Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

T HE MORE HE SPOKE ABOUT the development, the more determined Sofia became to win the work, and the more convinced she was that the Santoros were the best people for the job. Convincing Ares was another matter.

"It will be a process," he said after they'd had a short break for lunch and had resumed their trek—a steady incline now, up a narrow path, meaning they had to walk single file. She followed after him, so he could keep an eye out for any rock slippage on the path.

"What kind of process?"

He tossed her an exasperated look, though it was tinged with mocking humour. "You seriously don't give up, do you?"

"I thought you liked that about me."

He turned away from her again, pushing a palm frond out of the way and holding it until Sofia had passed. It brought her delightfully close to his body and she took advantage of the fact to inhale deeply as she brushed by him, absorbing his fragrance and warmth.

"I do. Tenacity is always a good trait. But I come out here to escape the responsibilities of the palace for a while, not to be reminded of them."

She considered that, with a not inconsiderable amount of guilt. "Can you ever really escape?" she asked, thoughtfully.

"No."

"But you still try?"

He was quiet for a moment, and then, "I misspoke. It's not about escape, it's about—resetting. Sometimes, you lose perspective in the palace, and getting out here, into my own head, lets me remember what I want to focus on. What's important. What I can change, what I can't."

A very healthy mindset to have, she thought. And here she was, using up his free time for her own advantage. "I'm sorry I invaded your escape."

"I invited Salvatore," he reminded her. "It was already going to be a different kind of trip."

"Hmm." That did very little to alleviate her sudden onset of guilt. "Still…"

"I allowed you to come."

"You were too polite to refuse."

He laughed then, a gruff sound. "Or, perhaps I didn't really want to refuse?"

She hoped that was partly true.

"You're actually a welcome distraction."

Her heart lifted a little. "Yeah?"

He made a noise of agreement.

"Distraction from what?" The second she asked the question, she knew she wouldn't want to hear the answer.

He held another tree branch out of the way and as she walked close to him, their eyes met and held for a moment, and she felt the truth of the confession that was coming.

"Your breakup?" She preempted, careful to keep her tone neutral.

He dragged a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't be flirting with you."

"Is that what you've been doing?"

"I think what I've been doing is actually way less appropriate than simply flirting. Sofia—I don't want to lead you on."

She felt her breath leave her body. His honesty was refreshing, and confounding. "I don't think you are."

His lips pulled to one side. "I'm really not in a place to get involved with anyone…"

She nodded slowly. "I get that."

"I mean, Louisa and I just broke up."

"I know."

"And you're great, but?—,"

She pulled her ponytail over one shoulder. "I'm basically a Santoro."

"Right."

"Ares—I'm not looking for a relationship either."

His brow furrowed at that. "No?"

She shook her head. "I'm just looking to seduce you into giving us the contract." She batted her lashes to make it clear she was joking. He tilted his head back in a small gesture of amusement.

"Seriously, I wasn't expecting…I mean, there's obviously something here," she said with a grimace. "But it doesn't have to be a big deal. I'm here to work, primarily. Salvatore and I will be leaving the country at the end of the week, and other than a professional relationship when you award us the project, you and I don't have to have anything to do with one another."

He reached out and caught a clump of blonde hair, tucking it behind her ear slowly, so his fingertips brushed across her skin and lingered there. "You're very pragmatic about this stuff."

"Yep." There was no point denying it; she'd learned to be this way. She was glad she was this way.

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know why I'm being so practical about this, but why are you?"

No one had ever asked her that before. In fact, no one had ever perceived it. In her experience, most of the men she ‘dated' were relieved that she was so non-committal. Sofia was no-strings, up for a good time, not a long time, and that tended to suit everyone, in her experience.

She shrugged. "It's just how I am."

He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push for more of an answer. Instead, he turned back to the situation between them. "I need to be very clear with you. I would hate to hurt you…"

"You won't." She spoke with the blinding confidence of someone who was utterly averse to the idea of relationships. "I promise."

"Because my breakup was somewhat complicated, and I'm not in the headspace to be anything to anyone right now."

"You have to be someone to lots of people, all the time," she pointed out. "And I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not expecting anything of you."

"I mean, I'm pretty sure I would just be on the rebound."

"Clearly."

He nodded, once, and she wondered what that meant. "Not," he said slowly, his voice a deep rumble, "that anything's going to happen between us."

They both knew that was a bad bet. "But if it does," she continued, lifting her hand to his face and swiping his cheek with her thumb, towards his lips. "We'd both know where we stand."

