Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

S HE'D ALWAYS KNOWN THE Salvatores were a force to be reckoned with, but she'd never understood just how determined they could be, particularly when they teamed up.

"Look, he's worried about you," Portia said, apologetically, her cheeks a little pink. "We all are. If you don't just come to Italy and eat some pizza, sing some showtunes, they're all going to move into your place until you tell them what's going on. Believe me, I've heard them scheming," she said with a half-smile.

Sofia shook her head, staring at the other woman. In all of this, she'd barely thought about anyone but herself. Let alone the fact Portia was growing a human. "How are you ?" she asked, instead, gesturing for a seat.

"I'm fine. Unlike the last pregnancy, which totally kicked my arse, this time around, I actually think I might be one of those women who—okay, doesn't exactly glow—but at least doesn't need to carry around a bucket." She pulled a face. "Take it from me, baby making is not for the faint hearted."

"Warning heeded," Sofia said with a nod.

"So? Do you need help packing?"

Sofia shook her head. "I really can't go," she said. "It's too hard."

Portia nodded, as if this made perfect sense, and made her way into the kitchen. She began heating the kettle and putting tea bags in cups, and somewhere, from the very distant past, Sofia's mother's voice came to her. A cup of tea always helps.

"Georgia sends her love, by the way."

Sofia groaned. "You guys are making this hard."

"Good, that's kind of the point."

Sofia rolled her eyes, sitting on one of the kitchen stools and watching as Portia made them cups of tea then slid one across for Sofia.

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

Sofia bit into her lip. "I can't."

"Yes, you really can. Just give me a hint, and I'll draw the rest out of you." She wiggled her brows, but as tears formed on Sofia's lashes, Portia sobered. With good reason—no one had seen Sofia cry in a very long time. Not since she'd been a little girl, and her mother had made her feel that showing grief was a sure-fire way to lose her love.

Sofia sobbed and dropped her head forward. "I promised I wouldn't say anything. And so did he."

The only sound was the clink of Portia's teacup against the counter, after she'd taken a sip. "Okay. Well, so now we know a man is involved."

Sofia squeezed her eyes shut.

"And I'm guessing this happened around the time you went to Moricosia, because you were yourself before that trip, and definitely not afterwards. Salvatore said you barely spoke two words on the flight home, and almost got run over leaving the airport, because you were off with the fairies."

"Jeez, great to know I'm being spied on around the clock."

"It's out of love," Portia said, almost apologetically. "Moricosia," she tapped her finger to the side of her lips. "Let's start there, then. How was your trip?"

And Sofia began to cry loudly, shaking her head, because it was all building up inside of her, and each question from Portia was like the breaking of a dam wall, so she wasn't able to hold the water back.

Finally, the words tumbled out of her, all of them. How Salvatore had gotten sick and sent her hiking with Ares, and how it had been about business at first, but then it hadn't been, because there was just something about him, and they'd had so much fun together, and he was different to anything she'd expected. She told Portia how they'd sat up late at night, staring at the stars, talking as if they were old friends, or had known one another in a past life, and how he'd seemed to understand what she was thinking without her needing to say a word. She told Portia about the palace, and their dinner, and his offer that she stay longer, because neither had been ready to walk away.

"Why didn't you stay?"

"Self preservation," she said with a roll of her eyes and then a soft laugh, because it had felt cathartic to blurt everything out. She waved her hands at her own face. "Can't you see how well it's working?"

Portia's smile was sympathetic. "I'm serious. Why did you leave, when you so clearly wanted to be with him?"

"It wouldn't have worked. He's the King , Portia. He has obligations, expectations. He has to marry, and probably someone like Louisa." She groaned. "And he's back together with her anyway," she said, reaching for her phone and loading up the picture. Portia read it with a grim frown on her face, then passed it back.

"Not necessarily," but there was ambivalence in her tone. The photo showed the one-time couple leaning closer together— clearly on intimate terms. Sofia couldn't think of that without a wave of nausea flooding her.

"It's okay. It was only a holiday fling. My…heart just didn't get the memo, that's all."

Because wasn't that the truth of it? She'd fallen in love with him, despite the fact they'd been so clear that it was a temporary, meaningless fling.

