Книга - Virgin Princess’s Marriage Debt

Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt
Pippa Roscoe


‘I want what you once promised me…’ The Greek’s demanding proposal! At an opulent Paris ball, Princess Sofia meets a man she never thought she’d see again—billionaire Theo Tersi. Theo’s certain she abandoned him years earlier, but in truth, heart-broken Sofia was forced to return to her royal duties. Now, as their chemistry reignites, Theo creates a scandal to finally claim Sofia’s hand—in marriage! But can their desire overcome his quest for passionate revenge?







“I want what you once promised me…”

The Greek’s demanding proposal!

At an opulent Paris ball, billionaire Theo Tersi sees Princess Sofia. She abandoned him once, rejecting the future they’d planned—and he wants an explanation! But when they lock eyes, Theo’s careful plans explode in the fire of their still-intense connection.

The truth? Devastated Sofia was forced to return to her royal duties all those years ago. But now Theo has created a scandal, and he’ll take back what’s his and claim Sofia—as his bride! Can their enduring bond overcome his quest for passionate revenge?


PIPPA ROSCOE lives in Norfolk near her family, and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer to take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with you. Follow her on Twitter @PippaRoscoe (https://twitter.com/PippaRoscoe).


Also by Pippa Roscoe (#u1c9e25df-4d18-5a0f-af1d-3f13e0c66cdc)

Conquering His Virgin Queen

The Winners’ Circle miniseries

A Ring to Take His Revenge

Claimed for the Greek’s Child

Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).


Virgin Princess’s Marriage Debt

Pippa Roscoe






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-08831-2

VIRGIN PRINCESS’S MARRIAGE DEBT

© 2019 Pippa Roscoe

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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For Sharon Kendrick.

Without your amazing, encouraging, supportive

advice I would never have finished this book.

You are a true Modern queen!


Contents

Cover (#u2ebd38c6-17a8-5508-a5dc-cbd64a8e9faa)

Back Cover Text (#u0c369241-54d0-5572-b518-73013d21e0a4)

About the Author (#u9e5bbe15-4c9a-5fde-ad76-684fa945c249)

Booklist (#ud470cd6d-176f-5e16-a59b-b7d45e305ef7)

Title Page (#ubc8ac79a-1440-5add-b64a-3c084ff56ef4)

Copyright (#u102a51d6-de89-5f8f-a170-bb027da2a0df)

Note to Readers

Dedication (#u324445b4-ff82-584a-8f75-37742d3a9a15)

PROLOGUE (#u91ccc80a-5a1f-58a3-b055-322bd4a040f1)

CHAPTER ONE (#ud582fe3e-2c18-5cd6-ba79-d173714d1ce5)

CHAPTER TWO (#ue88b0c34-8a19-5ddd-a58b-c25ed06d322c)

CHAPTER THREE (#u106006ae-63f0-5735-8b0b-0b4400dbfc3b)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




PROLOGUE (#u1c9e25df-4d18-5a0f-af1d-3f13e0c66cdc)


THEO LOOKED AT his watch again. She was late. This wasn’t the first time they’d snuck out of the impossibly expensive Swiss boarding school at night, but this time felt different. She’d said that she had a surprise for him and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what that might have been.

Knowing Sofia, it could be anything. She was like that. Impulsive, reckless, often secretive…and most definitely alluring. It had taken Theo a good long while to believe that she wasn’t like the other kids at this school. This school that he hated.

He wasn’t naïve. He knew attending a school this reputable was a thing he could not take for granted—even if at every single turn the other students tried to make him believe that he shouldn’t be there. It hadn’t taken him long to realise that he was not wanted, the poor illegitimate scholarship kid polluting their air. He almost shrugged a shoulder at the train of his thoughts. Why should here be any different to the way he had been brought up in Greece, with his mother’s family?

The teachers were hardly any better than the students. If there was something to be blamed, it would be his fault. But they couldn’t deny his grades. At seventeen he already had scholarship offers at some of the world’s leading universities and there was nothing he’d do to jeopardise that. No, Theo Tersi was going to make damn sure that he never had to return to his mother’s family vineyards in the Peloponnese. He would be a banker, something in finance. He wanted an office, like his mother’s current employer who had paid for his education here. He would never scrabble around in the dust like his uncles and cousins—the ones who had taunted him since his birth. So, no. He wouldn’t fight back against the bullies here. He couldn’t. Not without risking everything he’d worked so hard for. Because he wanted more. For his mother, for himself. He wanted never to feel the sting of rejection and shame and hunger… And once he got out of this school, once he finished university, he would make sure that no one would taunt him again.

He looked again at his watch, the round white face gleaming in the moonlight. Where was she? Sofia was usually already waiting for him. He looked around. The night seemed almost unnaturally still, as if it were holding its breath, as if in expectation…

And he felt it too. That anticipation, the moment when he would see Sofia emerging from whatever shrub she was hiding behind. He still had to pinch himself sometimes. Never quite sure if he could really believe that someone like her would really be interested in someone like him. But tonight…he was going to tell her. Tell her that he loved her. That he wanted her to be with him when he left for university…that he wanted the life they had often talked about having in the last six months. Because somehow she’d worked her way through the anger and distrust he’d first met her with, she’d broken down the barriers all the taunts and cruel tricks the other students had thrown his way.

She had been the one bright thing in his days at school over the last few months. For so long his life had simply been about him and his mother, doing whatever it took to get through the day. He’d hated how his mother was treated by her family…because of him, because of the father he’d never met, and never wanted to. The move from Greece to Switzerland had been a fresh start for them both—the opportunity at this school one almost unimaginable for a housekeeper and her son.

And no matter what people threw at him, Theo was determined to bide his time here, knowing that it would get him to where he wanted to be. But the moment he’d first seen Sofia…the way her oceanic blue eyes had sparkled with mischief, the way his heart had kicked and thrashed, as if for the first time, when her gaze collided with his he had found something more from life than just lessons and determination. And it had never stopped, that heart thumping. He felt that same way every single time he saw her.

She had this air about her, as if nothing bad could ever touch her. And it was addictive. He leant into it every chance he could get. But he worried about her, wanted to protect her from herself even. If the school prankster was caught pulling another stunt, the headmaster had been clear—they would be expelled. He doubted they’d ever guess it was the sweet, innocent-looking blonde angel she appeared to be. But he couldn’t deny that it was exactly that strange, thrilling combination of innocence and recklessness that had first drawn him to her.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but there was also a deep desperation within her. Some kind of urgency that called to him, to his feelings for her…his love. She hadn’t said much about her family, dropping little breadcrumbs of information about a loving but strict home that stifled the freedom Sofia loved so much. It certainly didn’t sound like something that he would run from. But there would be time to uncover the secrets she held. There would be the rest of their lives.

That he was another of her secrets, he hated… It came far too close to the way he thought his father must have felt in order to flee from their village the same night of his birth. As if there was something about Theo that was shameful or embarrassing somehow.

A noise in the bushes off to his left startled him, his heart racing, knowing that it wouldn’t settle until he saw her.

‘Tersi. I was told I’d find you here.’

