Page 4 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER THREE

I VO DIDN’T MUCH care for whose sake Sofia had agreed to marry him. The point was, she had, and the problem that had been causing him such grief had instantly gone away—at exceptionally little cost.

Fidelity posed no problem. He’d never screwed around.

His experience with Carolina, the Countess of Vila Real a decade ago had made him wary and mistrustful and as a result, his liaisons were infrequent and casual and ultimately, inconsequential.

He enjoyed sex as much as the next man, but it didn’t—and never would—govern his life.

Such distraction was unthinkable. The possibility of it developing into something deeper, something that might render him powerless, exposed and open to exploitation once again was to be avoided like the plague.

Nor did he foresee trouble with communication, which was, after all, the basis of their working relationship and would, he imagined, naturally transfer to their marriage.

It hadn’t caused an issue before, and he saw no reason why it should now.

And when it came to conflict, they were both so even-keeled and emotionally restrained he couldn’t envisage either of them losing control even if such a situation did arise. The very thought of it was laughable.

The press had leapt on the announcement like a pack of rabid wolves, of course.

Ever since the news had been released a week ago, the story had dominated the headlines.

No one could be under any illusion that theirs was anything other than a marriage of convenience, but the interest in Sofia was nevertheless rampant.

Within the palace walls, his choice of bride was considered excellently pragmatic.

Beyond them, ridiculous notions of a highly unlikely romance swirled.

The fact that she’d worked for him this past year had escaped no one’s notice.

According to some, it must have been a thrilling slow-burn affair.

For others, a last-minute coup de foudre must have struck.

His people appeared to have collectively turned to sentimental mush, and he could only hope the affliction was temporary.

Ivo had intended to stay out of the proceedings as much as possible. ‘Never explain, never complain’ had been the mantra of his family for generations, and he’d had no intention of diverging from a policy that had served them so well.

Sofia, however, had other ideas.

‘Controlling the narrative is crucial,’ she’d told him over the phone yesterday lunchtime. ‘Because I’m such an out-of-the-blue choice, speculation in some of the more hostile quarters is rife and lurid enough to become a problem if allowed to continue unfettered.’

‘You’ve handled worse,’ he’d replied, slightly perturbed by the way her voice now seemed to lift the tiny hairs at the back of his neck.

‘True, but you bringing the wedding forward by a fortnight hasn’t made it any easier.’

‘We’re embarking on a three-week tour of the country in lieu of a honeymoon, and I want it over and done with so I can get back to business as quickly as possible. Besides, I couldn’t risk you getting cold feet or some other delay.’

‘Why did you leave it so late?’

He’d shifted in his seat and given her the same reason he gave himself. ‘I was too busy focusing on the job to watch the clock.’

‘Such a lapse feels very uncharacteristic.’

‘I’m not superhuman,’ he’d observed, stifling a dart of irritation. ‘I can’t bend time.’

Silence fell for a moment, then came an astonished, ‘Wow.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard you confess to a weakness.’

No, well, why would he when he did everything in his power to prevent such a thing? When any sort of vulnerability could bring about not the destruction of the monarchy he lived for but also, quite possibly, himself? ‘Aren’t we getting sidetracked?’

‘Maybe… Where was I…?’ There’d followed what had sounded like a shuffle of papers.

‘Ah, yes. Because of the truncated time frame there are rumours of a shotgun wedding, which need to be nipped in the bud. Plus the anti-monarchists are taking advantage of this spotlight on you to renew their calls for your abolition.’

‘You can put a stop to that immediately,’ he’d said, the chill that had run down his spine obliterating his discomfort at the images a shotgun wedding brought up. ‘And anything else that threatens my position or integrity.’

‘My thoughts exactly. Which is why I’ve set up an interview with the nation’s favourite chat show host so we can knock this all on the head and spin the situation the way we want. Ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Your private sitting room. Don’t be late.’

Now, running a finger around the inside of his shirt collar to ease the pressure on his windpipe, Ivo sat beside Sofia on one of the two large sofas that framed a coffee table before the fireplace in a space he’d always considered his sanctuary.

He’d rather face down a roomful of international despots than undergo this.

He could defend the monarchy any day of the week but if the conversation strayed into the topic of romance, or worse, feelings , he’d be completely at a loss.

So far out of his comfort zone he might as well be on another planet.

In the disconcerting position of having to rely on Sofia to cover any awkward moments as he’d never had to before.

And then there were the memories of his ex that this whole damn setup was battering him with.

Less than twenty-four hours after he’d told her to get out of his sight, Carolina had scurried to the press.

The lurid details of their relationship would have been splashed around the world had the palace not gained an injunction just in time and then paid her a hefty sum in return for her silence.

The thought of how close he’d come to both stalling his father’s progress and wrecking his own future as King still made him shudder.

Quite apart from the personally painful double betrayal, he’d have been cannon fodder for anyone with a grudge against the monarchy.

Another member of the royal family weakened by a woman.

He’d never have lived down the hideous comparisons with his grandfather.

He’d had a staggeringly lucky escape, and it was an experience he had no intention of repeating on any level at all.

However, it wasn’t just the nature of the imminent interview that was causing him such grief.

Or the unpleasant memories of how dangerously naive and reckless he’d once been.

With the exception of a handful of phone calls, he’d barely had any contact with his betrothed since she’d agreed to become his wife.

He’d had a trilateral aerospace deal to sign off, and she’d gone into full on PR mode, holing up with advisors to discuss logistics and issuing press releases left right and centre.

In itself, this passing like ships in the night wasn’t a problem, even though it was the longest they’d gone without much in the way of communication.

Because Sofia generally accompanied him on overseas trips and rarely took a day off, he’d become used to her being around at all times.

Like a part of the furniture. However, now, the only piece of furniture she reminded him of was a bed.

Even more so when he was in his. Realising how attractive she was had triggered an awareness in him that had become frustratingly impossible to ignore.

He dreamed of her every night and invariably woke up in such a state he would have been in danger of developing a repetitive strain injury in his wrist had he allowed himself the pleasure.

Hot on the tail of a week of fractured sleep and unwelcome desire, therefore, this morning was turning out to be more of a trial than Ivo could ever have imagined.

They’d never been in such proximity. They’d never even touched before.

Yet currently, his thigh was a mere inch from hers.

He could feel the heat of her body. Every time she moved, the scent of her shampoo, of her , drifted up his nose and into his head.

His lightweight navy suit felt impossibly tight and heavy and the tiny shivers of electricity that darted though him had brought him out in a rash of goose bumps.

But while he battled the urge to strip her of the yellow dress she wore and flatten her against the soft feather cushions, she, on the other hand, remained as cool as Lake Superiore in winter.

There was no need to dab the shine from her brow, he thought darkly, trying not to grit his teeth against the disturbing impact of her nearness.

Her muscles weren’t taut and aching with tension.

‘This will go a lot more easily if you smile,’ she murmured, leaning in as the hair and make-up artists and lighting technicians darted about the room.

‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ he murmured back, shifting a fraction to his left to restore the gap between them.

Evidently noting his move, her eyes narrowed and she frowned. ‘I thought you agreed that this was an excellent idea.’

‘I did.’

‘So what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said, irritation at being so transparent sharpening his tone. ‘Why would you think it was?’

‘You seem… I don’t know…a little unnerved .’

That had to be the understatement of the century. He was more than a little unnerved. He’d never experienced such an intense response to anyone, and he liked it as much as he knew what to make of it—in other words, not at all.