"It sounds like his heart didn't either," Portia said.

"He's back with her now. It's over."

Portia's lips pulled to the side. "And if he wasn't with her?"

Sofia's eyes widened but she shook her head again. "It wouldn't make any difference. It was never going to work long term. We're from different worlds."

Portia came around the counter and put a hand on Sofia's shoulder. "No, you're not. It sounds like you and he discovered you were from exactly the same planet . You found your other half. Why are you running away from that?"

Her lips parted.

"You don't understand," she insisted, trying to cling to all of the logical reasons that had seemed so important almost a month earlier. "He can't just date someone then break up again. His country needs him to get married."

"So, marry him," Portia laughed. "You're in love, right?"

Sofia's brows knit together. "You're making it sound so simple."

"When you love someone, it's exactly that."

"But what if—," What if he doesn't love me? Or, what if he loves me now and doesn't in a year?

Sofia shook her head, more than a decade's worth of pain hard to erase.

"What if everything works out perfectly, cara ? What if you get the kind of happiness you absolutely deserve?"

"But Louisa…"

"It's just a photo. You don't know the truth behind it. I wouldn't factor that into my decision making."

"But—,"

"If he's with her, then the worst-case scenario is he tells you that and you feel like crap. You already feel like that, so…what's the harm in going to him, and finding out how things stand? Tell him you made a huge mistake, and that you love him, and want to spend the rest of your life with him."

Sofia squeezed her eyes shut. "You make it sound easy."

"It's not easy," she said softly. "I remember this feeling. But I'm also so, so glad that Marco was brave enough to wake up and realise how he felt, and that he made sure I knew it. Because this feeling, this happiness…there's nothing like it, my love."

And for a moment, just a single moment, with her fairy godmother Portia right there, Sofia allowed herself to imagine that she and Ares might have their own happy ending. To imagine that none of the reasons she'd walked away from him mattered after all. In her mind, he smiled at her, and she smiled at him, and all was good and right in the world.

Noise swirled around her. Familiar noise. Happy noise. Noises that made it easy for Sofia to stay on the sidelines, lost in her own thoughts, as she had been since Portia's visit.

Was Portia right?

Or was she speaking from the vantage point of a woman who'd gambled, and gotten lucky?

Then again, Portia had been engaged once before, and her fiancé had cheated on her. She'd been miserable then. She knew a bit about relationships, heartbreak, hurt. She also knew that when you found your other half, you did whatever you needed to be together.

But Ares wasn't just a man.

Even putting aside all of the ordinary considerations, as to how they both felt for one another, she had no idea how the whole ‘dating a King' thing would work. There'd be a huge amount of speculation, media invasion into her privacy, and as for standing on her own two feet with a normal job, forget about it. Her whole life would change, forever.

And even if they broke up, she'd still be a person of interest, catapulted onto the world's stage by whatever happened between her and Ares.

Then, there was the question of Louisa.

She'd thought he was on the rebound; what if he'd rebounded back to her?

Then you feel like crap.

Which she already did. So maybe Portia was right about that, too. Maybe the only solution here, to stop these thoughts going around and around and around in her mind, was to just take the risk.

"More pizza?" Maria asked, coming to sit beside Sofia, who forced a smile. It was a cool night, but the fire pit was ablaze, and the usual supply of blankets was available, so both Sofia and Maria had one wrapped around their shoulders.

Sofia shook her head. "I think I've had enough." Gianni had outdone himself tonight. In addition to the classic flavours they insisted on, he'd added a lamb, quince and orange pizza that had, initially, seemed fine, but which turned out to be just as unpalatable as every single one of his experiments in the past.

Maria's gaze fell on her large, happy family as she settled herself into the chair. Marco and Portia's baby was asleep on Marco's lap, his arm rested casually around Portia's shoulders. She looked close to sleep herself.

Georgia and Dante were standing close, his arms latched around her hips, as they talked softly about something that made them happy, going by the smiles on their faces. Inside, their son was sleeping contentedly in the nursery—an ever-expanding space, courtesy of the ever-expanding family.

"It's turning cold," Maria said, pulling her blanket more firmly.

Sofia nodded. "It's that time of year."