Instead of Sofia’s softly accented Iondorran tones, fear sliced through his high hopes as the voice of his headmaster cut into the night.

He didn’t move. Not a muscle. His heart dropped, sickness and nausea an instant reaction to being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. But greater than that was his concern for Sofia.

‘What’s going on?’ Theo ventured to the man who had never liked him.

‘What’s going on is that I now have my prankster. Did you really think that I would allow my car, my car, to be put onto the roof of the sports hall and take no action?’

Theo was shaking his head. ‘I don’t know anything about that, sir, honestly.’

The grim look of determination on the older man’s face told Theo that he wasn’t believed. Not for a second. Panic began to set in then.

‘Where’s Sofia?’

‘The princess has returned to Iondorra.’

‘Princess? What are you talking about?’ Theo demanded, any hesitation overruled by his confusion.

‘She didn’t tell you?’

‘Tell me what? Sir, please—’

‘Did you really think that a princess would be interested in…?’

The man must have seen the look on Theo’s face, the one he knew had descended as quickly as the fury had whipped within his chest. If there was even a moment of pity, or hesitation from the headmaster, Theo didn’t see it.

‘Well, it’s done. She’s gone. And you, skulking around in the shadows waiting to see the effect of your handiwork, will regret the day you pulled this last prank.’

‘Mr Templeton, I didn’t do anything to your car,’ Theo said, desperately trying to hold on to his temper.

‘No? Then why is your school scarf wedged underneath the wheel arch of my Mini Cooper?’

‘I have no—’

Horror hit Theo hard and fast. The last time he’d seen his scarf he had been looping it around Sofia’s neck as she shivered in the cold winter’s sun. Sofia had lied to him? She was a princess? It was impossible. But as Theo was marched back to the headmaster’s office, his quick mind ran over the images that shifted like a kaleidoscope in his memory. Every interaction, every conversation, every kiss and his stomach turned. Each memory played to the sound of taunts he had never risen to. The cries and jibes of students belittling him for his humble beginnings—ones he had taken because this school had been his ticket out. His way to rise up, no matter what people said or did. But Sofia? She was the one who had wanted to keep their relationship a secret. She was the only one who had known where he would be that night. She was the one who had said she had a surprise for him. She was the one who had been pulling the pranks all this time, and had finally left his scarf at the site of the latest one. Had it all been a ruse? Had she spent the last six months priming him to be the patsy? The fall guy to take the blame for her pranks? Was that why he’d doubted her in the beginning, because somewhere deep down he had known it was all lies? Had she really been the cruellest of them all, to make him fall in love with her, when he should have known better?

He was going to be expelled. He was going to lose everything. Because of her.




CHAPTER ONE (#u1c9e25df-4d18-5a0f-af1d-3f13e0c66cdc)


Paris…ten years later

PRINCESS SOFIA DE LORIA of Iondorra looked out across the Parisian skyline as the sun began its slow summer descent over the rooftops and cobbled streets of Europe’s reportedly most romantic city. The irony was not lost on her. Tonight she would meet the man she would spend the rest of her life with. Not that romance had anything to do with it. No, that was the domain of Angelique—the practical, determined matchmaker who had been employed for that express purpose.

The hint of jasmine that settled around the room of the luxurious hotel near the Sixth Arrondissement from some invisible air dispenser was nothing like the real thing and Sofia longed to return to her palace in Iondorra. Although she did appreciate the soft white and gold tones of the room and, casting a look to the king-sized bed, her heart lurching, she felt desperate to throw herself amongst the soft pillows and deep comfort offered by the impossibly thick duvet. She had been away too long, immersed in diplomatic duties unruffling more than a few feathers caused by her father’s recent and increasing absence from the world’s stage. More and more, she found that she just wanted to go home.

She pulled her gaze from the incredible view of the Jardin de Luxembourg and paced towards the larger seating area of the stunning suite. Only yesterday she had been in Prague, two days before that, it had been Istanbul. Her body moved oddly within the costume for that evening’s masquerade ball—the full corset holding her back straight and pushing her breasts against the gentle arc of the low, sweeping neckline. She felt confined by it, not that it was an unfamiliar feeling to Sofia. The bustle of material behind her, falling into a wide golden train, made her feel as if she were pulling the weight of more than just her, and Sofia couldn’t help but think that it somehow fitted that evening.

The masquerade ball being held to celebrate the birthday of one of Europe’s minor royals had presented the perfect opportunity to meet her three would-be suitors without attracting the notice of the world’s press, or the intrigue of the very royal and rich society that had been waiting with bated breath to see who the Widow Princess would marry next.

A sliver of pain twisted through her heart as she recalled the description favoured by the international press so much that it had almost become part of her title. Princess Sofia of Iondorra—the Widow Princess.

Every time it was mentioned it was accompanied by images of her in mourning, her pale skin harsh against the depth of the black clothes she had worn to honour her husband. Four years. Antoine had been gone for four years. The familiar sense of grief, softened only slightly over the years, edged around her heart. Theirs might not have been a love match in the truest sense, but Antoine had been her friend, her confidant. He had known about her father’s illness and helped shield it from the world. He had supported her through their brief marriage as she adjusted to the reality that she would be queen much sooner than anyone had ever expected.

She missed his quiet support and understanding and once again felt the strange sense of bafflement that had met the news of his shockingly unexpected death at a charity car race. The footage of the six-car pile-up in Le Mans had shocked nations, but only devastated one. Because only Antoine’s life had been lost.

But she could not afford to indulge in her grief. Not tonight. Antoine, more than anyone, would understand why she needed to remarry for the good of her country. Her father’s illness had deepened in the last few months, and, whether she liked it or not, the council was right. If the news of his illness broke while she was still considered the Widow Princess, then the future of her country would be in serious jeopardy. With a fairly inexperienced prime minister forced into making difficult austerity measures, the monarchy was the only stability and security the people believed in. And the only way Iondorra would survive the impending announcement of her father’s diagnosis was if they had some hope for the future—a fairy-tale marriage heralding the next generation of royals.

It hadn’t been Antoine’s fault that they’d not conceived during their four-year marriage. They had tried a few times, but even Sofia had been forced to admit that neither had been able to bring themselves to actually consummate their marriage. And she knew why. Only once had she experienced a chemistry, an attraction that had been at once all-consuming, that had seemed almost to threaten her very sanity. And it hadn’t been with Antoine.

It hadn’t taken long before her husband had started to look elsewhere for the pleasure that she simply could not offer him. He’d been so devastatingly discreet and quiet about it all. Every now and then he would disappear for a few days, and return with some impossibly expensive gift, offering it to her with eyes that could never meet her gaze. It hadn’t angered her, torn her up inside the way it should have done. Instead, all she’d been able to feel was so very sad for the man she cared for like a friend, like a brother, to be trapped in the same cage she was caught within. Duty. A passionless marriage.

And here she was again, on the brink of yet another one. Wasn’t the definition of madness doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result?

‘Are you ready?’ Angelique’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

‘For the royal equivalent of speed dating?’ Sofia asked. ‘Yes,’ she said, answering her own question, all the while shaking her head to the contrary.

