Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

A S THEY WALKED, HAND in hand down the moonlight beach, back towards the helicopter, Sofia thought how appropriate it was to have, in her mind, the image of an hourglass, with the sand tilting from one side of the glass to the other. Time was passing—the night was almost over.

A perfect night, capping off a perfect week.

If I was not the King… What had he been going to say?

It didn't matter.

Whatever words followed that sentence would have become like a noose around her neck, offering a glimpse of a life she could never have. It wasn't practical, that had been his point. But even if it had been, even if there was some way to take what they were doing and make it last, Sofia would run a mile from that, because the fear of losing Ares would dominate her completely, and in turn, it would petrify her.

She'd come too far, had taught herself so perfectly how to rely on no one. She couldn't weaken now.

This was a test—the toughest she'd ever faced—but she intended to pass it with flying colours.

"You told me this morning that you don't date."

She jerked her gaze up to his. They'd been walking in silence, with only the crashing of the waves to listen to. Her thoughts had been tangled in their relationship; apparently, his had been likewise.

"Yes?"

"Why not?"

Such a simple question, but the answer anything but. "It's hard to explain."

He stopped walking and tilted her chin to his. "Aren't we beyond that?"

She frowned. "What?"

"Evasion and obfuscation. I thought we'd reached a place of being honest with one another?"

"I'm not trying to lie to you," she said, dropping her eyes from his intensely curious gaze. "I just genuinely wouldn't know where to start. It would take longer than we have left," she added. "And looking back at my past isn't really how I want to spend the rest of our time together."

His eyes held hers and her heart trembled a little. Suddenly, the night ahead felt a little like a challenge to walk over flaming rocks. She had to get to the other side, but it would be hard to escape this unscathed.

"Okay, Sofia. Let's make a deal. Until we reach the helicopter, we'll talk about it. From the moment we lift off, the door is closed on this conversation."

She looked down the beach, to where his helicopter gleamed like a magnificent night bird in the light of the moon, and slowly, she nodded. "Okay, deal," she said, but with no genuine enjoyment at the prospect. However, Ares had opened himself up to her. He'd shared the trauma of his past, he'd told her about his loss, his family, his relationship with Louisa. And on some level, Sofia wanted to be open with him, too. She had no idea what it would feel like to actually talk to someone about what she'd been through, and how that had created a knock on effect through her whole adult life.

"I guess I just don't see myself with someone," she said, after a beat. They began to walk, but where she might have subconsciously sped up her steps, Ares put a strong, comforting arm around her shoulders and held her close to his side, in tempo with his long, yet languid, stride. She tried not to think about how well she fitted against him, like this. "It's hard to date when you have no intention of seeing a relationship through."

"Did something happen to make you feel that way?"

"I didn't have a bad breakup or anything if that's what you mean."

"Not necessarily."

She looked away from him, towards the long, reedy grass that was blowing in the gentle breeze.

"I just like being on my own," she said with a lift of one shoulder. Were they almost at the helicopter?

"What about the Santoros?"

"What about them?"

"You spend time with them. You love them."

"Yes." She did. But even with them, she did everything she could to hold herself a little away. That's why she had to quit this job, because she was being pulled more and more into their orbit, and one of these days they were going to wake up and realise she wasn't worth it, and she'd be out in the cold again, just like she'd been with her mother.

"So, you're not completely alone?"

"No," she lied, trying to smile.

"Sofia," he sighed, stroking her arm, then turning her to face him. "You really don't want to talk about it, huh?"

She bit into her lower lip, looking up at his face, and the strangest emotions clogged her throat, making it hard to speak. "It's just…once I start, I might not be able to stop."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Like I said, it's just not how I want to spend tonight."

He caught her face in his hands, his touch gentle, his gaze running over her face now almost as if he'd never seen her before. "Let me see if I can fill in the blanks," he offered. "You lost your father at a terrible age, and in a very traumatic way. When you needed your mother most, she deserted you, and ever since, she's been a distant figure in your life. You've faced rejection every day from the one person, deep down, you most badly want to love you."

She gasped at how insightful he was. "Did Salvatore tell you this?"

"No, you did," he said, shaking his head. "Not in so many words, but I can see what you're not saying." He padded his thumb over her lip, before continuing. "And after a while, you extrapolated her rejection to everyone else. You are so afraid of letting yourself feel something for someone because they might turn out to be another source of pain to you, that you wall yourself off from the world, as much as possible. True?"

