Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W HEN SHE'D SEEN ARES for the first time ever, she'd thought him to be almost too good-looking to be real, and as he stood in a huge field of grass, dressed in a jet-black suit, holding a single white rose, her heart lurched with the belief that he was, in every way, not just physically, too good to be true.

Her legs trembled a little as she walked towards him, the sky a delicate gradient of purple and orange, as the sun dipped low in the sky. She was conscious of the spectacular colours, but just barely, because in all honesty, Ares was almost the sum total of all she could see and take in.

He was, quite frankly, magnificent. Tall, broad, beautiful, fascinating, and all the more so because he was, in some small but vital way, hers. Just for now, for one more night, but for the next few hours, all of him belonged to her, and she'd never known that kind of…connection.

Yes, connection.

All her life, she'd avoided relationships without really understanding that at the basis of that choice was the ability for her to relate with another person. She'd actively pushed people away, choosing not to relate to them, not to connect with them. But with Ares, no matter how hard she'd fought it, their connection had forged itself. So here they were, short-term, temporary lovers, in the most real and important relationship of Sofia's life.

Accepting that had no impact on her plans. She still knew she'd leave him the next day. She still knew her life was far, far away from him, and here. She just didn't want to think about the future right now; she simply wanted to revel in the present.

"You look incredible," he said when she was close enough to hear, not moving to touch her, which somehow made his words all the more gratifying. It was as if they were reaching out to her, wrapping around her, encasing her in his voice and honesty.

"I could say the same to you." Her own voice was barely there. A husk of its usual self.

His smile was lopsided. "Are you ready?"

She glanced behind him to the helicopter, something jolting inside of her. "You're sure?"

Their eyes met and sympathy tightened inside of her, as well as curiosity.

"I fly all the time," he promised. "It doesn't worry me."

She bit into her full lower lip, then nodded. As they approached the helicopter, he held out a hand for her, to help her into the front passenger seat. Her heart leaped into her throat as their fingers brushed and flames seemed to lick her insides. Did he feel it too?

A quick glance in his direction and she saw his Adam's apple bobbing, as though he too was fighting the overwhelming nature of this.

She settled herself in the seat and fastened her seatbelt. Despite the lack of a pilot, she hadn't been expecting, for some reason, that Ares would join her up the front. Which was stupid, and she had only, in her defense, the fact that she was temporarily addled by his proximity.

All the more so now as he sat in the pilot's seat and fastened his own seatbelt then set about adjusting his headset, and then her own.

"You're qualified to fly a helicopter?"

"No, I just thought I'd give it a shot." He turned to her with a teasing expression. "Is that not okay with you?"

She poked out her tongue but quickly withdrew it when heat seemed to lurch from him to her. She clasped her hands in her lap, focusing on staring straight ahead.

He went through a series of buttons, said something into the headset in his native tongue, then pressed a dial so the rotors began to spin.

As if he needed anything else to make him more perfect. But sitting there, like this, he just looked so macho, so alpha. She had no question he could rule the whole world, if he wanted to.

"Ready?" He asked, lifting a brow in enquiry.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

Excitement leaped through her.

"It's our last night," he said unnecessarily. "I thought we should make the most of it."

"My sentiments exactly," she agreed, pleased her voice sounded easygoing and breezy, as though she barely cared that they probably wouldn't see one another again after this.

He turned back to the instrument panel, guided a lever upwards, and then the helicopter lifted off the ground with a bit of a lurch, before hitching smoothly into the sunset sky.

She settled back in her seat, looking out of her window at this beautiful city, as he navigated the skies with effortless ease, tacking them towards the Med and then heading north. The lights of the city gave way to forest, so she wondered if they were flying over their hiking grounds? Little villages were obvious from the lights, which were more visible against a darkening sky.

Finally, after around a half hour of flying, they began to descend, so she craned forward, trying to get an idea of where they were going.

Eventually, he set the helicopter down, and a man in a military uniform appeared at her door, opening it once the rotors had slowed.

"Where are we?"

"You'll see."

"You keep saying that…"

"And yet you keep asking."