Angelique smiled, the movement softening her features into something more relatable than the fierce businesswoman persona she usually adopted.

‘Are you sure this is what you want? We can always cancel, find some other way…’

‘Are you trying to do yourself out of a commission? That doesn’t seem very wise.’

Angelique cocked her head to one side, quite birdlike. ‘My finances are perfectly secure, I assure you, Your Highness. And, as you have requested the utmost secrecy, then so would be my reputation. You do have a choice, Sofia.’

But they both knew that was a lie. Sofia looked to the window again, as if it were an exit route, as if she could fly to it and escape from what was about to happen. Because somehow, in some way, Sofia simply couldn’t shake the feeling that, after tonight, her life would drastically change.

Yes, she’d have met and chosen the man she would marry, but it felt bigger than that. It felt as if she were on a precipice but that she couldn’t see the edge. And it made her angry. Angry for all the sacrifices she had already made, and the ones she could continue to make in the future. As if a summer thunderstorm had zapped her with a lightning strike, coursing white-hot heat through her veins. But where once she would have vented her anger, her fear, all this impossible-to-express energy, Sofia had to fight it. Princesses didn’t get angry. They got married.

‘Okay,’ Angelique said finally as if, too, sensing there was no going back. ‘So, would you like the motivational speech now, Your Highness?’

Sofia couldn’t help but smile at the gentle humour in Angelique’s tone. It felt like years since someone had laughed with her. It had been years.

‘What would you like? Braveheart-style, Beyoncé Run the World, or something à la Churchill?’

Sofia let a small, sad laugh escape from her lips. ‘I’ll forgo the attempt at a Scottish accent, I think. I don’t suppose you have anything just for me?’ she asked, instantly hating the sense of vulnerability her words evoked.

‘I do,’ Angelique said, locking serious eyes with hers. ‘You will be a great queen. You will care for Iondorra with as great a sense of purpose as any who have gone before you. You will rule her with love and duty and sacrifice, but all of that will ensure Iondorra’s longevity amongst the world’s greatest nations. And you will do it with a man at your side who will love, honour and protect you in a way that allows you to protect your country. You, Your Highness, are a force to be reckoned with and my wish for you is that you find a man worthy of that. These three suitors are perfect candidates. They understand your duty, your role in life, and are willing and able to support you in that. And now it is time.’

‘To go to the ball, Fairy Godmother?’

‘No, Sofia,’ Angelique said gently. ‘To remove Antoine’s ring.’

Sofia’s fingers flew to the wedding band around her fourth finger. It felt as sacrilegious to remove it, as much as it was easy for her to do so. Antoine would have understood. She placed the simple wedding band she had worn for eight years on the dressing table and felt a little bit of her past slip away from her grasp.

As Angelique left the room, Sofia returned her watchful gaze to the Parisian rooftops. For just a moment, she had fallen under the spell of the other woman’s words, grateful for them, thankful. But that positive determination she had felt fizzing in her veins had disappeared with Angelique’s departure. And for the first time in a while, she let the façade drop and allowed the feel of exhaustion to sweep over her. Her father’s deterioration had increased in the last few months and propelled the need for the one thing she’d been putting off for several years. The cost of keeping her father’s illness a secret had been a great one to pay, but one that she would do again and again. Because the people of Iondorra needed security.

She thought of her little European principality, cradled in between France, Switzerland and northern Italy. The country that she was to rule, protect as if it were her child. The country that, ever since she was seventeen and had been whisked away from her boarding school, she had been trained to protect, ruthlessly sculpted to become the perfect princess.

And then, as always following these moments of weakness, came the inner strength that saw her match even the strongest heads of state at the tables of European negotiations. She, and Iondorra, had no time for selfish, moping thoughts. She’d put those things aside a long time ago. Just as she’d put aside the thoughts of her own happy-ever-after.

Poor little princess, an inner voice mocked, sounding very much like that of a young man she’d long ago loved. A young man she’d been forced to leave behind, lie to, and a man she very much refused to think of now.

She glanced at the embossed invitation, smiling at how the gold detail of the lettering matched the soft golden yellows of the corseted Victorian-era dress she wore, the crinoline underskirt as heavy as a crown.

For so long she’d been cast as the Widow Princess, it had begun to feel as if she’d lost herself. Not that it mattered. The only thing of true importance was Iondorra. And attending the masquerade ball was just the next step towards the throne.

Each of the three men had been carefully vetted and would, in their own ways, be perfectly acceptable candidates for their role as husband. So there she was, in Paris, dressed up and ready to find the man she would spend the rest of her life with. And if she’d once thought she already had, then it didn’t matter. Such fanciful daydreams were for others. Real princesses didn’t have the luxury of Prince Charmings.






Theo Tersi scanned the expanse of the large Parisian ballroom, took a breath and instantly regretted it. Where he had expected to taste the hint of satisfaction at the thought of what tonight would bring, the only thing on his tongue was the cloying and competing scents of the perfume adorning the many women in the room. It was an assault on his olfactory system and he was half tempted to retreat and preserve that much-needed function. When he would think back to this moment in the months to come, he would wonder if it had been some kind of cosmic sign to turn back. To think again.

But right now, there was no turning back for Theo.

‘All right, I’m here,’ grouched the exiled Duke of Gaeten.

‘You don’t need to sound so pleased about it,’ Theo said absently, still scanning the faces in the ballroom for the one that he wanted. No, needed. ‘Surely the great Sebastian Rohan de Luen is not bored in the face of all this as yet untouched potential?’

‘Hah,’ his friend almost spat. ‘You think me jaded?’

‘No, as I said. Bored. You need someone to challenge you.’

‘And you need to walk away from this madness before it gets us all into trouble.’

Theo turned and cast a look over his closest friend, the only person who had been there for him when his world came crashing down for the second time. They had been in the middle of a business meeting—Theo soliciting a deal that would see the wine from his vineyard served at Sebastian’s Michelin-starred hotels scattered across the globe—when he had received the call from the hospital informing him of his mother’s admittance and diagnosis. The bottom had literally dropped out of his world, and Sebastian? Had chartered a private plane to return him to Greece and, rather than simply letting that be the end of it, had contracted Theo’s vineyard to his hotels. It had been the only thing that had saved Theo and his business from the wolves—but more importantly it had provided him with enough capital to pay for his mother’s healthcare. Without that contract, he would have lost the vineyard, would have lost the roof over his and his mother’s heads, and possibly would have lost his mother. And Theo had never forgotten it, and would never. Their relationship had quickly grown from business to brotherhood and, despite the awful foundation of its start, he wouldn’t regret it. It had been his salvation in the years since.

But, throughout that dark time, Theo had only seen one face, one person to blame, one person who had lied to him, set him up to take full blame for her actions, and had singlehandedly ruined his life. Had it not been for her, he would have finished his education—would have attended one of the finest universities the world had to offer, and would have been able to provide his mother with more, with better. He would never have been in a position where he could have lost it all. And that fear, the fear of nearly losing his mother, had changed him, had transformed his DNA. Never again would he be the naïve youth he had once been. Never again would he be that innocent.