His nostrils flared as he exhaled and they stood there for a long moment, just looking at each other, their words like a pledge that took its time to weave around them and form a sort of temporary, but unbreakable, bond.

From the minute they'd made that agreement, all Sofia could think about was the night ahead. Excitement and anticipation built like a wave inside of her, throb, throb, throb, in, and out, a tide that was massing and growing and making her ache for something that she knew to be stupid and reckless. Less so now, though.

He was, as he'd said, on the rebound. He was probably still in love with his ex, but even that was strangely reassuring, because Sofia didn't want love. After years of waiting for it from the one person who mattered most—and being denied—she had walled off her heart, and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the safest course of action was to stay that way for good. Hence, she had a history of meaningless, physical relationships—not a lot, but enough to know that it was her preferred modus operandi.

And anything like a real relationship with a King would be totally impossible. Dating someone like Ares would come with so many strings that just the idea of it made Sofia want to run a mile. He couldn't just mess around with someone, having fun when it suited them. He was expected to marry and make royal babies. She was aware of the fever pitch of speculation around his relationship with Louisa and personally hated anything like the idea of that kind of attention. Or pressure. Talk about being damned with high expectations.

But they were in the middle of nowhere together, sharing a tent, and what happened out here, in the forest, surely could stay out here in the forest? It was in both their interests to be discreet. But they were two consenting adults, and none of the reasons for resisting this chemistry seemed to outweigh the pressure of that chemistry.

The Santoros would know better than to get involved in her dating life, for a start. As much as she adored them and would hate for them to be disappointed in—or worried about—her, that wasn't a reason to downplay her chemistry with Ares. As for the fact he was on the rebound, and a King, both were true. But for a short-term, physical fling, so what?

She didn't mind being rebounded to. Hell, she knew it had happened at least once before. She'd slept with a guy whose heart had been trampled six months earlier, and it hadn't mattered to her that he was still hung up on the woman from his past—because Sofia had only been interested in those few nights, spread over about a month. It had been casual, flirty, and fun. Just the kind of thing she liked.

These thoughts and rationalisations chased themselves through her head all day, so when they reached the peak of the summit, she barely even noticed. Her mind was abuzz.

"Well?" Ares's deep voice broke through her concentration. She turned to look at him and her heart skipped a beat. In the palace, he'd been AI levels of perfection, but out here, he was so much more rugged and wild. So untamed and…beastly beautiful. She swallowed; her mouth suddenly desert dry. "What do you think?"

It took her a few seconds to drag her gaze away from him, and take in the panoramic view, but when she did, she let out a sound of surprise. For the forest had cleared up here, allowing a spectacular view back towards the city, and beyond it, to the ocean. The sun was setting, though it was still light enough to make out some of the details of the city buildings, such as the ornate palace, and the world-famous library—a relic from the renaissance, and one of the largest collections of ancient books in the world.

"It's…beautiful," she said, aware of how insufficient that word was. "Truly breathtaking."

"It helps keep things in perspective," he said with a lift of one shoulder. "This is my country. My people." He breathed in deeply. "This is my purpose in life."

He spoke as if the words were dredged from deep within his soul and for a moment, she envied him that sense of purpose and self. Having been cast adrift as a nine-year-old girl, Sofia had been left to fill in the blanks for such a long time, she often felt rudderless. Had it not been for the Santoros, she would have been utterly at sea.

"Did it help you?" she asked, taking a step closer to him, on the edge of the clearing.

He angled his face towards her. "Did what help me?"

"When they died," she said, the words a little uneven, because it was such a deeply personal question to be asking—and yet it didn't feel wrong. "Did it help to have a reason to keep going?"

"I had four reasons," he said, the words flattened of emotion, and yet she felt it coming off him in waves. "My three younger siblings, and my crown."

"That's a lot of weight for a fifteen-year-old to bear."

"Yes."

"Did you have help?"

His smile was grim. "More than I wanted, most days."

She turned back to the view and sighed a little. "I'm glad. Better to have too much help than not enough."

He was silent; however it was not the sort of silence that indicated the end of a conversation, but rather, a silence that spoke of curiosity, and despite the fact Sofia was usually very guarded with what she revealed regarding her childhood, she found herself confessing, "When my father died, my mother kind of ghosted me. She didn't cope. Not with the loss of him, or with…how I was. I don't know what I would have done without the Santoros," she admitted.

"They were there for you?"

"Yes. As much as they could be."

"What does that mean?"

"I went to boarding school," she said, lifting her shoulder. "So, mum could process everything."

"And what about you? How did you process it, in the company of strangers?"