She pulled her lips to the side. "You're being mysterious."

"This is something I wanted to share with you," he said, simply. And yet, it wasn't simple, because embedded in that explanation was both a promise of intimacy and a forever farewell. The dichotomy of that pulled at her heart.

She stepped out of the helicopter, looking around, waiting for Ares to join her. He surprised her then by taking her hand in his and lifting it to his mouth.

"Someone will see," she cautioned, looking around and seeing two more guards.

"These are my inner circle," he promised. "They are safe."

She relaxed against him then.

"It's good that you have people in your life you can trust implicitly."

"I think I'd go mad without that," he confided.

She nodded her agreement.

They walked towards a light in the near distance. As they drew closer, she saw it was a building right on a bluff, overlooking the ocean, which was illuminated by a very full, very bright moon. The milky colour streaked in a silver column towards the shore and she sighed again, committing even that picturesque view to memory.

"It's perfect," she admitted.

"You haven't even seen where we're going," he pointed out, as they began to climb a staircase, just wide enough to allow them to walk side by side.

At the top, she realized the building they'd been walking towards was a restaurant, though it was not a fancy, Michelin-starred place, but rather a weatherboard shack with big windows on all sides.

"What is this place?"

"It's a kiosk," he said, stopping to look at it, perhaps trying to see it as she did. "As a boy, we would holiday near here. There is a smaller palace about five miles away, and the beach, up until that headland, is private. It was the most normal thing we did, as a family."

Her heart twisted for him.

"While we were here, we were just us."

"In what way?"

"My parents were just…our mother and father. My mother was an excellent artist, and she would sit cross-legged and sketch us. Picture after picture. She always brought a selection of artists' paper for us to practice on, too, though only my sister Aria seems to have inherited her talent. Our father loved sport, football especially, and he set up goals on a large lawn at the palace, so we could play together."

"All of you?"

He nodded.

"Your mother?"

"She was the most competitive of all." His smile was nostalgic. "After the accident, I made a point of bringing my brother and sisters here each year, because I knew my parents would have wished it, but it was never the same."

"Do you still come out?"

"Yes," he looked across at her. "It's gotten easier over time. We don't do the same things anymore, but we have our own traditions."

She smiled, but it was tinged with sadness for him. "Like what?"

"Well, we have a very long-running, incredibly bitter Monopoly game," he said, beginning to walk once more, her hand in his, as they made their way towards the restaurant. As they drew closer, she could see that it was empty, though the lights glowed golden. "And we go out fishing, to see who can catch the biggest fish. Or sometimes it's the most fish. It depends on what we feel like arguing about that day," he added.

Sofia was, yet again, pulled between two perfectly opposing feelings. Sweet, sweet pleasure and relief, that he had something so joyous in his life, and sadness that she didn't really know anything like that. Not that was hers. While the Santoros had wrapped her into their world, she wasn't really one of them, and she'd never been able to fully relax in their affection. Because it meant too much to her. What if they stopped loving her? What if they decided they couldn't be bothered with her anymore? It was too scary to contemplate, and so she'd refused to give even them that power over her, holding herself a little away from their family time, knowing that while they welcomed her, she didn't really belong, and one day they might realise that too. After all, if her own mother didn't love her, then why should they?

"You sound like an excellent older brother."

"I try to be what they deserve."

"And what about you, Ares? What do you deserve?"

At the door to the restaurant, he stopped once more and looked down at her. His eyes bore into hers, almost looking through her, with an emotion she couldn't quite make sense of.

"What I deserve is immaterial. It's always been about duty for me, ever since the accident."

"But surely you deserve some consideration too, as a man?"

He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek, his expression taking her breath away, though she still couldn't place it. "The thing that will make me happiest in the world, in the long term, is doing my parents proud, and being the kind of King my people require."

"You're already doing that, aren't you?"

"My people require me to marry," he reminded her, dropping his hand but not his eyes. He was probing her now, as if trying to read her, just as hard as she was trying to read him. "I've always known that."

Her heart thumped in her chest and her throat suddenly hurt with the thickening of unshed tears. It caught her totally off guard; Sofia couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed her emotions to weaken her, nor the last time she'd cried.

