Page 27 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A S INSTRUCTED, Ivo did everything he could to forget that awful night in his study. He couldn’t think of it without shuddering. The drama. The passion. Sofia’s complete wrongness about everything.

Where the hell had his cool, level-headed Communications Secretary gone?

he wondered in bafflement whenever the image of her standing in front of him, clearly overcome by emotion, slammed into his head, which was far too often for his comfort.

When precisely had the asset turned into a liability?

How had he never noticed? And as for all that guff about love…

About her feelings and his… What had she been thinking ?

As if either of them could afford to indulge in such self-centred nonsense.

Was this what she’d been trying to hide at breakfast the morning after the ball? God.

She stayed out of his way, as promised. He’d accepted her emailed request to stand down from her role as Communications Secretary.

He agreed with her assessment that her position had become untenable upon their marriage and she had other responsibilities now.

One of which, presumably, was the child she was carrying.

His child. His heir. Which he couldn’t let himself think about because it put too much pressure on his chest. When she’d told him the news, his first instinct had been to leap over his desk, gather her into his arms and kiss her into oblivion.

He’d buried the urge, of course, but it kept trying to surface, and he simply couldn’t handle the unacceptable possibility that one day soon he might not be able to resist.

Only once had they been forced into each other’s company for any length of time.

The reception to welcome the new Spanish ambassador to the country had required a united front.

Just before they’d entered the Long Gallery, he’d handed her the rings that for some reason he hadn’t got round to placing in the vault, and she’d wordlessly put them on.

She’d pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin, looking so stunningly magnificent that he’d filled with the sudden, clamouring urge to take her back upstairs and beg her for forgiveness.

He hadn’t, naturally, and had buried that urge too.

Instead, he’d offered her his arm and together they’d performed a masterclass in royal protocol and duty.

No one but him had noticed the strain of her smile or the tension that had gripped her.

No one at all had noticed the strain of his smile or the tension that gripped him .

Ivo had every reason to rejoice in the fact that Sofia finally understood that the monarchy was and always would be his number one focus.

And he did, initially. He was relieved to discover that his judgement was sound, after all.

He was absolutely certain that in time she’d get over whatever feelings she thought she had for him, he’d recover from the madness that had temporarily engulfed him and things would be back on an even keel.

Gradually, however, he began to feel as though something was off.

Everything seemed to be conspiring against him.

He lost track in meetings and forgot names.

Carrying out the simplest of tasks was like wading through treacle.

He was nearly dropping balls left, right and centre.

The daily comms briefings with her replacement just weren’t the same.

The damn rings kept winking at him from the bowl on the desk in which he’d put them, telling himself he’d deal with them later.

Because he’d had years of experience in the field of international diplomacy, he held it together so effectively that no one had any inkling what churned beneath the surface. Or in how many directions he was being torn. But unfortunately his mother knew him too well to be fooled.

‘What is going on?’ Elenor asked, having finally secured the audience that he’d repeatedly put off until he’d run out of excuses.

Shifting uncomfortably on the sofa in his private sitting room, Ivo wondered darkly why the women in his life kept asking him this. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t be dense,’ she said with the bluntness he’d inherited. ‘I’m talking about Sofia. Or more precisely, you and Sofia.’

Suddenly, the cushions felt like knives. His shirt was as tight as a vice. He jumped to his feet, strode to the window and resisted the urge to pace. ‘Other than the roles we perform as King and Queen, there is no me and Sofia,’ he said, ruthlessly ignoring the denial that surged through him.

‘That’s the trouble,’ said his mother. ‘She’s having your heir.

She needs you. Meanwhile, you’re doing your best to avoid her, which is not what I would expect of you when such behaviour is the opposite of honourable.

And then there’s the job. You’re operating at 50 percent.

You’re making mistakes. You’re getting away with it at the moment, but for how much longer? ’

‘It’s a temporary affliction,’ he muttered, not needing to be reminded of how badly he was in danger of failing at everything.

