Page 6 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER FOUR

T HE NEXT FEW days sped by in a blur of logistics and protocol.

But whenever Sofia had a moment of calm, she took the opportunity to address the concerns she hadn’t had time for at the photo shoot and soon realised that she’d badly overreacted.

She hadn’t slept well. She’d skipped breakfast. She’d been running on fumes that morning, which was obviously why she’d succumbed to such appalling theatrics.

Of course Ivo wasn’t dangerous , she told herself with a mental eye-roll every time a vision of him striding across that lawn entered her head.

He was hardly the mafia type. Nor was he mercurial.

On the contrary, he was the most steadfast, honourable, honest man she’d ever met.

He was exactly who she thought he was. And so what if he did possess a steely side?

Wasn’t that proof of his iron-clad control?

Didn’t it demonstrate the supremacy of stoicism over emotion?

Something had clearly been bothering him but he’d kept it contained, and that was a trait to be celebrated.

Which she did. Because if only her parents had exhibited even a modicum of such self-discipline, her upbringing could have been a whole lot calmer and infinitely easier than it had been.

She might now embrace passion rather than fear it.

She might not feel such a strong need to protect herself from pain that it prevented her from risking her heart.

She might even believe herself worthy of being put first, of mattering to someone above all else.

As for the enormous shoes she and Ivo had to fill, she understood what was required of her.

Not only had he made it very clear on numerous occasions, but she’d also ruminated on the conversation she’d had with his mother at such length it was imprinted on her memory for ever.

And she got it. She really did. The chances of him ever returning her feelings were so vanishingly small they were virtually non-existent.

If there was any danger of her heart getting the better of her head—any danger at all —she ought to back out now and save herself a whole world of pain.

Except she wouldn’t. Because firstly, there wasn’t, and secondly, she’d already signed the marriage contract.

She’d been presented with the twenty-three-page document a week ago, while he’d been in Paris.

It had taken forty minutes to read from beginning to end.

The clauses about not bringing the royal family into disrepute and compulsory attendance at various ceremonial events had been easy enough to follow.

It was the four-hundred-year-old stipulation that their marriage be consummated by the midnight of the wedding day to ensure the legitimacy of the union and any future heirs that had derailed her thoughts to such an extent that the words had blurred on the page.

She’d often dreamed about what sleeping with him would be like—the agonising tension, the fireworks, the pleasure.

Many a night she’d woken up hot and aching, desperate for his touch.

The realisation that it was actually going to happen, and soon, played havoc with her control.

But she kept it reined in. She kept everything reined in, particularly her imagination, and reminded herself over and over again how much she and Ivo both abhorred drama.

Which was how she got through the rehearsal.

With ruthless detachment. By focusing on the procedural details and not the fact that she was marrying the man she loved.

Or that once she had, she would be his queen, the mother of his heirs, and her life would be irrevocably changed.

However, when it came to the day itself, detachment proved impossible. The weather was glorious. Joy rippled through the country. Bunting strung from every vertical support, and according to reports, over ten thousand street parties had been organised.

Inside the palace, Sofia stood in the Chamber of the Robes while a pair of ladies-in-waiting bustled around her, one fitting the tiara and veil, the other tackling the three hundred tiny pearl buttons at the back of the dress.

There was a crackle of electricity and a buzz of excitement in the air.

How could she not respond to it? She was excited, terrified, overwhelmed—a bundle of nerves.

And not just because of the ceremony, which was of course daunting, but also, because of what came after.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the past and what the future might hold.

She’d been on her own for so long. It had been fourteen years since her parents had died, but even before then they’d been so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in their growing hatred for each other, that she’d had no one to rely on but herself.

She was used to complete independence. But after today she wasn’t going to have that.

She’d become public property, with expectations put upon her that she couldn’t begin to imagine.

What if she wasn’t up to the job?

Ivo clearly thought she was but he’d been born into the role.

He wouldn’t understand the enormity of such an undertaking for a novice.

And she couldn’t discuss her sudden flurry of insecurity with him because he’d chosen her for her composure and level-headedness.

He’d be appalled by this sort of a wobble.

She certainly was. Right now, she’d never felt less composed or level-headed, and if she didn’t get a grip on her rampaging emotions pretty damn quick, they could spin wildly out of control.

What chance would she have of keeping everything together then?

Through sheer force of will Sofia managed to steady herself enough to descend the stairs and climb into the carriage.

But these were such immense and overpowering thoughts that when she stood at the entrance to the cathedral, enveloped by the heady scent of the jasmine that trailed from the arrangements dotted about the place, she took in the sight, sweeping her gaze over the majestically soaring arches and the vast glittering dome beneath which stood a thousand guests, and for a moment wanted to turn on her heel and run.

Was she really ready for everything that was about to happen?

Was she strong enough to weather whatever her new life threw at her?

What if she did in fact forget that this was a purely practical arrangement and started to believe the fairy tale?

What if she ended up hoping he’d put her first?

How long would it be before everything she valued came crashing down around her?

But then her gaze collided with Ivo’s and the storm inside her quietened.

Standing at the other end of the aisle, he looked so devastatingly handsome in his military regalia he took her breath away.

A shaft of sunlight anointed him with a soft shimmering glow.

The epaulettes, the medals and the gold braid gleamed.

He gave her a nod, perhaps somehow sensing her uncertainty.

Filled with relief that he wasn’t bothered by a wobble after all, that everything was going to be fine, she found herself walking towards him as if on the end of a rope he was slowly pulling in.

Drawn by his calm confidence and solid reassurance, she barely noticed the congregation.

She spent the rest of the service—the singing, the vows, the exchanging of rings—in a dreamy sort of daze.

Nothing about any of it seemed real, although her signature in the centuries-old register confirmed that it was.

And then came the only moment they hadn’t practised in the rehearsal.

With the archbishop’s ‘You may now kiss the bride’ ringing in her ears, Sofia felt a hand on her waist, and she first jumped, then turned to her brand-new husband, her heart thudding wildly.

How he felt about it was anyone’s guess.

He was looking straight at her but his eyes were dark and, like the Sphinx, his expression gave nothing away.

She, on the other hand, was doing her best to contain her excitement.

Leaning in a little, her breath hitching, Sofia lifted her face as he lowered his. With her surroundings disappearing from view, with his spicy masculine scent enveloping and befuddling her, and with time gliding to a halt, their mouths met.

It was meant to be a perfunctory touching of lips.

A move designed to delight the people watching across the country and to soften the heart of the staunchest republican.

But less than one second into it, something went wrong.

On contact, her senses reeled and her brain fell apart.

Desire slammed into her with the force of a freight train, sending her temperature through the roof and her head into a spin.

The strength drained from her limbs so fast she had to clutch his arm before she collapsed in a heap at his feet.

Every soft inch of her was suddenly pressed against every unyielding inch of him, their mouths not brushing against each other lightly but crushed together hard. For one heart-stopping moment the world froze. His arm around her waist seemed to tighten minutely. She thought she heard him groan.

But she must have been mistaken because a split second later he jerked back, his jaw tight, a tiny muscle hammering his cheek.

His dark gaze drilled into hers, flickering briefly with what looked like horror before clearing of all emotion.

Then he let her go and turned back to the archbishop, his expression utterly impassive, as if there was nothing untoward about what had just happened at all.