cut through Sofia like fire and ice.
Surely he had to be joking. There was no way they could marry. Not with all this hurt and anger between them. Not with the events of the past between them.
But she only had to look at him, take in the determined gleam in his eyes, the slightly forward bent of his body, the tense muscles of a predator that had already struck, had already cornered its prey and was now only playing, toying with it, before the poor creature was completely devoured. She was that creature. And she hated it. Hated him.
Still, just like that prey, she sought a way out.
‘What do you get out of this?’
‘Do you not see how this works? My wine sales will go through the roof. I may even request a royal seal,’ he said again with that infuriating shrug.
‘You’d tie yourself to me in marriage for the rest of your life, just for sales?’ she demanded incredulously.
‘Princess, how is that any different than marrying for the good of your country?’
‘But what about…’ She trailed off.
‘Love? Happy-ever-afters? I think we learned that lesson quite some time ago, don’t you?’
She wanted to argue, to deny his words, to find some way of reasoning with him.
‘You are blackmailing me? I have no choice in this whatsoever,’ she said, panic rising from deep within her.
‘Of course you have a choice. You can walk away, with your reputation in tatters and never see me again. Or we will marry. Give this little scandal a royal fairy-tale ending.’
Sofia knew that he meant it. Knew that he wouldn’t let this go. Knew when she had fled the garden in Paris that she had taunted the lion in its cage.
‘I’ll need that answer now, Sofia.’
She bit back the curses, because there was definitely more than one ready to fall from her lips. There was too much to take in. He had set her up because he thought she had set him up? Was this really just some obscene marketing plan for his vineyard? The thoughts were crashing through her mind at lightning speed, but it was the realisation that he was right that came through loud and clear. There was no way that she would ever not be associated with him now. And she knew enough about him to take him at his word. He would make sure of it. No one would go near her now that she was linked with a debauched billionaire playboy. She had run out of time. Her father’s recent deterioration had seen to that. The only way forward was the one he was offering. No, demanding. The one he had orchestrated and executed so perfectly.
She hated the smile that unfurled on his lips. The thrum of satisfaction she felt coming off him in waves that lapped her skin so very painfully. Sofia bit her tongue, as if her body was protesting the words that she was being forced to say.
‘Theo Tersi, please. Pretty please, with a damn cherry on top. Will you marry me?’
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