Sofia was the origin point of the change in the course of his life, one that had only exacerbated his mother’s later illness. He hadn’t been surprised when the doctor had explained that the stresses of the last few years had taken their toll on his mother’s already weak heart. The shock of losing her job after his expulsion, the struggle of the following years… Had he not met Sofia, he would never have lost everything he’d held within his grasp—the opportunities, the chances he had been given to be and do better than either he or his mother could have ever expected. Naïve and foolish, he had believed every single one of Sofia’s lies before she disappeared, making a mockery of all those words of love, of a future she would never give him—could never have been able to give—when he finally discovered the truth about her.

Oh, he had thought her to be so different to the cruel students of the international boarding school his mother’s employer had sponsored him to attend, but at least they had owned their cruelty. No—Sofia’s had been worse, because she had hidden her betrayal until the last moment, she had purposefully set him up to take the blame for her reckless actions and he had been expelled.

And the shame he’d felt when he realised he had lost it all? The anger that had coursed through his veins when he realised her words, her touches had been nothing more than a game to be played by a bored and spoilt princess? It had been nothing compared to the moment where his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. The moment he’d seen the announcement of her engagement. To be betrayed by someone he had…he could no longer bring himself to say the word. He forced his thoughts fiercely away from reflections that would only see him lose his temper. And if anything was to be lost tonight, it couldn’t be that.

‘I spent years—years—watching and waiting to see if I would lose this…need for vengeance.’ He had thrown himself into any willing woman he could find in an attempt to erase the memory of her. He hadn’t managed to turn his tastes to the blonde hair that seemed dull and lifeless in comparison to the lustre his memories had endowed her with. Blue eyes seemed bland and insipid against the sparkle and shine of the strange combination of intelligence and recklessness that seemed unique only to her. Brunettes were the only way forward through those dark, hedonistic two years as he had tried and failed to satiate the wild, driving need for her…for revenge that had all but consumed him.

‘Two years in which you developed a truly debauched reputation,’ Sebastian said, cutting through his thoughts.

‘You sound jealous.’

‘I am. How on earth am I supposed to be the most notorious playboy in Europe, if you are there competing for that same title?’

Theo couldn’t help but smile.

‘But,’ Sebastian said, his mocking gaze growing serious, ‘despite all that, my sister doesn’t seem to have realised that she will never have your heart.’

‘I don’t have a heart to give, Sebastian,’ he growled, ‘but I will speak to Maria. I had hoped that it might dissipate with time, but—’

‘I know you do not encourage it,’ Sebastian said, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders. ‘Truly. But she is still very much…’

Clearly unable or unwilling to describe the extent of Maria’s infatuation with Theo, Sebastian trailed off.

‘It will be done. Kindly,’ Theo assured him.

He liked Maria, but no matter how much he resisted her somewhat naïve attempts to pursue him, nor how many headlines proclaimed him to be just as debauched as her brother, she had not been put off. Yet. Depending on how tonight would go, it could be the final nail in the coffin of her yearning for him.

Apparently appeased, Sebastian replaced his mask and turned back to the party. Following his lead, Theo took a glass of the prosecco and bit back the curse that Europe’s insistence that the masses should drink the alcohol like water had clearly infiltrated this Parisian ballroom too. Yes, he made his money with wine, but his tastes ran to whisky this evening, and right now he’d give someone else’s kingdom for one.

Theo took in the glamorous couples, the range of costumes that were everything from the sublime to outrageous, but never ridiculous. The sheer extravagance and money in the room saw to that. His quick mind calculated the cost of such an event. The room hire, the staff, the overpriced and frankly unpalatable alcohol being served, all of it would fund a thousand small businesses well into the next year, a fact probably not even considered by the birthday girl’s family.

After he’d spent the first few years of his adult life weighing up every single decision, every single purchase, his ability to price almost anything was ingrained. Deeply. From the moment he had returned to Greece with his mother after his expulsion from school, the shame he had brought to the family who had funded his education there, the termination of his mother’s employment, and the return to the people who had rejected them both ever since his conception…he had never lost the taste of bitterness in his mouth, no matter how rich, sweet or satisfying the grape or wine he produced.

After initial notoriety as the young vintner shocking the international wine industry—and his mother’s family—with the incredible popularity of his Greek blended wine, he had proved himself time and time again. And despite the almost constant criticism proclaiming his success as a flash in the pan—as if it hadn’t taken blood, sweat, his mother’s tears—even after eight years in the profession, he was still seen as the most upsetting thing to happen in the wine world since the invention of screw-top caps. That he’d dared to produce an award-winning blended wine rather than that of a pure grape somehow suited his own illegitimate status. That he persevered with blended wines seemed only to infuriate the old-school vintners who sniffed and huffed as he dominated the market, proclaiming him a young upstart. He didn’t feel young. Especially as he cast a frowning glance around the fancy frippery of the masked ball in Paris. No. He just felt jaded.

None of these people would have given him the time of day before he’d found his success, and Theo now returned the favour, ignoring the lascivious glances cast his way. Instead of firing his blood, they only turned him cold. If he was honest, not since he was seventeen had he felt the heat of passion truly stir. Desire? Yes. The arousal of attraction? Of course. But never need. Never passion. And he fiercely reminded himself that he liked it that way. Because the last time he had felt that had heralded the destruction of every hope and dream he and his mother had ever held.

And now he was on the brink of facing his demon, he had to remind himself that he was not a monster. That he was not as cruel as she had been. As if sensing his resolve, Sebastian turned to him with a raised eyebrow in query.

‘I will give her one chance,’ Theo said, forcing his eyes back to the ballroom, back to his prey. ‘If she apologises for what she did, then I will walk away, no harm, no foul.’ But if she didn’t, then Sofia de Loria would rue the day she had crossed him and finally learn the consequences of her actions.




CHAPTER TWO (#u1c9e25df-4d18-5a0f-af1d-3f13e0c66cdc)


AS SOFIA STEPPED away from the second of the would-be suitors with a resigned smile, she realised that she was losing hope. Neither he nor the first were right and she couldn’t help but feel that she was expecting the impossible. She was the worst Goldilocks ever. But as much as she didn’t want to rush into another marriage, she didn’t have a choice.

She hung back around the edges of the grand ballroom, thankful that she was hidden amongst the crowds of people watching the figures making their way round the dance floor. She had dismissed her personal assistant in order to speak to the suitors alone, and relished the opportunity for the closest thing to anonymity she’d experienced in almost ten years. The fine golden leaf-like swirls of her mask tickled at the edges of her hair, but she would take that minor discomfort for the concealment it offered. It swept upward, asymmetrically, to one side, and matched the colour of her dress perfectly.

Sofia bit back a laugh as she imagined for a moment that this would be how a wallflower, found between the pages of some historical romance, felt. Both terrified and hopeful of being plucked from obscurity to dance beneath the candlelit chandeliers by the handsome prince. But hers wasn’t that kind of story. No, she was the royal and it seemed that the second sons, or cousins—like the two previous candidates who had seemed so fine on paper—had quite definitive ideas about their place within her royal office.

