Page 31 of Modern Romance September 2025 5-8
‘Today,’ he began, his deep, authoritative voice carrying across the crowd, ‘we gather here not just in the presence of stone and metal, but in the shadow of a legacy—a legacy that shaped this kingdom and whose influence will echo for generations yet to come. It is my privilege and my honour to stand before you as we unveil this statue of my father, who acceded to the throne at a time of great unrest and whose reign defined an era of prosperity, unity and strength.
‘When I was young, he often spoke of duty and the weight that rests on the shoulders of the sovereign. He never sought glory for himself. He led with wisdom and humility, and under his rule, our kingdom flourished.
‘Let us remember the ideals that he embodied—courage in the face of adversity, an unwavering dedication to peace and a work ethic that put some of his ancestors to shame. Let us remember that our actions in life echo beyond our time, and that the true measure of a ruler is not in how long they rule, but in how well they serve.’
On cue, the shroud slithered to the ground to reveal a life-size bronze standing on a square marble plinth. Sunlight bounced off it, imbuing it with warmth, and the marble sparkled. Like him, his father had been an imposing man, thought Sofia, who stood so close to the statue she was almost blinded by its shiny newness. Like him, he wore ceremonial dress well. Could she hope that this and a devotion to the country was where the similarities ended? That the ability to love might be where they differed?
‘I vowed to continue the legacy that my father passed down,’ Ivo said, recapturing her attention once the applause had died down, ‘and will endeavour to do so for as long as I am able. And so the Queen and I would like to take this opportunity to thank each of you for your support and loyalty these past three weeks. It has meant a great deal to us to see so many of you on our travels throughout the land and we will treasure every single moment.’
‘We won’t!’
The angry shout came from the edge of the crowd at the front. Accompanying it was an arc of bright crimson that sailed through the air. The splodge of paint hit the statue with a wet slap. Because she was standing so close, some of it spattered her face and the bodice of her dress.
For a moment, there was utter silence.
Next came a collective gasp.
And then suddenly, amidst the shouts, the panic and the chaos, with the wind knocked from her lungs as she fell backwards, flailing, Sofia hit the deck.
‘Are you all right?’
It was the third time in an hour that Sofia had asked Ivo that, and now, as on both previous occasions, he nodded shortly and replied with a curt ‘Fine’.
However, sitting in the back of the armour-plated car for the journey to the palace, having been advised to forgo the less protected Royal Train, he knew he wasn’t. He wasn’t fine at all.
The tour had ended in disaster.
His father’s memorial had been desecrated.
But blowing that and everything else out of the water was the devastating memory of jerking round in response to the heckler, seeing the splashes of red all over Sofia’s chest and face, and believing she’d been hurt.
He’d never experienced terror like it. His response had been so visceral it had wiped all trace of reason from his head. Acting on pure instinct, he’d flung himself at her, taking them both down, and had covered her body with his to shield her from further attack.
No matter that it was only paint.
No matter that within seconds the perpetrator had been apprehended and removed.
His only thought had been keeping her safe. And not because she was the Queen but because she was his wife. Because she was his and he would protect her with his life.
Before logic returned to assure him she wasn’t—and never had been—in any danger, a vision of his future without her in it had slammed into his head, in shocking, stark detail. It had been bleak and colourless and so agonising he’d felt as though his chest had been ripped apart and his heart torn out. He’d still been shaking when they’d been helped up, rushed back to the car and bundled into it. He’d feared it would never stop. He’d wondered if he’d ever get over the gut-wrenching fear of losing her. He hadn’t been able to think. He’d barely been able to breathe.
But now the adrenaline and panic were ebbing and he was regaining control. Cold hard reason was returning and with it, horror of a different kind, because it was becoming blindingly clear that he had a problem. Of epic proportions.
His violent overreaction to what had really been a minor threat to Sofia’s safety suggested that at some point over the last month he’d completely lost the plot. And now that he was trying to figure out what the hell he thought he’d been up to recently, he found he wasn’t short of examples.
From the moment he’d decided to make her his wife, he’d embarked on a downward spiral to insanity. He’d told himself that he’d known what he was doing, but he clearly hadn’t had a clue or he would have paid more attention to the warnings he’d acknowledged and then, like an utter idiot, ignored. Such as the feeling that she might be dangerous. The rings that flashed at him non-bloody-stop. The kiss at the altar.
Ever since then, his behaviour had been unfathomable. He’d nearly lamped his second cousin at the wedding reception. That night, he’d dithered, ducked and dived. On tour, he’d fired a bishop and delayed a waltz. He’d driven to Rafifi Castle like someone who didn’t care if he crashed, and then stripped off his clothes and swum naked in a river. He’d altered speeches for fun. He’d tried to make her laugh. He’d grabbed her hand at every available opportunity and he’d kissed her in public. Not for the optics. Not even for the crowd that had bayed for it. But for himself. He’d prioritised his needs and concerns over duty because he’d wanted to.
These weren’t the actions of a serious ruler with a destiny to fulfil. This was the sort of reckless, self-absorbed behaviour his grandfather had indulged in and Tommaso favoured, and it had to stop before he forgot for good what he was supposed to be doing.
He had to crush the growing confusion he felt about his parents’ relationship and the unnerving suspicion that it wasn’t just the crown that was lucky to have Sofia championing its cause, but him too. He could not keep hunting down articles that came with photos of the two of them gazing at each other and imagining what might be if he wasn’t the King and she wasn’t the Queen. He’d never even readCiao!before this morning, when he’d come across one fan’s take on this latter stage of the tour. Mad about each other? No. He was just mad, full stop.
Why had he held her hand that afternoon as they’d left the river for the car, when there’d been no one around to witness it? Why, when she’d expressed a longing to stay there for ever, had he thought for a moment,Me too? And since when did he feel empathy for his grandfather and regret that they hadn’t been able to take a proper honeymoon? When they’d got in the car to meet the train, for one mind-boggling moment he’d thought about scheduling another day off to visit his grandparents’ hideaway and to hell with what would have to be cancelled.
These past ten days he’d enjoyed hearing about her life, her thoughts and her opinions so much that he hadn’t put a stop to it, even though he should have. Instead, without a care for the consequences, he’d reciprocated like a man who couldn’t get enough. He’d let her into his head, the space he guarded like Cerberus. He’d even contemplated addressing his work life balance.
This wasn’t the pragmatic approach he’d decided on when he’d set out on this endeavour. This had become a battle between his head and his heart, one he hadn’t even been aware was waging and one that, if he wasn’t very careful indeed, the wrong organ would win.
