Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt / Demanding His Desert Queen

CHAPTER FOUR

THEO DIDN’T KNOW what he’d expected, and, though it might have had to have been forced out of him with the threat of serious bodily harm, he was impressed.

The power and might of the Iondorran royal mechanisms was something to behold. Within a month of her agreement to his demand, a backstory to their sudden engagement had been constructed, non-disclosure agreements had been signed and an engagement party had been planned.

Only one hour ago, an airtight prenuptial agreement had been delivered to the suites assigned to him and his entourage in Iondorra’s impressive castle.

Theo stood in the living area nestled within a turret, looking out through a slender window that displayed a view of the rolling green countryside and the mountains beyond, still snow-capped in the height of summer. He knew that from the other side of the palace could be seen Callier, Iondorra’s capital city, almost Swiss in its cleanliness and gleaming, ordered precision. For a country that was primarily agricultural, Theo had been surprised to discover just how much the royal family had focused their energies on generating a strong capital, insisting on the development of a university to keep the next generation’s interest, rather than seeing them look elsewhere for centres of learning and jobs.

He had done his research on Sofia long before their engagement—his private investigator having been working overtime for the past year in order to set this up. He’d begun the moment that he’d realised he could not let go. He’d often questioned what it must have taken to smooth out the rough, wayward edges of the reckless, almost wild girl he had once known. And he wondered, not for the first time, whether she missed that part of herself. The very part that had drawn him to her like a moth to a flame. Sofia’s freedom, her carefree fire, had been too much for a boy who could never have afforded it for himself.

Maria was sat, bent over something small and silvery by the window seat at the opposite end of the room.

‘What do you have there?’ he asked, forcing himself to turn away from his thoughts.

She looked up and smiled, her dark hair falling in a cascade over one shoulder. ‘It’s a piece I created for the exhibition in a few days’ time,’ she replied, offering up the necklace that fell like a river of silver from her hands. ‘You’re…you’re still coming?’ she asked. The way she failed to contain the mixture of hope and hurt in her eyes reminded Theo that they really did need to have that talk.

‘You are going to sign this?’ Sebastian demanded from behind him.

Theo’s attention was called back to Sebastian where he sat reading the prenuptial agreement.

‘Theo, you cannot sign this.’

‘Of course I can.’

‘I mean, I expected a few subclauses from her, but really? Twenty million euros to be paid in the event of your infidelity, scandal, or… Is “tomfoolery” even a legal term?’

‘I believe she is trying to put me off. But it won’t work.’

‘If you sign this, then you are a madman.’

‘Perhaps. If I had any intention of actually going through with the wedding.’

Theo turned to find both Sebastian and his sister, Maria, staring up at him in confusion. He wished they could have seen what they looked like, frozen in a tableau of shock. He nearly laughed. He had momentarily forgotten that Maria was there too, but he knew that Sebastian would never have kept his charade from her.

‘Theo, what are you doing?’

‘I am doing what I had always intended to do,’ he said, watching Sebastian with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘I am going to ensure that Sofia knows what it feels like to wait. To stand there and wonder, and doubt. To feel the humiliation, to have it marked upon her indelibly. I want her to wait there in front of her wedding guests, her country, at the church alone. To realise that I am not there and that I am not coming. I want her to suffer the consequences of her actions, as my mother and I suffered.’

‘So, you don’t love her?’ Maria’s quiet voice cut through the silence of the room.

‘I could never love that woman.’ Not again.

‘Have you really thought this through?’ Sebastian enquired.

‘Every day for ten years.’

‘What happens afterwards?’

‘I’ll release a statement saying that I could not force her into a loveless marriage. The press will lap it up. I will be saving her from herself and a marriage that would have broken her. I’ll come out a hero.’

‘That is cynical, even for you, my friend.’

Cynical maybe, but necessary. It was time that Sofia de Loria learned that there were consequences to her actions.

It had been years since Sofia had seen the palace’s ballroom draped in such finery and filled with so many people. Her father’s deterioration had consigned much of her small family’s lives to brief external visits, rarely allowing for the opening of the palace, for outward glances to turn inward upon them. Sofia thought that the last time the ballroom had looked like this might have been her fifteenth birthday, before she’d been sent to boarding school and met the man that had brought this down upon her.

This evening was costing the country money it barely had, but lord knew, everyone loved a royal wedding. It was an investment—for the future of her country. She had to see it as such or she’d curl into a ball in her room and never come out.

She resisted the urge to soothe her brow where the beginnings of a tension headache the size of the San Andreas fault line was gathering. She hated the fact that Theo had blackmailed her, hated that there was no confidant, no friend that she could turn to. Her entire life since leaving that school had been about training, learning the tools that she would need to put the country first. She’d had no time for friends, for people her own age. The last friend she’d thought she had was… Theo. With him, she’d been utterly herself.