"Were you going to marry her?" she asked, softly, even though she wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

He was quiet for a long time and then, with a single nod, he brought something inside of her to a screeching and painful halt. "Yes. That was my plan."

She should have been grateful for his honesty, as well as the reminder that not quite two months ago, he'd been dating a woman he'd loved enough to want to marry, but for a moment, she just wished he'd lied to her. It would have been easier to hear some polite fib than to have her intuition confirmed.

Of course, he'd loved her. Louisa was clearly a woman deserving of love, whereas she, Sofia, was… She pushed the horrible thought deep, deep down, to experience it later. She didn't want anything to tarnish this night. Though perhaps that horse had already bolted.

"Are you ready?" he asked, opening the door wide so it was easy for her to step towards it.

She nodded, though in her heart of hearts, she suspected she needed a moment to clear her thoughts.

Despite the lack of clientele, the restaurant was incredibly charming and quaint inside. Nautically themed, it was like an old-fashioned fisherman's bar, with fishing nets hanging from the ceiling and dark timber tables and chairs.

"I know it's probably not what you were expecting, but this place is very special to me. I couldn't let you leave without seeing it."

Oh, God. Just like that, she felt her heart plummet and sink. Or did it soar? She didn't know, only she realized that she hated the feeling, or perhaps was terrified of it. Everything he was saying and doing was turning this into something else, something other than what they'd agreed. And she'd known, for days now, that it was growing and changing shape, but she hadn't doubted, until that moment, that she could handle that change.

Now, she felt as though she were looking into an abyss, with no experience to guide her out of it again.

"Is there a bathroom?" she asked, a little unsteadily.

He glanced down at her, concerned, but nodded. "Over there." She followed the direction of his hand, towards two bright blue timber doors, and began to walk towards them just as a man in a blue and white striped apron came towards them. She kept walking, head bent, as Ares greeted the man like an old friend.

Her heart tripped and stammered.

In the bathroom, she braced her palms on the counter and stared at herself, trying to psych herself back into the right mindset.

None of this mattered. It wasn't important if she had developed some kind of feelings for Ares, it didn't change the fact that there was no future here. He was a King, who had to marry and have children, and the idea of both of those things had always been totally off-limits to Sofia. No man had ever made her want to change her mind, and feeling something for Ares, if anything, caused her to want to run a thousand miles from him. Because a normal man wouldn't have threatened her heart and happiness, but with Ares, if she really gave herself to him, she'd be lost forever, totally at the whim of his love.

Or his lack of it.

She couldn't even imagine the pain of that—of letting herself feel something for him, believing he might feel the same, and then having him pull that love from her.

When she thought of Ares, she thought of the most honourable, decent man she knew, but at the same time, even her own mother had been unable to keep Sofia in her heart. Her feelings plunged from sadness toward despair.

She had to get a grip.

There was only this night to get through, and then perhaps they'd see each other in some capacity tomorrow. Then, that would be it.

The thought was fortifying and reassuring. Maybe she didn't have to have a handle on this. Maybe it didn't matter either way.

Because no matter what, she was getting on the Santoro jet the following night, and from that moment on, she could begin the suddenly Sisyphean task of forgetting Ares.

But she would do it.

Of course, she would.

She was Sofia Marone, and not once had anyone—a man, a woman, a child, or even her own damned mother—managed to break her. There was no way she was about to let it happen now.

Ares had been inexplicably nervous—a totally foreign emotion for him—before bringing Sofia here. Nervousness was a futile emotion, in his experience, particularly with something as inconsequential as a choice of restaurant. But he'd wanted her to love this place because he loved it. Because it was a part of him, a part of his real life—what he considered to be the man behind the crown. Once a year, he came to this part of the country and was able to shake off the shackles of being King, to simply lose himself in living. In laughing, in sitting up late and talking with his sisters and brother, with existing. And when they ate out, it was always here, with a table specially reserved for them, overlooking the ocean.