She had never wanted it. Not in truth. As a child, she had hardly been perfect princess material. Her parents had despaired and sent her to boarding school, tired of having to bribe the Iondorran press to silence yet another social faux pas on their daughter’s behalf. For security reasons they had all agreed to keep her royal status a secret. But for Sofia it hadn’t been about a desire for protection, it had been her last attempt for something normal, to be treated like anyone else. But ultimately that had backfired in the most spectacularly painful way.

She became aware of the feeling of someone watching her. As a princess, she was reluctantly familiar with the sensation, but this was different. This felt different. The hairs on her arms lifted beneath the unseen gaze, and her pulse picked up at her neck almost painfully. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was somehow being sought out…hunted.

She cast a glance around the room to see if she could identify the source. A sea of vivid masks and incredible costumes greeted her, and she caught herself in the unconscious protective movement she hated as her hand went to soothe the phantom sensitivity at her ribs caused by that awful night a year and a half ago.

She was surrounded by people, all engaged in conversations, bodies pressed closer together by the illicit nature given to the mass by the disguise of masks and costumes, but none seemed to be looking her way.

Discarding the feeling as foolish, much like her earlier impression that somehow her life was going to change irrevocably, she searched for Angelique, who had gone to locate her final suitor, but saw no sign of either of them. As the orchestra picked up the threads of a familiar waltz a feeling of nostalgia swept over her.

She could only hold out hope for this final suitor, because without him her country would be left vulnerable and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that to happen.

It was not her father’s fault that he’d been diagnosed with early-onset dementia. But she couldn’t help but feel responsible that she hadn’t been ready to assume royal duties earlier to prevent the extreme financial loss her country had experienced under his unstable reign. Feel embarrassed that she had been so carefree and reckless as to need two years of strong, mindful guardianship to ensure that she wouldn’t bring further damage to Iondorra as every wilful, mindless frippery was ironed out of her character. Feel that sense of guilt that the necessary secrecy of her father’s ill health had continued for so long…the silence almost as painful as the disease itself. For surely if she had been a better princess, a better ruler, they wouldn’t have had to indulge in this secrecy?

She thought of her mother, tucked away in the privacy of the smaller holdings of the royal family in Iondorra, imprisoned with her husband and a handful of staff and medical professionals ready to manage and care for whatever latest outpouring of anger, frustration or confusion her father experienced almost daily now.

She knew she needed to accept the grief at the loss of a man who had once been a loving father and a fantastic ruler, but she just couldn’t. She had grown to almost resent the days of coherence as much as the ones where all semblance of his sanity was lost. They were the ones that she hated most. When she saw her father once again as the man who had loved her, laughed with her, despite the strict requirements he needed her to adhere to. Of course, that was before the diagnosis and her sudden and shocking departure from the international boarding school. Ever since then her life had become one solely of duty.

A waiter paused by her side, offering her a glass of prosecco. She knew that she needed to keep a clear head for this evening, but she couldn’t help but clasp the fine glass stem, relishing the cool liquid as it fizzed and bubbled on her tongue.

She was just about to leave the confines of the crowd around her when the hairs on her neck lifted once again and she felt enveloped by the warmth from a body close behind her. Shocked at the proximity of the unseen figure, she breathed in, ready to turn, when the musky, earthy scent of cologne hit her and held her still. It was unfamiliar amongst the sickly sweet, almost chemical fragrance of many of the men here. He waited, as if allowing her to become familiar with his presence, before sweeping around to stand in front of her and bowing long and low. As he straightened and held a hand out to her, she took in the way the white mask disguised his face and almost smiled as his head cocked to one side towards the dance area. The gesture seeming both inquisitive and vaguely arrogant at the same time. A challenge almost, as if daring her to refuse his request.

A feeling familiar, yet so distant as to almost be heartbreaking, rose in her chest. Defiance, recklessness and something more…something almost tantalising made her reach out, made her place her hand in his, even though no word had been spoken, even though the mask he wore concealed his identity. As his fingers closed over hers and he led her towards the dance area she felt a strange sense of vertigo, reminding her of the precipice she had imagined herself upon earlier that evening.

Her thoughts were sent scattering and fleeing as the figure released her to bring her whirling around in such a way that she had to press her hand to the man’s chest in order to prevent herself from crashing into him and losing her balance and breath in one move.

The warmth that greeted the palm of her hand through the thin shirt burned her, sending tingles and fire bursts across her skin and neck, raising a blush of sudden and shocking heat to her cheeks. But, as she went to pull back, his hand came down against hers, anchoring it in place. She stared at his fingers, unaccountably reluctant to see the face of her captor. The deep tan spoke of sunshine and heat, and her eyes snagged on the roughly calloused skin covering the powerful hand.

As the music began he pulled her hand away from his chest into the traditional hold for the waltz as warmth and something else, something almost dizzying, spun out from his hold at her back. The positioning was wrong—his hand too close to the base of her spine to be appropriate for strangers, almost possessive in a way that fired her blood and sent a thrill through her that settled horrifyingly low within her. But that was madness. Surely she couldn’t be feeling the stirrings of desire for a complete stranger?

His hold was firm, commanding, and, God help her, she relished it, welcomed it, the need to give herself over to this one stolen moment, for someone else to take the weight of responsibility and duty that almost crippled her. Hidden by the disguise of her mask, she was convinced that this man had no idea who she was. He couldn’t, because surely he wouldn’t behave so daringly with a princess? And the freedom that thought offered sang in her veins. That just for this moment she could be something other than the Widow Princess. Simply Sofia—herself, a woman with nothing more on her mind than dancing with a handsome man. For despite the mask he wore, she could tell he was handsome. The breadth of him, the smoothness of his skin, the inherent confidence more appealing than any physique she could determine. Her heart kicked within her chest as the stranger guided her into the first steps of the waltz, and she raised her gaze, expecting to find him looking down at her intently.

But he wasn’t.

She traced the angle of his neck with her eyes, the fine, straight cord powerful and determined, to a jaw that was stubbled in a way that almost wilfully challenged propriety. Treated only to his profile, she consumed every inch of what she could see, and her body reacted as if it had been starved of the sight of it. Which made no sense.

The turn of his head hid the bare section of the mask she recognised from a well-known musical, concealing much of what she could see. His eyes were focused on some distant point on the other side of the room and the heady scent of him filled her lungs as she breathed through the steps of the dance.

There was something almost cold about the way his head was turned away from her…as if, despite the intimacy of the hold, he was forcing himself to touch her. And suddenly she felt nauseous. As if her body had somehow tricked her, fooled her into thinking that…what? That her Prince Charming had finally come for her? As if sensing her sudden resistance, her attempt to flee before it had even registered in her mind, he tightened his embrace, all the while remaining turned away from her.

Realising the futility of escape, she used the time to observe the stranger. He was tall, at least six feet, if not more. His shoulders, though pressed back in a perfect frame for the waltz, somehow managed to crowd her in a way that made her, made them, feel isolated from the other couples on the dance floor. He led her almost expertly through the movements of the dance and her body’s muscle memory bowed to his command. While her mind raced with outrage and confusion that she would be so ignored, so manhandled, her body soared at the unspoken dominance.

