Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H ER HEART ALMOST SLOWED to a complete stop, before it burst into life with ferocious intensity, so she could hardly hear herself think over its desperate thumping.

"I don't understand," she said, her voice strained to her ears. "Are you saying you want to marry me?"

His frown was hardly a ringing endorsement though. It was like he hadn't even meant to say what he had. Or maybe she'd completely misunderstood. Mortification made her cheeks sting.

"You've been clear that marriage—and children—aren't something you'd contemplate," he responded, which was a perfect non-answer, really. It told her nothing of what he wanted.

Besides, he was right. Sofia had always known she'd stay single, and childless, because the alternative was way too risky. She didn't want to get hurt again.

She didn't want to feel, for any period of time, as though she belonged to a perfect, wonderful family, only to have the rug pulled out from under her, utterly by surprise, when she least expected it.

"If you were open to those things, then it would have some impact on how we proceeded."

"Meaning you would date me openly?"

"Meaning that would be a step we'd have to take, at some point."

Her lips pulled to the side as her whole life flashed, like a fairytale, before her. Not her life, but the life she could have if she were na?ve enough to believe that everything worked out for everyone. If she was stupid enough to buy into the fantasy of a big happy ending with a gorgeous pink silk bow wrapped around it.

Only the happier she was in life, the further there was to fall. Why would she risk the pain of going from a sublime life with Ares, and then to the possibility of losing him? Of him falling out of love with her. Of him realizing she wasn't worthy of him.

Her mouth went dry, a classic panic response, and she was shaking her head then, quickly, as if to clear the fantasy of the vision he was painting.

"I don't want those things," she said, though it wasn't precisely true, it was easier to explain it that way. "I never will."

Silence crackled between them and his eyes were unreadable, even when they were awash with emotion.

"So, we would have to take measures to keep it private—whilst acknowledging there's a risk we wouldn't succeed. And it would make sense to put a time limit on things, to avoid differing expectations."

It all sounded so safe. Just the kind of relationship she would usually negotiate. Pragmatic and reasonable, with a locked-in end-date. Only nothing was safe about Ares. No matter how many guardrails they put in place, he was unlike anyone she'd ever met.

What were the chances that he might fall in love with her? That he might actually care for her, as she was afraid she was starting to care for him? Unlike Sofia, Ares was on the rebound. He'd loved Louisa. Had been planning to marry her. And now, only a couple of months later, Sofia had appeared, and they'd fallen into an intense, satisfying relationship, but how much of this, for Ares, was just about forgetting Louisa? Maybe his intensity was just a sort of romantic redemption, and nothing more?

Whereas for Sofia, he was… everything.

The sentiment had her heart stammering almost to a stop.

She had to run away—fast. He was quicksand, just as she'd thought already, and she wasn't going to be trapped.

"I'm flattered," she said, a little unevenly, when she trusted her voice to speak. "But it wouldn't work for me. I'm going to leave today, as planned, and then move on with my life."

Please don't argue. If he argued, she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to stay strong for.

"Move on with your life," he repeated, frowning, the words a little sharp. "And what exactly does that look like?"

"It means working out what I want to do for work, for one thing. I graduated with a few great offers, which I turned down for the Santoro position."

"And friends? Love?"

Her blood turned cold at the slight sneer in his voice.

"Don't do this," she warned quietly. "I know this isn't what you want, but don't fight with me for the sake of it."

His lips parted in obvious surprise and his eyes widened. "I don't want to fight with you, but I don't want you to go yet."

"I know. But staying is too hard."

"Harder than leaving will be?"

"Don't you get it? I'll always have to leave, at some point. I'd rather do it on my own terms, when I'm ready." Not when you decide for me to leave. Not when you no longer want me.

He stared at her with those intelligent, assessing eyes and then a moment later, nodded curtly. "Okay. Forget I brought this up."

She nodded, but there was no way Sofia would forget anything about her time with Ares, including the way he casually, yet easily, almost proposed marriage.

Sofia and Salvatore spent the day on site, in what would have been a pleasant analysis of the project, if it weren't for the fact Sofia was utterly distracted—and deep down, distraught—by the conversation she'd had with Ares that morning. Possibilities played like a kaleidoscope in her brain. Her future felt like some kind of Rubik's Cube, that she was twisting and turning but knew she'd never succeed in lining up so the colours worked. That just wasn't her lot in life.