She made a strange, sobbing sound. "It's not…you make it sound pathetic. I'm perfectly happy in my life," she insisted, despite the tears that had filled her eyes. She blinked quickly in an attempt to clear them.

"Where is your mother now?"

"Why?"

"Humour me."

"She's in England."

"Do you ever see her?"

"Around Christmas, each year."

"And you don't talk?"

She shook her head, telling herself it didn't matter. None of this mattered.

"What happened to you, and her, is a very rare thing. She didn't deal with her grief well. She let you down. That is her mistake—and it's a bad one. But you shouldn't perpetuate it in your own life."

She opened her mouth to say something, to deny it but then closed it again. She expelled an angry breath. "We all do what we have to do in order to get by."

"And you'll never trust anyone again," he said, gently. "Even when that means you're closing yourself off from a better life."

"My life's just fine," she assured him, trying to cling to that, to think of all the things that made her life wonderful and happy. And in that moment, she couldn't think of a single one. She knew she liked her apartment, the way the light hit the polished floorboards at a certain time of the afternoon, she loved her first cup of tea in the morning, and she enjoyed walking through the old, cobblestone streets, but that all seemed so intangible and unimportant. So isolated.

She tilted her chin, refusing to show the direction of her thoughts.

"Okay," he kissed her then, just a simple brush of his lips over hers, before wrapping her into a hug. "I'm glad to hear it." She stood there, feeling his heart thumping in unison with hers, their bodies so close that a strange, tingly warmth spread throughout her, and she felt almost as though he was passing something of himself into her. A strength, an encouragement, a promise.

No, not a promise, she mentally screeched. She would take no such thing. Not from him, not from anyone. This was all getting too dangerous. Too emotional. She needed to pull them away from the ledge and remind them what had brought them together in the first place.

Simple, good, old-fashioned sex.

"Are you ready to go back to the stables, Your Highness?" She tried to inflect her words with a purr, but she wasn't sure she'd managed. Sure enough, when she pulled away to look at him, she saw a hint of sympathy in his face, and it made her want to crumple up into a ball and cry.

"Ares," she said, a warning in her voice.

"I want you to promise me something."

She swallowed hard. She didn't believe in promises, so what was the harm?

"If you ever want to talk about this—I don't care if it's in a month or ten years. I don't care if I'm married, if you're married, I don't care where life takes us. If you ever want to talk to someone who understands how grief and loss can shape you, who will never judge you, who will always…see the best in you, and understand you, I'm here." He caught her hand and lifted it to his chest. "I'm here if you need me, Sofia."

Oh, God. She had to get out of here. The nicer he was, the harder it all got. She nodded, knowing she wasn't capable of speech, and he seemed to understand that she was almost at breaking point. Emotions were not a natural part of Sofia's world. He squeezed her hand and then, surprised her—and offered relief—by reaching down and lifting her up, so he could throw her over one shoulder and run down the beach.

It was so unexpected that she laughed, and with every step he took toward the helicopter, she left the trauma of her past behind and felt the pull of this very precious moment. Living in the present, not thinking about the past, or the future, was the only way she would get through this night, and the final goodbye that tomorrow would bring.

The light was different the next morning.

Colder somehow, as if even the Mediterranean had finally realized that winter was on its way. Or maybe that was just Sofia's imagination, a presentiment of what was to come. Leaving Ares and Moricosia and knowing, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she'd never be back.

Because she couldn't.

She couldn't face being in this country without being with him. And after this week, that just wasn't possible.

He understood why—and so did she. Sofia couldn't take a risk on someone like Ares, and he certainly couldn't take a risk on someone like her. Another failed relationship was the last thing he needed, and Sofia didn't have what it took to stick around. She wasn't brave enough.

The thought tightened in her belly, accusatory and anger-inducing. Because surely if that was the problem, she could make herself brave. She could make herself forget the past, the pain, the isolating sense of being unloved, and take a risk on Ares?

But a whole lifetime of programming was almost impossible to rewire. Besides, she had no idea if that was even something Ares wanted.

He obviously liked her. Cared about her. Wanted the best for her. But when it came to his future, she had to presume that Ares would seek out a woman like Louisa. Someone from an aristocratic background, and someone from the same country. Sofia ticked absolutely none of the requisite boxes, besides the fact that she happened to have attended an elite school and university, and that, as a byproduct of having grown up between Italy and England, she spoke several languages with passable fluency. But Moricosian was not one of them.

