Page 5 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

Until now, his body had always remained firmly under his control, and the fact that it seemed to be going rogue was both bewildering and concerning.

It made him wonder if taking Sofia as his bride wouldn’t prove to be a colossal mistake, if she wasn’t somehow dangerous.

He found himself increasingly preoccupied with why she’d agreed to marry him when everyone else he’d asked had refused.

In fact, he thought about her far more than was necessary, which was frustrating as hell when work required his full focus.

Even the diamond ring that adorned the third finger of her right hand and flashed at him whenever it caught the light felt like some sort of an omen.

This engagement of theirs had the potential to be far more complex than the straightforward arrangement he’d envisaged.

However, it was too late to back out now.

The die was cast. So he’d just have to regain command of himself.

How hard could it be? Two years in the army had taught him self-discipline.

His willpower was formidable. After all, it wasn’t as if he could simply permit the attraction to develop.

No matter how much he might enjoy letting go physically—and it would certainly be a bonus to do so with the woman he was marrying—such self-indulgence was an anathema.

That sort of distraction was for the weak.

The reckless. And he, who had duty and responsibility embedded in his DNA, who lived, breathed and slept for his country, would allow none of it.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, pulling himself together and forcing the tension from his body. ‘Of course I’m not unnerved. I’ve done hundreds of these things over the years.’

‘None quite like this, though.’

‘It’s uncharted territory for you too.’

‘But it’s my job.’

‘And also mine, don’t forget. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect the monarchy. My country. The future. Nothing else matters.’

A flicker of emotion darted across her face but it came and went before he could even think to identify it. ‘Talking of forgetting, do you remember the plan?’ she said so coolly he figured he must have imagined it anyway.

The plan she’d first emailed yesterday afternoon and then followed up with a thirty-minute call?

Of course he remembered. ‘The last royal wedding—my parents’—was thirty-eight years ago,’ he recited.

‘Times have changed. An absolute monarchy is something of a rarity these days. A throwback to the past. Aloofness and mystery no longer works. We must be open. Relatable. Relevant. Competent and diligent but at the same time anodyne and uncontroversial.’

‘Exactly. See? Simple.’

Evidently, their understanding of simple differed.

Ivo suspected the next hour was going to be one of the most stressful of recent years.

But at least he was to have respite immediately afterwards.

From here, he was travelling straight to Paris for a two-day conference on artificial intelligence—on his own for once, since Sofia was needed here.

And although he had no doubt that, with effort, he would conquer his desire for her, and despite the fact that he preferred to confront difficulties head-on, it felt like a much-needed escape.

Swept up in a whirlwind of activity, Sofia had barely had time to breathe since her engagement to Ivo had been announced.

Not everything could be delegated to her highly competent team of four.

They continued to handle the day-to-day running of the department, but she was the one who had to find time for dress fittings and a trip to the Jewel House to pick up the rings and tiara she’d been assigned.

Only she could sit beside him on that sofa, smile in all the right places and talk about how excited she was about the wedding and how she hoped she’d do a good job of serving King and country.

His mother’s advice about the role of the Queen and managing expectations were for her ears alone, and no one else but her could pose with him for the official engagement photos.

Sofia knew when Ivo was due to return from Paris—the trip was detailed in the tightly packed schedule—but she didn’t see him until the doors onto the terrace flung open on the dot of eleven and he strode through them.

He’d only been away for two days but, judging by the wave of longing that swept through her as he headed for the wisteria-clad summer house in front of which she stood while the photographer tested the lighting, it might as well have been two months.

Oh, how she’d missed him, she thought, battling back a wide smile that would be far too giddy for the occasion and perilously revealing as a result. Absence really did make the heart grow fonder.

But evidently the only heart thus affected by forty-eight hours apart was hers.

Because as he approached, making short work of the immaculately mown lawn with his long purposeful strides, she noticed that his jaw was tight.

His face was dark and his deep brown eyes seemed oddly flinty.

Despite the warmth of the mid-morning sun, he emanated an ice-cold steeliness she’d never seen in him before, as if he were all hard planes and sharp edges, as if he were someone not to be crossed.

He spared no words for the team. He had no smile for anyone.

He seemed ruthlessly focused—and utterly different.

At this wholly unexpected version of a man she thought she knew inside out, Sofia’s head spun and a shiver of apprehension rippled down her spine. What could have caused such a dramatic change to his demeanour? Had the conference not gone well? Surely she would have heard.

‘Hello,’ she said, plastering her easiest, most professional smile to her face as he came to an abrupt stop in front of her and the photographer moved to a discreet distance.

‘Good morning.’

‘How are you?’

‘Fine. You?’

That was an interesting question. Actually, she was all over the place.

Her body temperature was sky-high. Her heart was beating at twice its usual rate.

And as if that wasn’t enough, in response to the clipped frostiness of his voice her skin was prickling and she felt a little light-headed.

‘All good,’ she said, one hundred percent certain that, despite the mess she was inside, outwardly she projected nothing but serenity. ‘And Paris?’

‘Constructive.’

‘Anything I need to be aware of?’

‘Like what?’ He fastened the button of his jacket, then reached up into the sleeves to tug down the cuffs of his shirt, an unexpectedly sexy move that would have derailed her focus if she’d let it.

‘I have no idea,’ she said, lifting her gaze from his wrists to his face, a route that took in the enticing wedge of chest revealed by the collar that was open at the neck. ‘News that needs promoting or a problem that needs handling, perhaps?’

‘If there was, you’d be the first to know.’

Right. That was true. Clearly, then, the conference wasn’t the issue.

So what was? More pertinently, what did it mean?

She’d never seen this side to him before.

She’d never considered him… dangerous . What if he possessed other characteristics that lay hidden?

What were the implications for their marriage if he wasn’t the man she believed him to be?

Might she have made a mistake in accepting his proposal?

‘Sofia?’

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 something I should 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 about better . Quite honestly, she was even more confused because now she could add mercurial to steely and dangerous . But at least he no longer gave the impression he was about to march into battle, guns blazing. ‘Somewhat.’

‘Good. So what has been 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 hammered that point 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 ever not arguing 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 possess some dignity. 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.