The day went from bad to worse, with the arrival on site of the Valentino delegation, led by a woman she vaguely remembered seeing in magazines. Emme?

After an awkward period of pretending to ignore each other, the Valentino woman broke the stand-off first, walking over with panache in sky-high heels, her silky brown hair secured in a neat ponytail.

"You must be the Santoros," she said, looking at Sofia first, then Salvatore, whom her eyes clung to a little longer than necessary. Hardly any wonder. Salvatore was a classic Santoro—tall, dark, handsome, chiseled face, honed body, and that God-given confidence, as though he was in command of the entire earth.

"I'm not," Sofia volunteered, stepping forward and extending her hand. "Sofia Marone."

"But you're as good as," Salvatore was right behind her, extending his hand next. "Salvatore."

"Salvatore," she repeated, frowning a little. "I'm Emilia. Emme." She cleared her throat and pulled her hand away, then turned towards the coastline. "It's an incredible position, isn't it?"

"Yes," Salvatore murmured. "I'm going to enjoy overseeing the development of it."

Emme's lips lifted into a grudging half-smile. "You're a little cocky, aren't you?"

Sofia took a few steps away from them, not interested in their professional sparring. She didn't have the energy for it. Besides, it was pointless to grandstand at this stage. Ares hadn't made up his mind, and Sofia had no clue which way he'd go. She knew only that he wouldn't allow their personal relationship to influence him, one way or the other. Which was a good thing, because he may well have decided that their relationship excluded them from the job.

No, this choice had to be about the merits of the tender proposals, and nothing more. She kept walking, towards the ocean, leaving Emilia Valentino and Salvatore Santoro no doubt sniping at one another in the distance. And if they thought her behaviour was strange, she didn't much care about that either.

She didn't care about anything. Inside, Sofia was numb, and she was glad. Numb was protective. Numb was safe. Numb would see her through the next few hours, and onto the plane home. Numb was her friend.

Until it wasn't.

Because, when it came time to leave Moricosia, and Ares hadn't found an opportunity to see her again, it slammed into Sofia that this really was the very final end to what they'd shared. She wanted to go back in time and change everything about how she'd handled their conversation that morning.

She should have agreed to stay. Even just for one more night. What if she went to him now and proposed it?

And then what? Did she really think this would feel any easier in the morning? Of course it wouldn't. With each moment, each kiss, each touch, each night that passed, it would get harder and harder to leave him. More time with Ares was not the answer to this—she just had to go.

But emotions were deluging her as she waited for their car to come to the private forecourt of the palace and for the first time in her adult life, Sofia didn't know how to control her feelings. Usually, it was almost effortless. She put up a wall and arranged her features into a mask of bland disinterest, no matter how her heart was breaking. No matter how she was feeling.

As she stood in the palace forecourt, with Salvatore at her side, she was blessedly grateful for the fact that at least Salvatore hadn't seemed to notice. Usually attentive to a fault, he was engrossed in an email on his phone, so didn't see the way her lower lip quivered, or the pale colour of her skin.

Their car drew up and she sucked in an uneven breath. This was it, then. She subtly glanced back at the palace, her heart feeling as though it were beating right at the base of her throat.

"Okay, then." Salvatore slipped his phone decisively into his pocket, then frowned at the car. "Let's go."

Sofia's feet wouldn't move though. There was no reason for her to stay in Moricosia, and yet she didn't want to leave.

The crunching of the gravel came as a distant sound at first, one she was hardly aware of, until it grew loud enough and seemed to be right behind them. And it was. "I'm glad I caught you."

Ares's voice, deep and so familiar, made Sofia's blood gush, wrapped around them.

"Ares," Salvatore smiled at his old friend, whose eyes showed a hint of strain. Did Salvatore notice it? Or was that only visible to Sofia, who now knew this man so much better than she did anyone else on earth? "I didn't think we'd see you. Your secretary said you were in meetings all day."

"I was, but I intended to at least say goodbye, and to thank you for coming. I appreciate your work on this."

"We appreciate the opportunity," Salvatore corrected, looking at Sofia and waiting for her to say something, to back him up, but all she could do was stare. Her voice, she feared, wouldn't cooperate if she tried to use it. So, she kept her lips clamped together and her hands firmly by her sides.