It could have been so different, she thought. She’d once dreamed of it being different. The same man, yes. But this? No.

However, part of the future she was securing for her country required children. That thought sent sparks of fire and ice across her skin and down her spine. They hadn’t yet discussed that. But she’d made sure to put it into the prenuptial agreement. She could be just as sneaky as he. She’d thought with some small pleasure at how shocked he might be to read the clause that required his contribution to IVF treatment. She had absolutely no intention of sharing her bed with him. And even as she’d had that thought, her inner voice cried liar. It brought to mind memories of their kiss…the way her body had sung, had clung to him as desire moved like wildfire through her veins, as her body and soul had yearned for more.

The sudden and shocking thoughts raised a painful blush to her overly heated cheeks, and, cutting off her thoughts, she glanced again at the clock, placing the practised smile on her features to satisfy the eager curiosity of various visiting dignitaries. Where the hell was Theo? Perhaps he had seen the clause in the agreement and had decided to punish her temerity.

But that thought was completely overridden by the sense of unease beginning to build. Her father was set to make a royal appearance for only a short allotted time. It was needed for publicity, to soothe potentially ruffled feathers on the Iondorran council for the inappropriateness of her chosen fiancé. Theo didn’t need to know that at least two whole weeks had been spent in tense negotiations as she’d lied and cajoled her father’s old cronies into accepting Theo. She had extolled his virtues, instead of parading his vices, argued the strength of a true love match, even as the lies had caught in her throat. Unconsciously she had repeated the same pleas she had once made to her father, ten years before as he had tried to extricate her from the boarding school.

She’d been surprised how readily they came to her lips, how easily the same fidelity, emotion, desperation had come to her aid. And the privy council had believed it in a way that her father never had.

And now, when she needed Theo by her side, he was keeping her waiting, keeping her father waiting. His medication was working for the moment, but she knew better than most how quickly that could change. Once again, she absentmindedly rubbed her forearm, feeling the phantom ache where the accident—as she thought of it now—had fractured the bone there and bruised the ribs beneath. From across the room her mother had caught the unconscious action, and she sent her a reassuring look.

When she finally saw Theo at the top of the grand sixteenth-century staircase, her breath caught in her throat. In the back of her mind she was a little jealous—surely this was the princess’s moment, to stand atop the staircase and be admired? But this was no fantasy, and Theo was certainly no prince. Yet admired? Yes. He was.

He stood in between Sebastian Rohan de Luen and a young woman so like him that she must have been his sister. Sofia caught the exiled duke’s eye, his gaze held just the fraction of a moment, and she saw something more than speculation towards the woman who was to marry his friend…something foreboding.

Theo’s powerful frame unfolded down the stairs into a jog, an actual jog, towards her. Sofia’s head almost whipped around to search for the long-ago voice calling in her mind—No running in the Grand Room, Sofia!

He came towards her so fast, she had no time to react, the expression of joy across his features so shocking to her that she didn’t prevent the hands that came to her cheeks and took her face in a warm caress as he placed his lips gently against hers. Instantly he enveloped her senses, the soft, earthy smell of him, the traces of electricity that sparkled beneath the pads of his fingertips against her skin, the heat of his lips and the way her body unconsciously rose to meet him…all gone as suddenly as it came.

‘Kardiá mou, my tardiness in unforgivable,’ he said against her mouth, loudly enough for all about her to hear. Sighs rose up about her from the women and indulgent smiles painted the faces of Iondorra’s staunchest male dignitaries.

For a moment, the space of a heartbeat, Sofia had been fooled, had been transported back to a time when his kisses seemed to be her whole world. The way she wanted to sink into the pleasure, the comfort, the… Before her mind could finish the thought, she remembered. Remembered it all. The blackmail, the darkness behind his actions, the belief he held that she had set him up…and in a rash and defiant act, she nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, quick and hard. He pulled back his head in surprise.

‘Let me be the first to draw blood, then, Theo,’ she hissed in a voice audible only to him.

‘No, Sofia. You did that years ago,’ he said darkly, his deft tongue sweeping at the thin trace of crimson on his lip, before a mask descended over his features and he turned to the gathering in the ballroom with a broad smile.

As Iondorra’s leading figures lined up to pass on their congratulations to the happy couple Sofia and Theo continued their quiet lines of attack in under-the-breath sentences.

‘I thought I was supposed to be the one who was fashionably late,’ she whispered.

‘Fashion doesn’t have to be gender specific.’