The locals mostly left them alone. On occasion, a mobile phone photo had made it into the press, but that wasn't the norm. For the most part, they were given their space, as the people around here understood that this was a bolthole for the royal family and had been for generations. If anything, the locals were proud of that tradition and worked hard to protect it, by respecting their privacy.

But tonight, he hadn't been prepared to take any risks, hence he'd had Nick ask the owner Dimitri to reserve the whole space for him, and to give his staff the night off—paid for by Ares, of course. Meaning it was just Ares and Sofia, and the owners—Dimitri and Athena—in the restaurant. The traditional music played softly over the speakers. The same song list, he would put all his money on, that had been playing here since he'd been a boy.

He knew all the songs by heart.

He watched as Dimitri poured Sofia a glass of ice-cold champagne, then began to fill Ares's glass. It was one of the few places in the world that would serve Ares after his date. But here, he wasn't a King anymore. Dimitri and Athena had always understood that in this part of the country, Ares needed to be free of that restraint.

"Would you like to see a menu?" Dimitri asked, looking at Ares.

"Would you?" he asked Sofia, in turn.

She lifted her shoulders. "Is this where you tell me you know exactly what I should eat?"

"I usually let Dimitri decide," Ares said. "He's never failed me."

Her smile was full wattage as she turned to the older man and Ares felt like all the air had been punched right out of his lungs. He literally felt winded.

She was so beautiful, and when she smiled like that, it seemed as if no star in heaven could compete with her. Something Dimitri clearly noticed, as his weathered face turned a shade of pink.

"Then I'll have whatever you suggest," she offered to Dimitri.

He recovered himself admirably quickly. "Is there anything you cannot eat, madam?"

She shook her head. "I love everything."

"Good, good," he patted his stomach approvingly as he walked away. A moment later, the gentle hiss of cooking could be heard, combining with the strains of music, but Ares was focused solely on Sofia.

He reached across the table and linked their fingers together.

This was more than he'd thought he wanted. More than he thought he was ready for, so soon after Louisa, but the mandatory end-date to whatever they were doing had given Ares the freedom to lose himself in this completely. Sofia wasn't just a distraction, she was more than that, but he was glad this was their last night together because Sofia was no longer easy to box away into a compartment in his mind.

And yet he knew she didn't belong here with him.

He frowned, because that wasn't quite right. He knew she didn't want to belong here. She hadn't bothered to hide her feelings on that score, and she'd been honest about her aversion to marriage and children. Having totally missed Louisa's hesitations about becoming a part of the royal machinery, he wasn't going to even consider imposing the same obligations on Sofia.

The thought of curtailing her freedom, in any way, was akin to Ares exterminating a butterfly just for the sake of it.

He would never ask it of her.

"It's beautiful here," she said, reaching for her champagne and lifting it towards his. "Thank you for bringing me."

He dipped his head in silent acceptance of her thanks and clinked his glass to hers. "To our week together."

Her smile was, briefly, wistful. "To this week."

He watched as she sipped her drink, full, luscious lips pressed to the glass in a way that made his pulse jerk erratically.

"Ares," she replaced her glass carefully, staring at the condensation on the outside before giving him the full force of her attention. "You don't have to answer this."

And he knew, or he was pretty sure he did, what was coming next. "It's okay," he said. Because he didn't want there to be any secrets between them anymore. She was leaving the next day, and he wanted to know that they'd explored each other fully. Not just physically, but emotionally too. Whatever they were, that was warranted. "You can ask me anything."

She gnawed at her lower lip, visibly tense.

He leaned forward, running his hand over hers. "I mean it."

She glanced at him, almost shy, then took another quick sip of champagne.

"What happened with the two of you?"

Louisa was, more or less, what he'd guessed had been on her mind, since they'd arrived at the restaurant.

"There were a few things, but ultimately," he said, running a hand over the back of his neck, "she hated the attention. She hated the publicity, the photographers, the articles, the constant speculation. As time went on, and gossiping about a possible engagement between the two of us reached a fever pitch, her life became unbearable. Louisa was followed constantly. So were her parents, her twin sister. She couldn't do anything without a hoard of paparazzi on her case." He took a sip of his own drink. "I put out a press release, asking for her privacy to be respected, but that only stirred things up further."