"Almost Christmas." The words were said softly, because Maria understood, more than anyone, what this time of year meant for Sofia.

It meant going home, facing her mother, and stepping back into all her worst nightmares.

"You don't have to go, cara. You can stay with us."

Maria always made that offer.

"It's okay. She expects it."

Maria's lips compressed with disapproval, but she stayed silent. She had always been careful not to badmouth Sofia's mother to Sofia, though God knew, she must have felt like it sometimes.

"You can go afterwards, in the New Year."

Sofia's heart thumped. Going home was the last thing she wanted to do, particularly given how she was feeling now. "I'll think about it," she said, though it seemed wrong to ignore her mother on such an important day. More wrong, though, than what her mother had put her through?

"We always miss you at Christmas," Maria said, reaching out and squeezing her knee. "Our family never feels whole when one of my children is absent."

Sofia's heart churned. Maria had made little comments like that, over the years, but Sofia had always brushed them off, seeing them as almost obligatory. But now, she heard the words, and they slammed their way inside of her, so she put an arm around Maria's shoulders in a spontaneous, genuine hug.

"Thank you."

"Oh," Maria was clearly surprised, because Sofia was usually so restrained with her emotions. "It's how I feel."

"I don't just mean for that, now. I mean for everything. Thank you for opening your home to me, your hearts, for making me a part of something so special. I know I don't always show…how I feel…but I'm grateful, and I love you too."

Maria did not have any difficulty expressing and accepting her emotions. Tears lit up her eyes as she stared at Sofia and then put her head on the younger woman's shoulder.

"It was never a choice, my darling. You belong with us, and always will."

And for probably the first time in her life, Sofia really, truly believed that.

They moved inside for the singing portion of the event, a baby monitor placed on the piano so they could hear if any of the children stirred, down the far end of the villa, and here Sofia sought the sidelines too. She was no longer so heavy hearted though. There was a sense of peace coming over her, an acceptance that this was her family after all. That she'd been fighting it for so long, because she'd been so scared that accepting their love meant she might lose it.

And as she contemplated this change, after all these years, she could think of only one reason to suddenly view them differently.

Ares.

He'd done this to her, too.

He'd opened her up and helped her understand that she could take this risk and survive.

He'd changed her. No matter what happened next, she'd always be grateful to him for that.

Gianni played the piano and Maria sung with a beautiful voice that would have been at home in any jazz bar in the world, and Sofia leaned back against the sofa cushions, eyes drifting shut as the familiar sounds surrounded her.

She woke not long after, to the sound of silence first—the piano stopped, the singing stopped, the talk stopped, and then loud exclamations. Happy sounds.

"Ares!"

"Mate!" Dante, from time to time, slipped into Georgia's Australian vernacular, courtesy of the time he spent with her, as well as her twin brothers.

"Your Highness." Maria bowed and then laughed, before hugging Ares to her chest.

"What are you doing here?"

Sofia stared across the room at them, a billion thoughts flooding her mind. It was only Portia who knew the significance of this, only Portia who understood, and she came to the sofa and sat beside Sofia, taking her hand and squeezing it for strength, and encouragement.

"I came to speak to Sofia," he said, eyes on her face, in a way that made her whole body lurch and tingle. "About a matter that cannot wait another moment."

Silence cloaked the room, as the Santoros all looked from Sofia to Ares and back again as, she was sure of it, comprehension dawned. Sofia's cheeks flushed pink. So much for secrecy.

"Sofia?" Ares's voice then was tortured. As if he thought she might refuse to go with him, and she realized that maybe she wasn't the only one who'd been living in agony this past month.

She stood a little unsteadily, moving towards him, then stopping.

If she touched him, she wouldn't be able to stop, and they really did need to talk.

"Let's go outside," she said, her voice sounding strange to her own ears. And little wonder. She felt as though she were having some kind of out of body experience.

"Outside," he repeated, nodding. "Good, yes, outside."

But neither of them moved. They both just stood there, staring at the other, as though they were seeing a human being for the first time.

"For God's sake, please go and talk," Dante grunted. "If that's going to fix whatever is going on with Sofia, then the sooner the better."