‘Your ego is impossible.’ Sofia broke off to welcome the Minister of Trade and Industry. ‘Eugene, lovely to see you.’

‘Your Highness, felicitations.’ She nodded her acceptance. As her father’s trusted advisor trailed off and they waited for the next, Theo took up their conversation.

‘It has serviced me well over the years.’

‘It’s not the only thing that serviced you,’ she bit out darkly.

‘Come, now, Sofia, jealousy doesn’t suit you.’ Before she could respond, he pressed on. ‘You look ravishing as always,’ he said, turning to take her in fully.

‘That’s what happens when the dress you wear to your engagement party is picked by the privy council after three rounds of rigorous polling.’

‘You would have chosen something different?’

‘Why?’

‘I’d like to know what façade I’m going to get. At least if you had chosen your own it would allow me to draw some conclusion about you.’

‘Why do you want to draw a conclusion about me? Surely I’m only here to increase your wine sales,’ she hissed as she turned to meet the next guest. ‘Lord Chancellor,’ Sofia said as she extended a hand to meet the last and final man in the greeting line.

Introductions over and done, they both turned to face the large ballroom. As they stood side by side, it could have been forgiven to see them as the happy couple looking over their guests.

‘Your governance is modelled on the British system.’

Sofia shrugged a nonchalant shoulder. ‘It worked for them.’

Theo inclined his head in agreement.

Sofia drew a deep breath, reluctantly steeling herself. ‘It’s time to see the king.’

She felt rather than saw Theo sweep his gaze across the crowded room. ‘He’s talking to someone—let’s have a drink.’

Sofia pressed down on her panic. Her father had been here for fifteen minutes already and she didn’t know how long he’d be able to continue before an episode began.

‘Theo, please.’ Whether it was the tone in her voice, or the fact her small hand had reached out to his, punctuating the request with a slight trace of desperation, she didn’t know, but a low lean of his head gave his agreement.

Her mother met their approach with something like the same relief that Sofia felt. The moment this was done, protocol was met, her mother and father could return to the privacy of their suites.

‘Your Majesty,’ Sofia called to her father, instantly checking his eyes for signs of clarity or confusion, ready to whisk Theo away should the latter be the case. Her father took in the sight of her, assessment shining in his eyes. It gave nothing else away.

‘Mother,’ she said, pressing a kiss to each of her delicate cheeks.

‘Father, may I present Theo Tersi,’ she said, stepping slightly to the side, and suddenly overwhelmed with the fear that Theo would do or say something wrong.

‘Your Majesty,’ Theo said with a bow from his lean neck, drawing to his full height as each man assessed the other.

Her father cut her a glance, one that took her immediately back to ten years before. Anger, a slight trace of confusion, marred the older man’s frowning brow. Sofia bit back a curse. They had waited too long.

‘I told you,’ he growled, ‘that you could not…’ He trailed off for just a moment, giving her the only opening she knew she’d get. She remembered those words, too, from that night all those years ago. Was that where her father was in his mind? She forced a smile to her face, hoping that if she and her mother could maintain the farce, they might just get through this.

‘That I could not find a better man. I know, Papa.’ Not waiting for any further act that might give away his deterioration, she pressed kisses to each of his cheeks. Surprise and brief happiness shone in her father’s eyes, warming the cool place of sadness in her heart. ‘He’s perfect, Papa,’ she said, turning to Theo, whose quick mind must have already picked up that something wasn’t quite right. ‘And makes me truly happy.’ As she said the words, she felt the now familiar sting of tears pressing against her eyes.

She saw her mother squeeze her father’s arm in a gesture both comforting and grounding.

‘I’m glad that you found each other again. It’s good. It’s right,’ he declared finally and the breath that had been held universally across the ballroom was exhaled by all the guests.

Theo bowed once again at the older man before they exchanged a strong handshake, Theo holding it for perhaps just a moment longer than required.

Released from duty, Sofia had turned, pulling Theo with her, when her father called her back.

She leaned towards her father to hear his whispered words.

‘En garde, Sofia. En garde.’

She nodded, feeling his words more truthful than any she’d heard him speak in the last five years. For just a moment she felt that her father was back, with her, protecting her and caring for her. Until she heard his next whispered words.

‘And watch out for the German parachutist. Do not speak to him!’

Without having to look at her mother, who was the only other person to hear the king’s incoherent warning, she replied, ‘I will, Papa. I will.’

Theo had imagined meeting Sofia’s parents many times, under many different circumstances. Ten years ago, he had not thought for a second that she was a royal in disguise. Nothing of what she had told him about her family had indicated any such thing. As an only child, like him, she had spoken of finding ways to amuse herself, spending hours delving into imaginary worlds within books, or running through gardens and woods. He had picked through each and every one of her words since he’d discovered that she was a princess—but, as with all good lies, much of it must have been taken from some thread of the truth. But the exchange with her father was…not what he’d expected.