She flipped over in the bed, turning her back on Ares, so she could stare more intently at the window, the weak, morning sunlight of her last day in the country, and with Ares. And she closed her eyes because she wasn't yet ready to face that reality.

She wasn't asleep, and nor was he, but neither spoke. Instead, he stared at her bare back, the elegant curve of her spine, her soft, honey-coloured skin, and he thought back to their conversation last night with a heaviness that was unusual for Ares.

He had faced things. Dark things. And he'd always found that tackling them head-on was the best way. He'd grieved his parents and brother, yes, but by staying active, keeping busy, holding his head high. He'd pushed through his sadness, rather than letting it engulf him. Sofia leaving would be just the same.

Just like with Louisa, he'd get past it.

Only…it wasn't the same.

It was so strange how, in the space of one short week, Sofia seemed to have stitched herself into his soul in a way Louisa never did. And yet he'd adored the other woman. He admired her. He thought of her as a good friend and truly one of the best people he'd ever known.

So why did the thought of Sofia leaving feel almost impossible to contemplate?

He reached out and stroked her hip with his fingertip, felt her indrawn breath almost as if it were his own.

"What will you do after this?" he asked into the early morning, stroking his finger lower, near the curve of her backside, then higher again.

"Today?"

"Tomorrow. And the next day. And so on."

Silence sparked for a moment, and then, "Do you know, I'm not actually sure."

His finger paused. "No?"

She flipped onto her back and then turned to face him, and for a second his lungs failed to work, as he simply stared at her face and tried to process how beautiful she was, and the fact that after today, he wouldn't see her again.

"Please don't say anything to Salvatore—it's not a secret, exactly, but rather, I'm just waiting for the right time to tell them." Her brow furrowed. "I love the Santoros, but I know that, after this, I won't keep working for them."

His brows lifted. "No?"

She shook her head. "They've wanted me to join the company for so long, I didn't feel right refusing without at least giving it a try. But it's not right for me."

"Why not? You seem so passionate about the company."

Her smile was uncertain. "I'm passionate about the people," she said thoughtfully. "But it's a family business, and they're not my family. I know they go out of their way to treat me like it, but…" she tapered off, lifting one shoulder. "I want to stand on my own two feet. It's more than time for that."

Ares was, as so often happened with Sofia, torn between two emotions. There was a tightening in his abdomen, as though a band were being squeezed, but there was also a lightness that came from the hint of an idea. A possibility.

"So, you're resigning?"

"Well, I'm hoping I can soften the blow of leaving with good news first," she replied archly, and the tightening sensation grew. He knew one thing for certain, and it came from a place of having always put his country first—above all else. He couldn't award the contract to the Santoros just because he wanted to give that good news to Sofia. He couldn't play favourites. But nor could he be responsible for letting Sofia down.

"It's why I've been so passionate about it," she admitted. "Because I really would like to show my gratitude to them by winning such a prestigious opportunity."

He made a noise of understanding, but he was sad for her–that she should feel she had to thank the Santoros at all. "Has it ever occurred to you that all the thanks they require is you being happy?"

Her eyes widened and she looked over his shoulder, as if mentally rejecting that notion. Because her mother had made it impossible for Sofia to see her true worth, to value herself as others did. He wished there was some way he could change that, but with only this one day before she left the country, he knew he'd never be able to achieve it.

And what if you had longer?

There it was again.

The idea.

The hint of hope.

The possibility that he could ask her to stay, and she might agree. For another night? Two more nights? A week?

A month?

And with each day that passed, the possibility of discovery would grow, and the media would turn their focus onto Sofia, pulling her apart from absolutely every angle, as they had Louisa. Only unlike Louisa, who had a textbook, happy-family background, there was so much in Sofia's past that would be unpleasant to her to have pushed into the public domain. The details of her father's accident, for one.

How could he ask her to stay, knowing there was a risk of that?

But wasn't that Sofia's decision to make? Shouldn't he at least make the offer? If he didn't, would she believe it was because he was ready for her to leave? Would that underscore the low sense of worth she held? That idea was anathema to him. No matter what she chose to do, Ares recognized there was only one path forward for him. To ask her to stay and see where the cards fell. At least if he did, he'd know she understood one thing: he wanted more of her. He wanted her.