The stranger had yet to say a word to her and somehow that made this moment all the more surreal, as if they had mutually agreed that speaking would break this strange spell that he was weaving around her. She knew she should break it though, she knew she should be outraged, terrified even, but there was something…the breadth of him, the feel of his hand within hers…both strange and familiar.

She felt known by him, even if she did not know him. She began to count down the steps to the end of the dance, recognising the cadence and swell of the music as her pulse beat within her chest in time with the waltz, in time with him.

She didn’t know what to expect when the dance came to an end. Would he finally speak? Would he look at her, or would he disappear as easily as he had swept her towards the dance floor? She both longed for and resisted the end to this moment and as he brought their steps to a close, bowed, deep and low, her curtsey only half what it should be, because she had yet to be able to take her gaze from finally seeing who this stranger was.

Only when their eyes met, a sob escaped her mouth as she caught the devastating brown orbs, dark against the pure white of the mask, and she was filled with a fury and anger that stole her breath. She actually felt the single lost heartbeat caused by the jolt of recognition.

Theo Tersi.






Theo had feared that he might not recognise her here amongst the disguises and outrageous costumes of such rich company. He had lost Sebastian to his own personal pursuits some half an hour before, and had been beginning to lose patience. It had to be tonight. It had to be now. Everything in him had been building to this moment for years. He would not let this chance pass.

In truth, it was his body that had recognised her first. The way his pulse unaccountably hitched in his chest, the way awareness had pulled from him an almost electric current that snapped and hissed across his skin. And when he finally did see her, clinging to the edges of the ballroom, he knew that he shouldn’t have doubted himself. Even had he not gone to sleep each night for ten years with her face the last thing he saw, the lies and abused promises on her lips the last thing he heard, he would have known her in the dark surrounded by a thousand people. Because she shone like a beacon of pure golden light and he bitterly noted that it had nothing to do with her costume. She had looked like the stepdaughter in the Mother Holle story told to him by his mother in childhood—the one who passed beneath a waterfall of gold. Yet he knew better. She was the other sister—the one who should have been covered in tar.

He hadn’t intended to lead her into the waltz, but the moment the idea struck, it wouldn’t loosen its grip on his mind. He knew that she wouldn’t recognise him, certainly not if he kept his head turned away from her. She probably hadn’t given him a second thought since setting him up to take the fall for her pranks. Or maybe she had, laughing to herself long and hard at how she’d manipulated him, how she’d got him to do her bidding.

Holding her and not looking at her had been a sweet torture. He’d wanted to bare his gaze to her, bore into her the feelings of anger, pain and betrayal… But when he had finally met her eyes, holding them captive with his own, he’d nearly cursed. Because it was he who consumed every emotion that flickered and sparked in her sapphire-blue eyes.

After all these years he’d thought himself immune to her. He’d thought the consequences of her actions would have made him impenetrable to the insatiable desire for her…but the way her body had melted into his, the flickering of her pulse beneath his hand, mocked him as his body had claimed her in the most primal of ways. Because no matter what had passed between them, his body still wanted her, still craved her touch.

Until the jolt of recognition from Sofia that he felt against his skin, the irrefutable horror that filled her gaze.

Now she knew him.

He was about to open his mouth, when her sudden, shocking departure slammed it shut. She had picked up her skirts and was racing away from the ballroom floor, disappearing into the crowd of people. But she would not get away that easily. He saw her at the wide French doors, open to the beckoning darkness of the gardens, and a smile curved the edges of his lips.

Theo Tersi drew out his mobile phone, and as he followed her out into the night he fired off a text to the man he had waiting on standby. If she failed to offer him the apology he so very much deserved, Sofia de Loria would regret the day she had ever thought to play him.






Plunged into the darkness of the Parisian night, he stalked amongst the manicured gardens, expecting to have to hunt much more than he did, and nearly crashed into her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Sofia demanded, apparently satisfied that there were no longer people to overhear them as her raised voice was carried away on the night air. Her outrage struck him low in the chest.

‘Why? Not used to discovering an ill-bred bastard amongst your high-society companions?’

‘What?’ He noticed her brow pucker in momentary confusion. ‘That has nothing to do with anything.’

‘No? I’d have thought your security teams would have vetted every single person here, check their DNA for their blue-blood credentials.’

‘Don’t be such a snob.’

Now he was outraged. ‘How dare you accuse me of being a snob?’

‘Just because it’s reverse snobbery, it doesn’t make it any less prejudicial.’

‘You’re speaking nonsense.’

‘Because I disagree with you? You never did—’

‘Don’t. Do not talk to me of what I did or did not do in the past,’ he spat as he lifted his mask away from his face and cast it aside onto the thick emerald grass of the gardens.

He watched her almost physically bite her tongue and he used the moment to take her in. The Sofia he knew had been breathtaking, but Sofia de Loria the Princess was obscenely beautiful. Her cheeks had lost some of the softness, striking cheekbones sculpting her face to perfection. The thick plaits of golden hair wrapped around her head glowed silver in the starlight of the night sky. A high brow made even more superior with the arch of a perfect, rich, honeyed eyebrow peeking out from the top of the mask, brilliant golden furls glinting in the moonlight.

And, as always, crystal-blue eyes crackled and sparked as she tried to repress the anger she clearly felt. An anger he matched, if not exceeded. Oh, he’d had his share of beautiful women in the last two years, once he’d given himself permission to relish and enjoy the success that all his hard work had reaped. Once he’d lifted his self-imposed embargo on sensual pursuits. But no matter how many times he’d cursed her to hell and back, he’d never been able to deny Sofia’s beauty.

But even in that he knew he lied to himself. It wasn’t just a simple fact of her beauty. It was as if a chemical reaction had ignited within him, fizzing in his veins, urging him to reach out and touch her. Draw her to him and seek her mouth, her kiss…to feed the burning arousal he had really only ever felt with this woman. He wanted her, needed her, with every ounce of his being. But he fought it. He would not give in to the temptation she unconsciously offered.






Sofia felt her chest heave against the confines of the tight corset as her body struggled for an outlet for the anger and pure shock at Theo’s appearance. Masked, he was impressive. Unmasked he was undeniable. Age had only honed what were already incredible features. Even in his youth he had stood heads above even the older students, and now she had to crane her neck to look up at his scowling gaze, his deep brown irises swirling like the richest espresso. His clenched jaw was dusted with a fine dark stubble as if, even in that, Theo rejected the same propriety that saw every other man there either clean-shaven or fully bearded. His straight nose created a sense of balance between the downward slashes of his cheekbones, and the night cast his proud jaw in deep shadows.

In obvious frustration he ran his hand through his thick hair and on any other man the result would have looked chaotic, but on Theo? It just made Sofia want to reach out and do the same. He was magnificent and for a second she imagined that she could reach for him, that she could draw him to her. Desire, thick and fast, rose up within her chest, even as she knew that she could not act upon it, should not feel it.

