kiss he stole from her, she chose to ignore it.
The large security guard beside the entrance to the club gave her a cursory glance and allowed her to pass through the doors into the dark, cavernous chamber beyond. Music assaulted her ears, and she blinked against the chaotically strobing light throbbing in time with a baseline she felt buzz through her skin and bone to the soft inside of her.
She shouldn’t be doing this. She should just let someone else confront Theo, but she knew—instinctively—that this was what he had wanted. As if he had planned everything down to the finest detail and only her presence would do.
Sofia brushed aside her concerns, her fears, and scanned the chaotic mass of people on the dance floor. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine Theo amongst the thriving group. No. He was far too voyeuristic for that. She remembered the feel of his gaze upon her skin at the Parisian ballroom. Remembered the feel of being hunted by a predator purposefully choosing when best to strike.
Her gaze finally took in the raised area of the club, an entire glass-fronted section roped off and guarded by another large, dark-suited man. She caught sight of the blonde model she recognised from the tweet, and, sure enough, Theo was sitting with one arm draped around her, the other draped around the thin shoulders of the other, the only difference in the scene being the additional upturned bottle of champagne beside the other two. Either the staff were very slow at tending to the tables in this club, or Theo was enjoying showing off his power and wealth. Sofia very much leaned towards the latter.
She made her way towards the large, suited man, and when she tried to pass he thrust out a meaty arm to block her. Shocked, she very nearly uttered the famously awful words, Do you know who I am?, but just managed to prevent herself. She was here incognito and she had not the first idea of how to get around the man. She had no experience in these situations, no idea what was required, as usually her security handled every single small thing…but she had dismissed them. Boarding school had been the last time she’d been allowed her freedom and since her return to Iondorra she hadn’t exactly been out ‘clubbing’.
Did she offer him money? she wondered, then belatedly realised she didn’t have any. And even if she had, Sofia had no idea how much would have been appropriate. She could have given the man a year’s salary, or not even enough to buy milk. Suddenly feeling completely out of her depth, she felt the sting of tears pressing against the backs of her eyelids and blamed Theo Tersi wholeheartedly. She had not cried once since the night of the debutante ball when she and her mother had spoken. When she had realised there truly was no other option but to assume the throne and marry her childhood friend, Antoine. But in the three weeks since Theo had stormed into her life and turned it upside down, she felt as if she were only a breath away from it at all times.
Suddenly he appeared at the top of the stairs behind the bouncer, towering over her like an avenging angel, and she hated the way that her pulse instantly kicked at the sight. She pushed away the thoughts of how she had reacted to the kiss that night, with all the wanton, suppressed desire of ten years of need and yearning that she had refused to acknowledge. The photographer had caught the exact moment that she had clung to him as if her life depended on it, and the memory brought a furious blush to her cheeks even now.
She took in the sight of Theo’s broad shoulders filled out from youth with powerful masculinity, dark hair artfully messy—or at least she hoped it was by design and not the hands of either of the models he was currently parading about. She bit down on the thread of shocking jealousy unfurling in her chest, and replaced it with anger as Theo growled the phrase, ‘Let her come.’
It sounded more like the taunt of a battle cry than permission to enter some private section of a club. He’d turned his back on her before she’d taken the first step, and by the time she’d reached the top of the stairs he was nestled in between the two women once again.
She stood before the three of them, separated by the depth of a table with half-filled glasses and empty champagne bottles.
‘Can we talk?’ she shouted over the loud music.
He placed a hand to his ear, and simply shrugged in confusion as if the blasted man hadn’t heard what she’d said.
‘I said—’ she shouted, only to realise that a sudden lull in the music had carried her voice far and wide over the private section of the club.
The two models snickered into their hands and Theo’s smirk made her utterly convinced that he’d known that would happen.
‘I said,’ she tried again, ‘can we talk?’
He waved a hand before her in a way more regal than any gesture she’d ever managed to achieve. He still had yet to say a word to her.
‘In private?’
‘Anything you have to say to me can be said here.’
Sofia wanted to snarl. She felt the deep yearning to be reckless, to act out, to do something so un-princess-like as to throw the remaining contents of the glass on the table all over his proud, defiant face. But ten years of suppressing that wild inner instinct won out. Even though she suspected he knew exactly what she wanted to do, what she would have done in the past. Unconsciously she rubbed at the old ache on her forearm, the other arm wrapping around the long since faded bruise against her ribs, while she chose and discarded what to say next.
‘We have…business to discuss.’
‘Sit,’ he said, knowing full well the only place to sit was beside one of the two women he still had his arms around. And Sofia point-blankly refused to add to the collection of women he’d gathered about himself.
‘I’ll stand.’
He shrugged, once again as if it were her choice.
One of the girls leaned over and whispered in his ear, producing a high-pitched giggle from the other, and an amused grin and a nod of agreement from him as they both returned their attention to her, making it clear she was the subject of the private discussion.
It was becoming increasingly hard to hold on to the thin thread of her control. She locked her eyes on his, ignoring the two women either side of him, and waited. Because the one thing that no one had been able to remove from her in all her years of royal training was her stubbornness. So she watched and waited. She’d have stood there all night too, but he seemed to realise that, and finally dismissed the two women, who pouted and protested but ultimately removed themselves to a table further away. Not before casting her glances that Sofia was sure would have quelled lesser individuals. She had won that battle, but not the war. Not yet.
Theo called over a waitress and requested a chair for her, which was duly produced, and Sofia finally sat down opposite him.
‘I see that you have dressed for the occasion,’ Theo said as his gaze covered her once again from head to toe and back to her head again.
She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘When in the henhouse…’
‘Are you calling me a hen?’ he asked, full of mock-horror. ‘Pecking and scratching around for any little titbit you’d throw my way? Oh, no. I assure you, Sofia, that is not how this is going to play out.’
‘For goodness’ sake, Theo. It’s the cock in the henhouse. You’re the…’ A painful blush rose to her cheeks before she could finish the sentence.
‘Oh, that’s adorable, sweetheart.’
‘Don’t