Sofia blinked, startled out of her state of mesmeric shock, by Dante's big-brother-esque remark. She rolled her eyes in his general direction, then, because she couldn't resist any longer, reached for Ares's hand and weaved her fingers with his. They both looked down at their hands and Sofia's heart thumped.

"Holy shit," Salvatore whistled. "How did I miss this?"

Sofia's eyes met Ares's, and she smiled, but she was still so uncertain. She just knew that this was right. Like their week in Moricosia, she didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but in this moment, if she suspended her natural state of doubt and worry, she could just be with him, and that was okay.

He strode onto the terrace, where the embers glowed gold in the large, round firepit, and led Sofia towards it, for warmth. He couldn't feel the cold himself. He couldn't feel anything but relief, because after the worst month of his life—and that was saying something—he was here, with Sofia. And she was holding his hand. Which wasn't exactly a declaration of love and commitment, but it was something, and right now, he'd take anything she'd give him.

"You wanted to talk?" She looked up at him with those wide-set green eyes, her features so delicate and fine, and indelibly burned into his brain.

He nodded once. "I should never have let you leave Moricosia."

Her brows shot up. "What was the alternative? To hold me hostage?"

"If necessary, yes," he replied, only half-joking.

"Ares," she sighed softly. "Why are you here?"

"Because I realized something, after you left. We talked around our feelings a lot, careful not to say or do anything that would complicate things, but looking back, I never told you the one thing I needed you to hear. I never told you that I loved you."

Her lips parted and he fought an urge to kiss her. There was still so much to say. "I didn't want you to," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear. "I didn't want you to love me, because in my mind, then you'd have given me something far too precious. Something that might go away again. I was terrified."

"I know." He padded his thumb over her cheek, then cupped her face with his hand. "I realized that, too. It let me hope, because if you didn't love me, too, why would you be so scared? If you didn't love me, you wouldn't care one way or another about how I felt. Right?"

Sofia stared up at him, uncertainty on her features. "I know it's scary. I get it. There are no guarantees; we both know that better than most people. We've lost people we've loved. We've known pain and uncertainty. And I'm standing here, underneath these stars, begging you to be fearless as I know you are, and do this with me, anyway. Knowing that there is no promise I can give you that will erase the uncertainty of life—except this one. No matter what, come what may, with my very last breath, I will live for you. I will love you. In every way that matters, I am yours, and always will be."

She groaned and swayed forward a little.

"You are the first woman who's ever made me feel like a man, not a King. And not just a man, but the very best of men. When I'm with you, I feel as though there is nothing I cannot do. You are my other half, and until I met you, I didn't even know I was missing that. Please come home with me, my darling."

"Home," she repeated, staring up at him, so everything hung in the balance. He needed her to agree. To say yes, of course she would, but the longer the silence stretched, the less certain he felt.

"You were with Louisa recently," she said, carefully. She didn't seem angry, but rather curious. Uncertain. She was giving him the space to explain.

He nodded once. "I thought she should hear it from me, first."

"Hear what?"

"About us. I knew I wanted to come to you, to ask you to come to Moricosia, not as my secret girlfriend, but as my fiancé, my future Queen. And I hoped, in every cell of my body, that you would agree. But either way, I knew I had to give Louisa the courtesy of explaining this to her, in person."

Sofia's eyes were wide. She stared up at him, without speaking, then shook her head slowly.

Fear gripped him. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," she sobbed, then wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him tight. "You said everything right. Everything. You are the kindest, most thoughtful, loving, good and wonderful man. No wonder I love you so damned much," and then she was sobbing against his chest, but tears of happiness, interspersed with laughter.

"I know nothing is going to be straight forward," he said, wrapping his arms around her and lifting her into the air. "There'll be media attention, a million protocols, a totally different life to what you probably envisaged…"

"But I'll be with you," she said quickly. "If I learned one thing over the last four weeks, it's that that's all I care about. You're my other half, too, Ares, and you always will be."

They kissed again, slowly, tentatively, almost as if it was their first kiss—which, in some ways, it was. For this was a kiss between a man and a woman who'd just agreed to spend the rest of their lives together and intended to make that life the happiest and the best it could possibly be. They both deserved that.