She tried not to flinch at the sound of apparent disgust as he finally turned that lethal focus of his to her, casting the entire length of her body in a glance that was anything but lazy, or accidental. No. There was purpose to this…to make her uncomfortable, and she hated that it was working.

‘If you’ve had your fill and there’s nothing else?’ She refused to stand there before his assessment and be found wanting. She just couldn’t. Not tonight. She still had to meet with Joachim, the third possible suitor, her last hope. She could not stand here caught between the past and her future—it was threatening to tear her apart.

Sofia turned to leave, but his hand snuck out and caught her at her wrist. His hold deceptively gentle. The delicate ring his fingers created around her skin thrummed with repressed tension. He tugged, and she almost fell against his chest and this time she just managed to stop her hand from leaning on his chest for…balance, she told herself. Balance.

With her hand still hovering mid-air between them, she risked a glance at his face. It was so close, angled down at her, lips that once she would have delighted in now cruelly sensual and taunting her with a knowing smile. But the anger in his eyes was easier to read than her own reaction, and she welcomed it, embraced it, used it to fuel her now.

‘I’m here for an apology.’

‘An apology?’ Sofia didn’t know how he’d caused her to revert to the stammering seventeen-year-old she’d once been. More than a decade of training, diplomacy, education and learning trade negotiations and she seemed only capable of two words around this man.

She knew she owed Theo an apology…more than that. An explanation at the very least, but before she could summon the words to her lips, he pressed on.

‘You doubt it?’

‘No, not at all, I—’

‘Do you know what I regret most? That even as I waited the first hour for you, the second, hidden amongst that ridiculous shrubbery, I didn’t even doubt you. It didn’t even cross my mind that you wouldn’t show. I waited, like a moon-eyed calf, half drunk on love for you. Even afterwards, when the headmaster came to find me, told me of the trick you pulled on his car, my first concern was for you, not for myself. My fear was that something had happened to you.’

She felt shame slash across her cheeks in a dark crimson blush, painful and stinging, as if he had slapped her with his hands rather than his words. And all the wishes, wonderings and dreams of what happened to him that night were painted in stark reality by his words.

‘It didn’t take me long to realise, though. Realise what you had done that night and in the weeks, months leading up to it. To realise that everything you had told me was lies, Your Highness.’

Secrets and lies had come back to haunt her and Sofia turned her head away, but his fingers, once again seemingly gentle, but determined, found her chin, and brought her back round to face him, to see the truth written in his eyes.

‘Can you imagine what it was like to realise that I had fallen in love with a fabrication? That everything I’d felt was simply the by-product of the ruse of a bored, pampered princess with nothing more to do with her time than to move people around a chessboard of her own imagination? That I was expelled because of your actions?’

Shock reared through her, and she stepped back as if she could distance herself from what he was saying.

‘I didn’t—’

‘You didn’t know?’ he demanded harshly, his fury palpable, shaking the very air between them. ‘You didn’t even know?’ He cursed harshly. ‘You all but ensured it when you left my scarf, my scarf, beneath the car. Tell me, did you even think of me when you ran back to your country playing the part of the perfect princess as I was kicked out of school? When I lost the scholarships to every single university I had gained entry to? When my mother was fired and we were forced to return to her family with little more than what we could carry? I thought of you, all the while knowing that everything we had lost, every struggle we experienced, was because of your lies!’

Sofia was struck dumb by the pain his words evoked, and the truth that lay within them. She hadn’t known that he had been expelled, she hadn’t even remembered that she’d been wearing his scarf when she pulled the prank with the car. Because that night, in between her plan to get revenge against the headmaster and meeting Theo, her parents had come to the school and revealed that her father had been diagnosed with early onset dementia. And in that moment, the bottom had fallen out of her world.

Every thought, hope and dream she’d ever held in her heart since falling in love with Theo had flashed through her mind, while she should have been focusing on the physical and mental sentence that had been handed to her father. That the entire time her parents had patiently tried to explain what that meant, what would happen, how she would have to ascend to the throne much sooner than anyone had ever planned for, all she had thought of was him. Theo. Standing there, waiting for her to come.

She had begged and pleaded with her parents to allow her to speak to Theo. To find him where he waited for her. To tell him what was happening. But her father had been uncompromising—no one could know of his diagnosis. No one. And then they had bundled her into a car, and then a private jet, and the whole time she had felt as if she had left her heart behind.

So, no. She hadn’t thought of what had happened to him after that night, because she couldn’t. She just couldn’t allow herself to go there. Because every time she did, what little remained of her heart fractured and shattered just a little bit more.

But she couldn’t explain that to Theo. Not now. Because her father’s diagnosis still had the power to rock the already shaky foundations of her precious country. Because this? This moment between them wasn’t about her or what she could say to justify what had happened that night. This was about him, and God help her, but she deserved every single word, every single feeling he expressed. She needed to honour that, because it was the only thing she would ever be able to give him.

‘Tell me, Sofia, did you mean any of it? The pleas you made, the plans…the future you fabricated, all the while knowing it was impossible? Punctuating lies with kisses? Untruths with touches and caresses? When did you know that you would ruin me, Sofia? Before you first spoke to me, or when you realised how easily manipulated I would be?’

‘That is enough,’ Sofia commanded, digging through the hurt to find some kind of strength to ward off the harshness of his words.

‘Enough? I’ve barely even begun. “Please take me away, Theo, I cannot return to Iondorra, Theo. Help me. Theo.”’ The cruel mockery his voice made of her childhood words stung as much as the memory of her desperation to escape the confines of a royal life she had been forced to accept.






Theo knew that he had gone too far. He had said too much. Revealed too much of his own pain and heartbreak. And he hated himself for that. He saw the moment that his words hit home, the shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes more bright than any star that night. He cursed, the breeze carrying it away from them. He steeled himself against the innate sympathy welling within him, knowing better this time than to fall for her games.

‘Christós, I didn’t know you at all, did I?’

Suddenly the cord that had bound them in the past snapped, pinging away under the pressure of a decade of hurt and distance between them. And he watched, half fascinated as that royal mantle settled once more around her shoulders, leaving no trace of the young girl he had once loved. Instead, a fury stood before him, iron will steeling her spine and her body as if no soft movement had ever settled beneath her skin.

‘You are right. You did not know me. You knew a child. A girl who was reckless, pulled pranks and gave no heed to the people or things about her. A pampered young woman, who knew nothing of real life, or consequences. I am sorry if that girl hurt you, caused you pain. Truly. But she is gone, living only in your memories and imagination.’

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough, her half apology. Pain reared its ugly head. Not for the loss of her, he assured himself, but the years he endured after her. The years his mother endured. They did not live solely in his imagination. They were etched across his heart and hands as he had clawed his way to where he stood today.

‘Now, if you don’t mind—’

‘Off to find your next husband?’

She stilled her entire body. It was unusual for her, because everything about her contained a restless energy, its sudden and shocking absence such a stark contrast, and for a moment he could have been forgiven for thinking she’d turned to stone.

‘How do you…?’

He huffed out a cynical laugh. ‘Still keeping your secrets and lies close to your chest? Well, this time I’ve made sure that I will not fall for either. Unlike whatever poor bastard you’ve chosen for your next target.’