Ares nodded, his gaze flicking to Sofia's and lingering there, so she wanted, more than anything, to click her fingers and go back in time. To be back in the forest, with just the two of them.

"I enjoyed hiking with you," he said, his voice only slightly different. But she heard it. The emotion. The ambivalence. The weight of words he wasn't speaking, because Salvatore was there, with no idea what had happened between them.

She nodded. Damn her voice.

"So did Sofia," Salvatore interjected, frowning. "Didn't you, Sof?"

She nodded again.

"If you are ever in Moricosia, I can arrange for another trip."

Her heart stammered, but she knew she couldn't come back. "Thank you," she said, hoarsely. "I'll keep that in mind."

"And we'll catch up soon," Salvatore said, pushing his hand forward to shake. Ares looked down, almost confused, then reached for it, but his eyes flicked to Sofia, and his frown grew.

It was the work of an instant to drop Salvatore's hand and then reach for Sofia's, and even when she knew touching him was the last thing she should do, she put her smaller hand in his and let her whole body absorb the energy of that touch, the electricity of their contact, until she could hardly stand up anymore. It was two seconds, if that, but it was enough to make Sofia want to cry. She took a hurried step backwards, towards the car. The driver had stepped out and was standing with the rear passenger door open. Sofia quickly got in and stared straight ahead, a lump forming in her throat she couldn't get rid of.

Salvatore joined her on the other side and looked at her, but the moment they were both in the car, she turned to Ares and stared at him. He stared back. Every cell in her body was screaming at her to stop the car, to get out, to run at Ares and wrap her arms around him, and kiss him here in full view of everybody, to hell with their agreement to keep this secret. To hell with her fears. What would her life be like if she didn't overthink everything? If she was capable of just throwing herself into a situation and letting it play out?

But she knew the awful wrenching feeling of heartbreak and hurt and she wouldn't willingly expose herself to that again. It already hurt like the devil, after just one week. What would it be like to leave him after a month? Two months? Six?

He moved his hand slightly. A wave? Or something else. Their eyes clung even as the engine started, but then the driver began to pull the car forward, away from the palace, and a single tear rolled down Sofia's cheek. She didn't dash it away; that would attract more attention. Instead, she kept her face averted, as another tear fell, and then another.

She was grateful beyond words that Salvatore was once again absorbed by something on his phone, and didn't seem to notice.

"You understand how grateful I am for the opportunity," she heard herself say, as if from a long way away. Everything had been like that since coming back from Moricosia three weeks earlier. Sofia felt as though she were going through life with noise cancelling headphones on—she could see what was happening around her, but almost through a fog.

Dante Santoro leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "But it's not for you?"

Sofia swallowed, pleating her skirt distractedly. Outside, the London sky was a lead grey, and rain threatened. She thought of the light in Moricosia, as she often did, and her heart gave a twisty little pang.

"I want to find my own way," she said.

Dante sighed. "I thought you'd feel that way."

She glanced at him. "You did?"

"You're always fighting this," he shrugged. "You're like a little sister to all of us, but you don't want to accept that."

"It's not that," she lied, because it was precisely the problem.

"It's okay." He stood up, striding across his office to pour a glass of water. He brought it back to her and she took it, if only to have something to do with her hands. "We'll support you no matter what." No matter what. "And your job will always be here."

She sipped the water, more damned tears threatening to clog her throat. She'd cried so much in the past three weeks; she couldn't believe there were any tears left inside of her.

She placed the water glass on the edge of Dante's desk and stood, turning to face him. "Thank you." She couldn't quite meet his eyes though.

"Sof, is something going on?"

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. For a brief moment, she imagined confiding in Dante. She imagined opening up to him, telling him everything. But they'd agreed to keep this secret. And even when she trusted Dante Santoro completely, she still knew she couldn't betray Ares's confidence.

"No."

"You're sure? You've been different, these last few weeks."

"I'm fine," she lied again, even attempting a smile. "I don't want to take up any more of your time."

He stared at her with trademark Dante Santoro intensity before nodding once. "Fine. You're coming on the weekend?"