"Were you engaged?" she asked, her voice strangely terse.

"No. We'd talked about it, obviously. You don't date someone like me, the age that I am, without it being a pretty big issue, right from the start."

Sofia toyed with the napkin in her lap.

"At first, she was fine with it. Excited, even. The press adored her, initially. But after about a year, the status quo got boring, and some hit pieces started to run. They stirred up unkind stories about her past—totally untrue, or at least unwarranted. She had to quit her job, because of the photographers who would trail her there. She was offered to work from home, but so much of what she did was client facing…"

Sofia winced.

"In the end, she just wanted to escape."

"You, or the pressure of being with you?"

"It's hard to say."

"Is it?"

"If she had loved me, as I believed she did, I don't know if the press would have been able to bother her so much."

Sofia's features were unreadable, but her eyes were awash with emotion. Sympathy, or something else?

"I don't blame her," he added quickly because he didn't. "This life is not easy, and it's better that she realized that before we got engaged, or worse, married. Or even more disastrously, had a child together. I couldn't have borne the idea of causing her such misery and knowing that I had essentially trapped her in a life she didn't love."

Sofia's face was a little pale. She took several sips of her champagne, then turned as Dimitri approached them, her smile still dazzling, but a lot less bright. Ares noticed that it didn't reach her eyes. It was more mechanical, like she had forced herself to lift the corners of her lips.

Dimitri placed a platter between them, bowed a little then walked off. Ares regarded the offering—oysters, calamari, scampi, scallops and a salad of freekeh and quince paste.

When they were alone again, he said, "We argued, but ultimately, I knew it would make no difference. She's moved to Australia, and I believe she's happy there. I certainly wish her well."

Silence—a little uneasy—fell. He reached for an oyster, simply as something to do.

"Do you still love her?"

It was a question he couldn't easily answer. A month ago, he would have said yes, without hesitation, but over time, he'd started to wonder if it had really been love or rather relief. Because Louisa had been perfect for him. The right background, coming as she did from the aristocracy. She was smart, spoke multiple languages, was discreet and trustworthy, and they were, most importantly, very good friends. They had loved one another, but it hadn't been in the catastrophically overwhelming romantic sense. It had been a safe, reliable, friendly affection.

And as for the physical side of their relationship, he saw now how perfunctory that had been.

With Sofia, it was like his soul was on fire whenever they were near one another.

Chemistry, he realized, had been totally missing with Louisa.

"It's complicated," he said after a beat. Loyalty to Louisa had him fighting the truth. To be so honest, even with Sofia, and admitting that he wasn't sure he'd ever really loved Louisa, seemed callous and shallow. "I'm glad she left, and I hope she's happy."

Her lips twisted to the side. "Something you'll say about me in a couple of days?" she prompted.

The question knocked him sideways, mostly because hearing those words from her lips drew a totally contradictory response from him.

In fact, he knew he would never say those things about Sofia. Never.

Oh, he wanted her to be happy, but in his heart of hearts, deep down, in the part of himself he never allowed his brain to go, he wanted that to be here with him.

It was the desire of Ares the man, not the King. It was a want that he would deny himself because his role and duties demanded that of him.

"Sofia," he said, reaching for her hand with urgency this time. "I want you to know that if things were different…if I was not the King…"

Her eyes met his, round and awash with feeling. To his surprise, they clouded then with tears. "Please, don't say it," she turned her hand over and squeezed his. "Don't say something you don't mean."

"What if I do mean it?"

She shook her head. "You mean it now, but who knows what the future holds? Don't make promises that it might take me a lifetime to forget." She lifted his hand to her lips, and he felt then the most searing pain of rejection he'd ever known. Far worse than when Louisa had walked out on him. Sofia was shutting him down, even before he could offer her what was a totally insufficient version of what he was starting to realise he felt. "We both know what this is, and why it has to end." She kissed his hand then replaced it on the table and withdrew her own.

"This looks delicious," she said, a moment later, her voice over-bright, despite the tears in her eyes. "What do you recommend I start with?"