Page 8 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8

CHAPTER FIVE

W HERE ON EARTH could he be?

Sofia stood at the floor-to-ceiling sash window staring out into the dark night, uncertainty knotting her stomach.

She and Ivo had left the reception and parted company nearly an hour ago, he to his suite, she to hers.

Doing her best to contain the thrills of anticipation and reminding herself that she would not give herself away, that she would remain unmoved, she’d taken a quick shower and changed into a cream satin slip and robe and then sat down at the dressing table to wait for what she’d assumed would not be long.

She’d been preparing for this moment all evening.

Outwardly, she’d spent the reception and then the dinner following the schedule and chatting to the guests.

Inwardly, however, she’d worked on her control until she could look at him without reacting.

Until she could think of what was to come and not feel even the hint of a shiver.

But not once had it occurred to her that he simply wouldn’t show up.

As the nerves twisted harder and her throat tightened, her composure fractured a little more with every minute that ticked agonisingly by.

What was keeping him? The likelihood of a matter of state claiming his attention at midnight on his wedding day was virtually zero, so could it be her?

Was the idea of sleeping with her so unappealing he was putting it off for as long as he could?

Was he planning to defy the constitution and forgo his duty entirely?

Just how far down his list of priorities was she?

She knew he wasn’t interested in her as a woman.

He’d made it exceptionally clear that his sole focus was protecting the monarchy and she accepted that.

But a stab of hurt nevertheless struck her square in the chest. Her feminine pride stung.

She was no supermodel, obviously, and yes, she lacked the breeding of the few aristocratic women he’d dated in the past, but surely she wasn’t that unattractive.

Deeply frustrated by the pointless whirling of her thoughts, Sofia was contemplating tracking him down to remind him of his responsibilities—possibly in the hope that the negligée would succeed where she had evidently failed—when there was a sharp knock on the door that separated their suites.

She jumped and spun round, her heart giving a great crash against her ribs.

The door flung back and Ivo stood in the space, wearing nothing but a black robe that hung open to the belt that was tied loosely at his waist and finished half way down his long muscled calves.

The light behind him gave him a sort of corona that made him look like even more of a god than he usually did, and as her pulse spiked, her mouth dried.

‘May I come in?’

His expression was unreadable but he sounded as if he were going to the gallows, and her confidence plunged. ‘I assume that’s a rhetorical question,’ she said, drumming up a smile that she hoped disguised how vulnerable she suddenly felt. ‘What took you so long?’

He advanced into the room, running his dark, flat gaze over her as he did so, and came to a stop behind a red velvet armchair that stood in front of the rococo fireplace. ‘I had some loose ends to tie up,’ he said, resting one large hand on the back of it as a muscle flickered in his cheek.

In response to his clinical inspection of her body, a flurry of hot shivers raced down her spine. ‘What ends?’

‘Ones that unfortunately couldn’t wait. Today went well, I thought.’

He slid his other hand into the pocket of his robe, the epitome of steely control and cool authority.

Despite his indifference, she was so relieved that he’d shown up, she wanted to run across the room and throw herself into his arms. To express her embarrassingly pathetic gratitude for not rejecting her after all by pushing aside his lapels and exploring what looked like a hard-muscled chest with her mouth.

But, horrified by her lack of self-respect, she remained where she was, her guard up, the smile on her face as practised as it had ever been.

‘It couldn’t have gone better,’ she replied.

‘It was faultless from start to finish.’

Apart from the kiss, of course. But she was hardly going to raise that when it had been such a disaster. Nor, it seemed, was he, thank God. ‘The reception was certainly productive.’

‘I particularly enjoyed the quail.’

‘You dance well.’

‘So do you.’

‘Lessons as a teenager,’ he said with a wry twist of his mouth. ‘Loathed at the time, but it’s turned out to be a surprisingly useful skill to have.’

‘All those balls, I imagine. Dangerous for the toes of the unprepared.’

‘Quite.’

‘For me, it was a coping mechanism,’ she said. ‘I spent a lot of time in my bedroom as a teenager listening to music with my headphones in, the volume turned up to max to blot out my parents’ arguments. Dancing became an outlet for the stress of it.’