It was a Santoro family catch up weekend. They'd all be there, and there was much excitement to spend more time with Rocco's girlfriend, Maddie, who was, by all accounts, a wonderful addition to the family. Because that's what the Santoros did. They gathered people together, loving them all fiercely, loving them until whatever wounds they might have had healed over. Loving them as if they had an inexhaustible supply of the stuff.

Why couldn't Sofia's wounds heal? Why couldn't she be like everyone else?

"Sof?" Dante's voice was sharp. He was clearly recognizing that Sofia was not in a good place. And she wasn't. The idea of a big Santoro weekend filled her with dread. Though they might be her favourite people in the world, and the villa her favourite place, she couldn't possibly fool them all into thinking she was fine, when the wheels were coming off so spectacularly.

"I'm…I'll try."

He crossed his arms over his chest and watched as she left his office, but Sofia suspected she hadn't heard the last of it.

And she was right.

Not ten minutes later, her phone pinged with a text from Portia—Dante's long-time assistant who was now married to Dante's younger brother Marco. "What do you think Gianni will ‘delight us with' this weekend?" She included several pizza emoji. It was a long running joke between them that Gianni Santoro would always make the strangest pizza toppings, convinced he was about to discover ‘the next big thing'. Most people took up something like golf, or cards, in their retirement, but not the Santoro patriarch. Leave it to him to decide anchovies and marshmallow were going to set the world on fire.

Despite herself, Sofia's lips twisted with a smile. She stepped into the back of her car whilst tapping out a reply.

"Maybe wood smoked mushrooms and peanut butter?"

Portia sent back a little green face emoji. Sofia slipped her phone into her bag and stared resolutely out of the window as the car moved into traffic, pulling her away from the Santoro building and towards the sanctity of her little Chelsea home.

Sofia didn't know how long she lay in bed for, nor how many times her phone had pinged with messages and missed calls. All she knew was that she was wallowing in grief. Not because it felt good, but because it was the only way she knew how to process the ache deep in her soul.

She closed her eyes and saw Ares, and wished upon every star in the darkened sky, that she could reach out and touch him, one last time.

You could have, a voice reminded her. If she was grieving, it was a grief of her own making, because Ares had offered for her to stay. Had asked her to. Had damned near suggested they get married.

She could have had everything she'd wanted, if she'd been brave enough to reach for it. Brave enough to accept the risks that came with it. But she hadn't. She'd run away, and somewhere in her mind, Sofia still believed that to be the right decision, even though she temporarily felt as though she'd monumentally messed up.

Sometime near midnight, she got up to brush her teeth and finally looked at her phone.

A veritable roll call of Santoro messages—Marco, Portia again, Dante— just checking in. I'm here if you want to talk about anything. Dante's wife Georgia, with some adorable baby photos, that made Sofia's heart clutch. Raf, asking if she wanted his opera tickets next month. Marcia's not feeling well, we won't be able to make it. Sofia ground her teeth at that. Marcia, Raf's recently married wife, was not Sofia's favourite person. And yet, they all accepted her, because Raf, for whatever reason, loved her, and so they did too. It was in the contract, basically. There was also a message from Salvatore.

She clicked into it. "Did you see this?"

She frowned as she loaded up the screenshot he'd attached, so that it filled her whole screen. It was taken from an article, and the headline alone had her reaching for the bed, to sit down before her legs gave way.

King of Hearts? There was a photo of Ares with, unmistakably, Louisa. She read the accompanying text with a sense of ice in her veins.

King Ares of Moricosia jetted into Sydney for a whirlwind evening to wine and dine his former partner. The pair was spotted having dinner at the exclusive Moretti restaurant, late into the…

The article—or rather—the screenshot, stopped there.

Sofia stared at her phone, stared at the picture, until her screen went dark and she had to tap it again to light it up. She burned holes in the photo, because here she had proof that Ares was moving on with his life.

He hadn't loved her.

He had liked her. He'd liked sleeping with her. He'd wanted her to stay. But she'd turned him down, taking her heartbreak out of the country, and he'd decided to try to win back Louisa.

Because he still loved her, just as Sofia had believed all along. Because they had a long history, and he'd planned to marry her.

She made a sound that was barely human and fell back on the bed, and this time, she didn't cry. She was too overcome for that. She simply sobbed dry, wrenching sobs, clutching her arms over her chest, as if that simple act could hold the pieces of her heart together.