‘Target?’ she sighed, a scoffing sound that grated on his ears. It was too similar to the dismissive gestures of people who had thought themselves better than him. ‘You know nothing, Theo. Nothing of duty, of sacrifice. Nothing of what needs to be done as a royal.’

‘You think your concerns above those of mine?’ he demanded.

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘Yes, I do. I have to.’

‘You once begged to wear my ring,’ he said, cursing the moment of weakness that allowed his inner thought to escape his lips. ‘And instead you married that insipid—’

‘Do not speak of him like that,’ she commanded.

‘Why not? I saw the pictures. Hell, the world saw the pictures of you together. You might as well have been siblings for all the connection you seemed to share. And after his death? You were the Widow Princess who never cried, for all you may try to profess your love for him.’ If it had not been so dark, Theo might have seen how Sofia paled beneath the moonlight, might have seen how much his barb had hit home. ‘Tell me, Sofia, did he ever make your pulse race, your body throb with desire? Did you ever crave his touch as you professed to crave mine?’

Theo caught the gasp that fell from Sofia’s lips, proving the truth of his words and enflaming the sensual web weaving between them, as if he had conjured the very reaction from her body by his words.

Anger, frustration and desire burned heavily on the air between them, and his eyes caught the rise and fall of her perfect breasts against the curve of the corseted dress she wore. Their argument had drawn them closer together, and he could have sworn he felt the press of her chest against his through the mere inches of air that separated them, thickening his blood and his arousal instantly.

‘Do you remember, Sofia? What is was like between us? Or were you faking everything?’ he demanded. Because somewhere, deep down, he needed to know. He needed to know if it had all been lies. Before him, Sofia swayed, caught within the same tide of desire that he felt pulling at his entire being.

Her lips parted, shining slightly as if recently slicked with her tongue, and he was desperate to taste, to touch, to consume. He needed to know if this time, with all the knowledge he now had, he would be able to taste the lies on her tongue.

His mind roared against it, but his body closed the distance between them, unable to resist the feel of her, the siren’s call she seemed to pull him in with. Surely his memory had exaggerated the way she had made him feel. Surely it could never have been that incredible.

He watched her closely, the way her eyes had widened as he’d moved closer, the way she too struggled with the thick, heavy want wrapping around them both. And he saw the moment she gave in to it. Gave in to the silent demand he hated his body for making.

He gave her the space of one breath, to turn, to flee, to refuse him. He gave himself that time, to turn back, to walk away. But when her pupils widened, that breath she took a sharp inhale, all but begging him to press the advantage, to make good on his unspoken promise, he was lost to the need pulsing in his chest. Lost to the insanity of what had been, what now was, between them.

‘Tell me you don’t want me, don’t want my kiss. Tell me, Sofia, and I’ll walk away. Lie to me again, Sofia,’ he challenged.

‘I can’t,’ she whispered, as if hating herself for the confession.

His arm swept around her small frame, drawing her to him and him into madness as his lips descended on hers with ten years of pent-up frustration, anger and a raging need that even the sweep of her tongue against his could not appease.

Passion and desire crackled in the air as they came together, her touch as bruising as his, the almost painful clash of lips, tongues, the merciful bite of teeth that brought clarity as much as it brought confusion.

He had thought himself lost, but a small part of him whispered instead that he’d been found. Found within her, the scent of her winding around him, pulling him even deeper into the kiss. It was everything he remembered and more. His pulse beat erratically in his ears, as if in warning, but it was drowned out by the gentle, almost pleading moans she made into his mouth. But whether Sofia was begging for more or less, he couldn’t tell. And that was what made him pull away.

He wrenched himself back, shocked by the intensity of what they had shared, Sofia, looking equally stunned, her mouth quickly covered by the back of her wrist, pressing their kiss to her lips or swiping it away, he couldn’t tell. He needed to sever whatever hold this madness had on him and quickly.

‘Now, there’s the Sofia I remember.’

‘You bastard,’ she cried and ran from the gardens towards the safety of the ballroom.

And he knew that, for possibly the first time in any of her exchanges, she had spoken the truth. He was a bastard. Because even as he had lost himself to the kiss, lost himself to the chaotic emotions storming within his chest, his mind was moving at the speed of light.

Because now, it was too late for her. The moment Sofia had issued that half-mustered apology had sealed her fate as surely as the shutter on the camera of the paparazzo Theo had hired to capture the moment of her compromise.

He let loose a bitter laugh. He had hoped that an image of them in a heated argument would do damage enough, but a kiss? So much better for his plan of revenge.

Yes. Sofia de Loria would very much regret the day she had ever thought to play him the fool.




CHAPTER THREE (#u1c9e25df-4d18-5a0f-af1d-3f13e0c66cdc)


Widow Princess Caught in Clinch with Wine Playboy!

From Widow Princess to Scandalous Princess in One Kiss!

Widow Princess Tames Bad Boy of the Wine Industry!

THE HEADLINES SCREAMED in Sofia’s mind, punctuated by exclamation marks that struck almost physical blows as she threw down the collection of newspapers unceremoniously handed to her by the royal council earlier that day. She peered through the window of the car and cast a glance up and down one of Monaco’s most famous streets. The light illuminating the Plaza del Casino de Mónaco caused the water feature in the centre to sparkle in the night like a thousand diamonds.

And each and every glint scratched against her already frayed nerves and temper.

It wasn’t the fact that she had been captured in a kiss with one of Europe’s most notorious playboys, and splashed across the front pages for the world to see. It wasn’t even the fact that the morning after the party, Joachim—her third and last hope for a fiancé—had regrettably informed Angelique that he could no longer consider matrimony with Sofia.

It was the fact that Theo Tersi—notorious womaniser—had refused to comment. And he always commented. By neither confirming nor denying their speculative questions, he had served only to inflame the rabid press. The Iondorran privy council had further tied her hands and refused to allow a statement to be issued by the royal communications office in a desperate act of blind ignorance, wilfully hoping that it would all ‘blow over’.

But she knew better. Because the sneaking suspicion that had begun the first moment she’d seen the awful photographs had grown into a living, breathing belief that Theo Tersi had somehow managed to orchestrate this whole disaster. The birthday party in Paris had been under a strict press embargo, the girl’s family having sold the rights for images to Paris Match. Furthermore, the only photos surfacing from that night were of them—no other guests—despite the fact that Sofia was aware of at least three front-page headline-worthy incidents. In the last three weeks she had stopped wondering how and instead focused on the why.

She bit back a distinctly unladylike growl as she exited the dark diplomatic-plated sedan, remembering how she had held herself that night as her body trembled after their conversation, after their kiss, as it shook at how he had weakened her. For the hours following, her body left overly sensitised, she had found herself pressing her fingers to her mouth as if in denial or longing, she couldn’t tell, and no matter how much she wished it the low, aching throb between her legs and in her chest had both shocked and terrified her. She had allowed herself that night to feel, to ache, to want. But in the morning when she had seen the headlines, something within her had turned to steel. Sofia dismissed the guards she usually travelled with. She did not want an audience for what was about to happen.





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