She winced, even though his anger was justified. As an adult, she couldn't help but feel outraged by her mother's decisions.

"The first term break, I went back home, but it was a nightmare—for both of us. The next holidays were over Christmas time, and we usually spent that with the Santoros. My mother declined to travel there, but she offered for me to go without her. I jumped at the chance. I never criticised her to Maria and Gianni, but I suppose they worked things out anyway because after that, it was just a foregone conclusion that I'd spend my breaks with them. I felt like a bit of a celebrity, to be honest," she said with a wistful smile. "On the last day of school, Dante would usually turn up, all suave and handsome in a very fancy car, and drive me off to their private jet. I mean, talk about grandiose."

He was smiling when he looked at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Those were solemn, and sympathetic. Qualities she loathed. "Anyway, that's all ancient history now."

"How are things between you and your mother now?"

Sofia lifted her shoulders. "She's fine."

"That's not what I asked."

She glanced up at him and shrugged. She didn't want to answer—she didn't know how to answer. The truth was, it wasn't a question anyone had asked, because Sofia usually put walls up all over the place, making it clear that she wouldn't be drawn on the matter. But this was different. And yet it wasn't.

"What's that building over there?" She pointed towards a large grey shape near the coastline.

There was a brief pause, in which she imagined him weighing up whether to allow the conversation change or not, and then he answered, "It's a naval office."

"Uh huh," she said and pointed to another. "And that one?"

For the next few minutes, he went over the cityscape, describing each of the more notable buildings, and providing a little information about their history, before he took note of the setting sun and stepped away from Sofia. "I'd better set up the tent while there's still enough light."

"Can I help?" She asked.

He shook his head. "It won't take long."

As with the night before, he worked quickly, and the whole thing was ready within around ten minutes. "There are facilities over that way—slightly nicer than last night's. There's even a shower, of sorts."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, the hot water takes around five minutes to get going, so I usually shower cold, but otherwise, it's functional."

"Perfect," she grinned. "Do you mind if I—?" She gestured towards it, thinking how nice it would be to freshen up before the night ahead. A night spent with Ares, in their shared sleeping bag scenario, if she had her way. And this time, they might find other ways to warm up…

"Go right ahead."

"I'll try not to use all the hot water," she promised.

"I'm used to cold showers," he assured her and then laughed. "That's not what I meant."

Her only response was to throw a slow smile over her shoulder before she headed off, backpack in place, towards the amenities hut.

Great. All he could think of, as he set about making a small campfire and placing a pot on it, was the fact that not one hundred metres away, Sofia was showering. Naked. Possibly lathering frothy, soapy bubbles all over her skin, while he sat like some kind of Neolithic.

When what he really wanted to be doing was pushing open the door to the cabin and striding inside, pushing her against the wall and kissing her senseless. Separating her naked legs with one of his own, feeling her press down on him out of an urgent, unavoidable need, and then making love to her until he forgot his kingdom, his people, his ex, his obligations, his whole life. He wanted to bury himself in Sofia until he forgot everything but the bliss of that moment: and he knew, without any hint of doubt, that it would be blissful.

But then what?

Then what?

It was a question Ares had asked himself at least a billion times in his lifetime. Unlike most men, he couldn't simply act without thought. He couldn't let situations play out and see where they went. He couldn't ‘roll with it'. Ares had to plan. To think through his actions, the consequences, the optics. He had to imagine the political ramifications, the publicity, the impact that might arise from any decision he took.

And frankly, he was tired of it. He was tired of overthinking everything, of having a team weigh in on his choices, advising him over every aspect. He was tired of that same team negotiating, amongst themselves, what he might wear for any given event— what message would a blue tie send, though? Wouldn't red be bolder?

From birth, Ares had been a person of action. Until he was fifteen, and his whole world had dramatically changed, he did exactly as he wished, when he wished. He had been only the ‘spare', the backup to his older brother's likely inheritance of the throne. And he had been bold and confident.

He was still confident, and where it mattered, he was bold, but he was also respectful, careful to listen to his advisors and always, to imagine what his parents might have done to guide him in his decisions.

But with Sofia, he simply wanted to act, not think.

He was tired of thinking, of overthinking, of analysing, and letting chances pass him by. This would be their second—and second to last—night here. The opportunities were dwindling. Was he really going to ignore what was right in front of him, and keep being the classic good boy?

As if to answer his unspoken question, the fire flickered to life, a flame licking tantalisingly close to his finger, reminding him that he was, indeed, playing with fire. But Ares wasn't sure he cared at all about getting burned…