"If you're at an impasse," he began, choosing his words with care. "You could take some time out, here, whilst you plan your next step."

Her eyes lifted to his and her lips parted, but there was a tightening in her features. A sense of caution and alarm.

"You mean, while working on the project?"

His lips compressed. "No." He gestured from his chest to hers. " This has to be completely separate from that ."

To his relief, she nodded.

"I don't want you to leave," he said, simply, but then frowned, because it wasn't simple, at all. "But if you were to stay, things would get harder. Concealing a relationship for any period of time is almost impossible, given the level of scrutiny around my life. You'd virtually be a prisoner of the palace."

Her lips pulled to one side. "I can think of worse places to be imprisoned."

Something soared inside his chest. "And even then, there's a risk. Someone could leak, as you've pointed out."

She nodded slowly.

"I want you to stay," he reiterated. "But I will accept your decision. If it gets out that we're dating, you're the one whose life will fundamentally and permanently change. You'll always be linked to me. And they'll dig into your past. Things will be printed in the paper that you won't like—and I can't control that."

She bit into her lower lip. "You say you want me to stay, but you're doing a pretty good job of trying to talk me out of it."

"I want to be honest with you," he said. "In a way I probably wasn't with Louisa. I don't know if I was ever clear about what this life is fully like."

"She must have known?—,"

"No one can know until they've lived it."

Sofia stared at him, her features unreadable, but he felt the tension emanating off her in waves

"I want to stay too," she murmured, after a long, long time. His pulse sped up. "But we both know it would be stupid."

"Why?" He didn't want to listen to that.

"Because it's just prolonging the inevitable, and, as you've pointed out, there are big risks to us both. Sure, I'd hate being in the papers, but what about you? You're already front-page news because of Louisa, the speculation about your love life is all anyone here talks about. If it were to come out that you were dating already, you'd be right back in the position you were in—of feeling obliged to propose and get married."

"Obviously, we'd try to keep this off anyone's radar."

"You know that's a fantasy."

Maybe she was right. Maybe this whole thing was a fantasy.

"The thing is," she cleared her throat a little, and when her eyes met his, he somehow knew that it was costing her dearly to look at him, and yet she was forcing herself to do it because it was important. She was so strong, so stoic. "I've spent my whole life, or my life since the accident, actively pursuing a path of solitude. Of choosing to be on my own. And up until I met you, I never really found that difficult. But you threaten that, Ares. You make me want…you make me want things I told myself a long time ago I'd never have. Things I've made my peace with not having. Things you can never offer me."

His heart was chugging in his chest.

"And if I stayed, every day would make it harder and harder for me to accept that, so I know eventually I'd want everything from you. Don't you see? I have to leave now, while I still can."

Everything.

What did that mean? Love? Marriage? Babies? With Sofia? She didn't want any of those things, did she? But what if she did? What if this was her way of telling him that she'd be open to that, after all?

"I don't want to want that," she clarified, as if reading his mind. "I want to leave here and go on with my life."

"Your safe life," he clarified, wishing the words weren't sharpened by frustration.

She jutted her chin. "What's wrong with that?"

Didn't he want her to be safe too? And happy?

Or did he want her with him so much that he was prepared to crack through all the walls she'd built to ensure her emotional survival?

"This isn't practical," she said, firmly, rationally. Reasonably. "This isn't real. We only work because it's temporary, and we're both breaking all our normal rules. We wouldn't translate to the real world."

"How do you know?"

She furrowed her brow. "What are you actually saying, Ares? What do you want from me?"

That was a great question. "I just know I don't want you to go yet."

"But play that through to its natural conclusion, is there anything about our relationship that makes you think more time together will make it easier to part?"

He was conscious of the sound of his blood pumping through his body. "The novelty will wear off."

She bit into her lower lip. "I don't think that's necessarily true. Not for me, anyway."

Not for me, either, he wanted to add, but some protective mechanism all his own held him silent. Wasn't this a moment to go all out, to hell with it? Except he had to be completely honest with her. She deserved that, and he couldn't live with himself if he weren't.

"You're right about the media's scrutiny—and the country's expectations. The next woman I date is going to be built up as a potential future bride. If that's not a remote possibility here, then we would need to be very careful about creating limitations around this thing. But that, to my mind, isn't a reason not to spend some more time together, Sofia."