He hadn’t missed the moment of panic shared by the two women, mother and daughter, at the way the king’s words hadn’t quite fitted the situation. And, though he hadn’t heard the last exchange, Theo hadn’t missed the raw vulnerability in Sofia’s eyes when she had proclaimed her happiness and his perfection.

Were they worried that the older man would rile against his common birth? Was her father furious that she was to wed a commoner? Theo had met much discrimination over the years, for various different reasons. He knew what it looked like, felt like and tasted like. And the king? He was not happy.

But he’d said ‘again’. He was glad they’d found each other again. Which seemed to indicate that he knew about their relationship in the past, which confused him. He’d been convinced that she had kept him her dirty little secret, but—

‘Whisky? We will toast with champagne, but if you wanted…’

His dark look at her must have thrown her as her words trailed off. Her eyes were overly bright, her words just a little too quick. What was going on? A slight noise behind him drew his gaze to see the retreating figures of the king and queen, discreetly spirited away through a side exit. And once again anger whipped through him.

‘Your father isn’t sticking around for the toast, then?’ he couldn’t help but bite out. Couldn’t help but be transported back to a time when all he’d wondered was why his own father hadn’t stuck around. Couldn’t help but remember the way his family had treated his mother and himself because of it. Heat and hurt scorched him in an instant.

‘No. He couldn’t.’ Before the growl could escape his lips, she pressed on. ‘He’s been…working hard and is tired.’

He was used to reflecting that every single word from her mouth was a lie, but this was different. There was the ring of truth in what she said, but there was also a shimmer of falsehood there too or, if not, then evasion distracting him from his reflections on the past.

The toast was given to them by a man he’d never seen before, but was probably a whole lot more appropriate than what Sebastian might have said to a room full of royals. He felt Maria’s gaze on him throughout the evening, and not for the first time wondered whether if it might have been better to have let her believe the falsehood he was weaving through the night. She was young and impressionable and wholly overprotected by her brother.

Within an hour Theo was surprised to find himself on the verge of exhaustion. As a successful businessman and vintner, he was used to heading up million-dollar business meetings, but this constant diplomacy was tiring, yet Sofia showed no signs of fatigue, her fake smile—for he knew it to be fake—was undimmed and as fresh as the first one she had offered.

‘Little Sofia,’ said an older man with shocking white hair and a broad purple sash spotted with medals and pins that proclaimed his importance. He felt Sofia bristle beside him at the patronising appellation. Unconsciously his protective instincts rose, and he drew to his full height.

‘Theo Tersi,’ he said, stretching out his hand to sever whatever connection had sprung between his fiancé and the older man.

‘Georges de Fontagne.’

‘Monsieur de Fontagne is the Minister of Agriculture,’ Sofia said, apparently finally finding her voice.

‘Sofia,’ greeted the small, birdlike woman standing beside Georges, her diminutive stature only serving to magnify her husband’s largess.

‘Louisa,’ Sofia replied with much more warmth.

When Louisa turned her smiling attention to him, Theo took her hand in his and raised it to his lips in such an old-fashioned move, he nearly surprised himself, satisfied to see that a small blush had risen to the older woman’s cheeks as she smiled coyly.

‘I wanted to offer my congratulations and beg that you satisfy my curiosity once and for all,’ interrupted Georges. ‘Please, do share the story of your rather sudden courtship.’ His voice carried, as did the slight trace of cynicism heavy on his words. ‘Do not tell me it was born of that horrifying trend of using matchmakers!’

The man’s wife was looking thoroughly mortified at her husband’s behaviour and Sofia, for the first time that evening, seemed shocked into silence. It was clear that the man knew something of Sofia’s search in Paris six weeks before and was taunting her with it. It was untenable.

Theo might not have been born to this strata of society, but he knew in an instant that he had more manners in his little finger than this man did. It reminded him of the way that his mother’s family had treated them, before he had turned the little dirt pile he and his mother had bought from her family into an award-winning vineyard. Before he had made enough money to buy out the remaining land his mother’s family owned and shuffled them off to some distant part of Greece, only to be pulled out of their exile when he felt like it. Only his giagiá had taken pity on them, supported them through that first year and then afterwards when his mother became sick. Theo refused to acknowledge the perverse fact that he felt more than justified in seeking his own revenge, but would not counter an attack against Sofia from another quarter. And as such, all temptation to leave Sofia to stew in a mess of his making disappeared.