‘Is it?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Did you know she’s in love with you?’

The memory of her admitting how she felt slammed into his head and for a moment his lungs seized. He forced out a breath and cleared his throat. ‘She did mention it, yes.’

‘I warned her about the pitfalls of hopeless expectations, but she clearly paid no attention.’

Right. Enough. He was fed up with his. He couldn’t handle being slammed with any more home truths and he didn’t have time for any more crypticity.

Needing to clear up yet another thing that had been driving him nuts, he whipped round to face his mother and shoved his hands in his pockets.

‘Talking of hopeless expectations,’ he said, locking his eyes on hers so as not to miss a thing.

‘I understand you had a few back in the day…’

His mother considered him for a moment before saying, ‘Yes, I was in love with your father, more fool me.’

As Sofia had maintained. The floor beneath his feet seemed to shake and crack. He set his jaw. ‘Why?’

‘What do you mean, why?’

Was steam coming out of his ears? It certainly felt as though it was. ‘That’s not what we do.’

Elenor looked at him with disconcerting shrewdness.

‘You could if you wanted to,’ she said. ‘As could he. But he was frustratingly stubborn. He refused to acknowledge how I felt. He refused to give us a chance.’ She sighed and a flicker of grief and regret darted across her face.

‘But I wish he had, because we could have shared the huge demands he faced. He might not have had that stress-induced heart attack. Because of the actions of his father, he saw emotion of any kind as a weakness instead of the strength it can be, and I know he taught you to believe that a marriage of convenience was the only option open to you. But it’s not too late.

You’re in love with Sofia. There’s no point denying it,’ she said, holding up a staying hand when he opened his mouth to issue an objection.

‘I watched the footage of you on tour. I read the articles and saw the photos. With love like that you could take on the world. Do not make the same mistake your father did, darling. I really couldn’t bear it. ’

His mother rose from her chair, gave his arm a squeeze and left Ivo standing there, his head spinning with all the unnerving observations she’d made, which he turned upside down and inside out, until he all he was left with was the blinding realisation that of course he was in love with Sofia.

He probably had been for months, ever since the day she’d started working for him.

He’d come to depend on her more than he’d realised.

He’d looked forward to their daily meetings.

He’d enjoyed her no-nonsense approach and the fact that she’d never been intimidated by him.

Pretty much every rash, out of character thing he’d done since deciding to make her his queen, his wife, his , proved he was crazy about her.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was that he didn’t want to feel any of those things.

He feared the sort of distraction and disruption that could bring down the institution he’d devoted his life to.

He dreaded handing over his heart only for it to be decimated.

Once was quite enough, and with the benefit of hindsight he could see that he hadn’t even been in love with Carolina.

Sofia, though… She’d be able to do irreparable damage.

But then, why would she decimate his heart?

She loved him enough to marry him even though he’d told her he’d never return her feelings.

She loved him enough to sacrifice life as she’d known it for the crown.

For him. The last ten days of the tour, she’d shown him in a thousand different ways how she felt about him, and he’d welcomed every single one of them without thought.

By demanding answers from him the night she’d cornered him in his study, she’d risen above her abhorrence of confrontation to fight for what she wanted.

She had more courage in her little finger than he did in his entire body.

Meanwhile, what was he doing?

Wallowing in hang-ups a decade old.

Using the excuse of the monarchy to protect the heart that was softer that he’d ever wanted to acknowledge.

But no more.

Heavy was the head that wore the crown, and he was done with putting himself last, with sacrificing the desires that weren’t unreasonable and suppressing his feelings.

He wanted Sofia’s love. He wanted her loyalty and support, not for the sake of the monarchy, but for himself.

He wanted every wild emotion she had to give him and to return them in spades.

If he had anything to do with it, she’d never feel lonely again.

She wouldn’t spend the next fifty, sixty, seventy years yearning for something out of reach, as his mother had.