Page 28 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
Yes, he could see that. ‘By what?’
‘By what you said at the car. About your ex-girlfriend and the effect she had on you.’
He stilled. Frowned. Why the hell would she be thinking aboutthat? ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
‘Love doesn’thaveto be dramatic and destructive, you know.’
His frown deepened into a scowl. Now what was she doing? Why was she talking about love when neither of them had any interest in it? And what was that emotion that laced her voice? It was the same thing he’d caught when she’d mentioned how his grandparents had felt about each other. Was it…wistfulness? It had better not be. That would suggest a hankering for something that this marriage was not—and never could be—about. ‘It has the potential to bring down a monarchy,’ he said, determined to banish such an unfathomable sentiment, if that was what it was. ‘To humiliate and weaken those foolish enough to indulge it. And let’s not forget, it drove your parents over a cliff.’
‘Well, yes, but that was passion of the most toxic kind. And by the end of their marriage they hated each other.’
‘It’s still selfish.’
‘But it can be quiet, supportive and enduring.’
His eyes narrowed. Despite the heat of the day, he was suddenly feeling a little chilly. ‘You sound as though you speak from experience.’
She shook her head and averted her gaze but not before he caught a glimpse of something that intensified that chill. ‘You only have to look at your mother to see it.’
‘My mother?’ he asked, more baffled than ever. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘She loved your father.’
His pulse leapt but he ignored it. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘That’s what she told me.’
‘Theirs was a marriage of convenience.’
‘Not for her.’
‘You must be mistaken.’ She had to be. Because if she wasn’t, then that meant his father had lied every time he’d hammered home the importance of the head ruling the heart, and that simply wasn’t possible.
‘Perhaps you should ask her.’
Now why would he do that when she’d only just begun to get over his father’s death? He loved his mother. He didn’t want to set her back. He had briefly questioned the depth of her grief, of course, but they’d been married for thirty-five years. Naturally she was going to miss him. However, familiarity was all that was. A successful royal marriage didn’t involve love, and theirs had been the epitome of success.
‘Absolutely not,’ he said, refusing to give Sofia’s preposterous theory any credence whatsoever, because if he did, everything he believed to be true would crumble to dust and where would that leave him? Floundering around, confused and helpless and dropping so many balls that his country would suffer the consequences? Not on his watch. ‘We don’t discuss that sort of thing. Besides, I’m not wrong about this.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so,’ he said with a grind of his teeth. He was right about everything. Always had been, always had to be, always would be. Sofia knew the score. She was just messing with his head, for some perverted reason.
Nevertheless, all this talk of love was curdling his stomach so violently he felt as though he were about to throw up. He didn’t want to think about his ex. Or his parents’ marriage. He was the one supposed to be digging beneath her surface, not the other way round. Although, that now didn’t seem a wise course of action at all. In fact, it seemed deeply unwise, because for some unfathomable reason he didn’t want to know what she was hiding any longer.
What hedidwant was to get the hell out of here and surround himself with other, infinitely less confusing people. But that would invite more questions to which he wouldn’t have the answers, so instead he banked everything but the attraction that still burned like fire. He raked his gaze over her and welcomed with open arms the resulting surge of heat. It was preferable to continuing the ludicrous conversation they’d been having.
‘A swim in the river before lunch?’
‘I didn’t bring a costume.’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ he said, taking her elbow and guiding her back inside to collect the picnic things en route. ‘You won’t need one.’
Ivo did not like talking about love, Sofia thought, trying to keep up as he took her on a route march to the river. That much was clear. And before today she’d never have brought it up, because what would be the point in a marriage of pure convenience? Why would she deliberately set herself up for pain by acknowledging she cared?
But something had changed since breakfast. Something that made her not bury her curiosity but embrace it. Something that made her wonder if she couldn’t use that curiosity to try and change his mind about love without it hurting at all.
It had occurred to her, as he’d shown her around the castle, whether there might be more behind his determination to continually deny romance than a lack of time and an abhorrence of drama. After all, a decade had passed since his ex-girlfriend’s betrayal. Surely he’d have got over it by now, if that was all it was. Its lingering effects made more sense, then, if the wound he’d suffered was an emotional one. One which had cut deep and lacerated his heart as well as his pride. Under those circumstances, she could absolutely understand why he might want to protect himself at all costs.