‘Did they argue a lot?’

‘All the time. They called it passion but really it was hate. Especially towards the end.’

‘The end?’

‘Their car went over a cliff when I was nineteen. They were on their way to consult a divorce lawyer.’

He frowned. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I didn’t know that.’

‘You never asked.’

‘That seems remiss.’

‘Yes, well, we have decades to catch up on each other’s life story.’

‘It’ll have to wait until the morning.’

‘Because the moment has come to consummate the marriage,’ she said with a nod of acknowledgement, a surge of heat and a fresh twist of nerves. ‘As required by the constitution and stated in the contract.’

‘Right.’

‘I must say, though, once again, you’re cutting it fine.’ She cast a pointed glance at the clock on the mantelpiece, which was striking a quarter to midnight.

‘Perhaps I like living on the edge.’

Him? Was he serious? ‘I’ve never met anyone who likes living on the edge less,’ she said, aiming for lightness and absolutely nailing it.

‘If you did , however, I might be tempted to point out that if we didn’t actually go through with it, who would ever know?

I mean, it’s not as if it’s witnessed these days, is it? ’

A moment of stunned silence followed that. Shock rippled across the strong planes of his handsome face. ‘ I would know,’ he said, his obvious consternation indicating that he could not be further from the edge if he tried. ‘I’m surprised you’d even think it, let alone suggest it.’

‘I was joking.’

‘It’s not a laughing matter.’

‘I apologise. I’m a little nervous.’

‘Why?’ His brows snapped together. ‘Haven’t you done this before?’

‘I’ve done this several times before,’ she assured him, thinking for a moment of the few unmemorable experiences she’d had in the past. ‘But not for a while, not as a wife and never with you.’

Some unidentifiable emotion flitted across his face and his jaw clenched. ‘I’ll do my best to minimise the ordeal.’

‘I know you will.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘Because you have integrity. You’re honourable and upstanding. I’ve always admired that about you.’

‘Anything else?’

Well, there were his spectacular looks and his powerful physique, but hell would freeze over before she admitted how weak she went at the knees every time she looked at him.

This arrangement would become even more one-sided than it already was.

‘Your sense of duty and responsibility and your equanimity.’

‘Is that why you agreed to marry me? Because you admired me?’

‘That and a strong desire to save the crown from your cousin,’ she said, determined to keep her love for him firmly to herself for the safety of her heart.

‘How flattering.’

The dryness of his tone lifted her eyebrows. These were traits to value. How did he not see that? ‘Do you want flattery?’

‘What I want is irrelevant,’ he said, not quite answering her question, she noticed. ‘But forget it. This conversation is over. We have a constitutional obligation to fulfil, and as you observed, time is marching.’

Sofia took a deep breath and braced herself for fifteen minutes of complete and utter torment made worse by the knowledge that he’d be operating under duress. ‘OK, then,’ she said, swallowing hard as she undid the belt of her robe and slipped it through the loops. ‘Let’s get it over and done with.’

Despite his best efforts to remain ruthlessly unaffected by everything that happened here tonight, Ivo’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets when Sofia shimmied out of her nightwear and sidled over to the vast mahogany lit-en-bateau in all her nearly naked glory.

Not that he’d been doing a particularly good job of detachment before then.

He’d been clinging onto his control by a thread ever since he’d opened the door to her room.

At the sight of her standing by the window he’d nearly swallowed his tongue.

The vision of ethereal loveliness that had walked down the aisle had long gone.

So too had the white high-necked, low-backed evening gown she’d changed into for the reception.

The cream slinky column of a slip overlaid with a matching robe clung to her curves and seemed to move like liquid in the moonlight.

Her hair, which he’d never seen down before, tumbled over her shoulders as if she’d just got out of bed.

It had struck him then like a blow to the head that the woman in front of him—his queen, his wife —was about as far from his uber-efficient Communications Secretary, who favoured sober suits and never-a-hair-out-of-place updos, as it was possible to get.

He’d been gripped by the urge to stride across the room and haul her into his arms. To take her right there up against the wall.

But with superhuman effort he’d banked it. He had to start as he meant to go on.