh. Another ring, worn from duty rather than desire or love.
She knew that she should tell him what had happened that night, knew that she should explain how she hadn’t set him up to take the fall for her foolish actions, make him understand that she’d had no choice that night, or any since. Desperately she wanted to tell him that she had meant every word, every hope she’d ever shared with him, but what would it achieve? One part knew he’d not believe her and the other part knew she could not even if he might. The reason she had left that night was bound in secrecy and desperation, to protect her family from what was now only just around the corner. Did it really matter what he thought of her? Only to Sofia. It didn’t change anything. Didn’t change the fact she needed to be married, needed to no longer be the Widow Princess when the time came for her to assume the throne.
