Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

A S THE SUN dipped lower in the sky, and Sofia sat at his side, wrapped in a blanket, but naked beneath, Ares couldn't help thinking how right everything seemed. He watched as she took a sip from the flask of whisky and passed it to him. He put the lid on without drinking, eyes shifting to their fire—a golden glow to match that of the sky.

"Will this cause scheduling difficulties for you?"

"My first day back was going to be taken up with the project."

"Ah. Well, we can use our time to talk about that tomorrow," she said, batting her eyelashes.

He laughed, but felt compelled to say, "Sofia, about that…"

Her lips curved in the hint of a smile. "Yes?"

"This can't affect my recommendation."

Her brows knitted together. "Recommendation? You mean you don't make the full decision?"

"I'll make a recommendation to the Prime Minister. She'll sign off on it."

"Is she likely to question your recommendation?"

"No."

"Okay. So, it is your decision."

He frowned. "If you put it like that..."

"It's okay," she said, nudging him with her shoulder and reaching for the flask he held. "I don't expect you to give us the job because of what's happened out here. I expect you to give us the job because we're the best company to turn your vision into a reality. The track record of the Santoros is proven, their industry credentials second to none."

His expression was lightly teasing and when she realized, she laughed, dropping her head. "You got me started," she said on a soft laugh.

"All roads lead to work for you, huh?"

"Definitely not all roads," she reminded him, kissing him softly, so he tasted whisky on her breath. She was so warm and close. His hand crept beneath the blanket—how could it not? —and brushed her naked side. Every part of him jerked to attention.

She pulled away, smiling up at him in a way that was beautiful and sincere, in a way that threatened some part of him he didn't know he had to protect, and then she sat back a little, her eyes on the flickering flames.

"I know that if you were to choose them, you'd be glad. It's not just a company, it's a way of life, and they all love you. No one will work harder to make your project a success than the Santoros."

"Tell me something."

"Something."

He laughed and genuinely felt that amusement inside his gut. " Touche."

"Sorry. Dad jokes are contagious."

"You're here pitching to me, but you talk about ‘them' doing the work. Why is that?"

She stared at him with visible surprise. "I—just mean, the company…"

"Are you not planning to be a part of the company?"

She opened her mouth to say something then shut it again. "Wow. You're good."

He arched a brow, waiting for her to continue.

"I haven't told them yet. They'll be devastated."

He frowned, considering that.

"It's always been a foregone conclusion that I'd work with them. They're very, very eager for me to know I'm one of them, even though I'm not. I mean, I'm really not. I have a different family, of my own. Okay, not much of a family, anymore, but I'm not a Santoro." She flushed, and her features now reflected guilt. "Which isn't to say…I'm so grateful to them for their support, and love. They've been so kind. But it's time for me to stand on my own two feet for a while." Her eyes softened as she spoke, and the cool exterior she tried so hard to keep locked in place slipped a little.

He was glad. He liked seeing this side of her. Vulnerable and real.

"What does that look like?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I graduated with first-class honors from a great university. I had several job offers, but I took up a spot at the company instead."

"Why? It sounds like you've held this opinion for a long time."

"What can I say? They're a persuasive bunch, and they lobbied me hard. I didn't want to seem ungrateful. Or to let them down."

Her gaze fell to the ground between them. He frowned, puzzling over that. There was something she was hinting at, but not saying. Something she meant beyond her words. "Because you were afraid they'd be angry?" No, that wasn't it. He couldn't see her fearing anyone's wrath. "Or you thought they might not feel the same about you if you turned down the opportunity?"

She looked up at him quickly, her tongue darting out to lick her lower lip, in a gesture almost like panic. That was it. She thought they might be so disappointed that they'd stop caring about her.

"I still want to be included in their lives," she said slowly, as if against her will. "I don't want that to change. At first, I thought I'd need to be a part of the business to make sure that was the case."

"And now?"

"I don't know." Her voice softened. "I hope I was wrong."

"They are not going to stop wanting you around just because you choose a different career."

"I know it sounds ridiculous."

It did. Particularly given that a moment ago she'd been extolling the Santoro family's virtues, and he knew those virtues included loyalty. Yet the fact she felt it was a possibility sparked more questions inside of him, questions they'd agreed not to ask and answer because it was too heavy for what they were. But the limitations of that were starting to frustrate him.

Nonetheless, he had to respect the rules they'd drawn up—they served them both, not just Sofia. He put an arm around her shoulders, instead of asking the questions he had, and drew her to him, pressing a soft kiss against the top of her head.

Whether it was a combination of the whisky, the walking, the number of orgasms she'd enjoyed (she suspected that was the reason), or the fresh air, Sofia had, indisputably, the best sleep of her life. Ever since the accident, she was plagued with that very specific memory. Usually, she woke at least once in the night and watched it all happening again, wondering if she could scream and stop it, wondering if she could run and slow things down. Wondering what she, at nine, might have been able to do to stop the car from hitting her father and sending his body flying through the air? It was an awful memory to have, awful for how vivid it remained, and how frequently it tormented her, but out here, in Ares's arms, it finally seemed to have loosened its grip a little.

She remembered putting her head on the inflatable pillow, closing her eyes, and then waking, nine hours later, to find herself alone in the tent.

Disappointment snaked through her as she sat up and looked around. She stood, reaching for the lightweight blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders, clasping it in the middle as she stepped out of the tent and searched for him. Perhaps he was using the facilities?

She picked her way towards the fire, smiling as she remembered the way they'd sat up late, talking about nothing in particular, flames casting them both in shades of gold and orange, and she sighed because she was actually enjoying herself.

Far from hating hiking, this was turning out to be some of the best times Sofia could remember having.

But was it the hiking, or the man she was hiking with?

Something stammered in her chest at the thought of that, at the thought of letting anyone become important to her. Mean something to her. Have the power to hurt her.

But wasn't that what was happening? Wasn't that the risk here? More so than with anyone else she'd been with, because then, it had been easy to walk away. Because of geography? Or because she'd never been with anyone who interested her enough to make her want to stay?

A movement caught her attention, and she glanced across to see Ares, walking from the woods.

He glanced across at her, their eyes met, and the sinking feeling in her stomach got worse.

"You're up," his voice, deep and gruff, rumbled through her body, sinking into her bones.

"Yep." Her voice sounded brittle. She forced a bright smile. "I slept like the dead."

"I'm glad. You must have needed it."

She nodded. He had no idea.

He came close, and her stomach twisted.

"Hungry?"

She nodded, but that wasn't why her stomach was getting tangled in knots. Something had shifted inside Sofia, and she wasn't sure she liked it. While she was enjoying herself here, she felt the pressing of danger, like a blade at her back, and she didn't know how to evade it.

They talked about Moricosia some more, while they ate, and Sofia was glad to be able to mostly listen as Ares dipped into the fascinating history and cultural richness of the country. Before long, her tension was dissipating, because he spoke in such a way that turned the past into a vivid story, playing out before her eyes. He pointed to buildings in the city, far beneath them, describing battles that had been staged there, or sieges, and then, an assassination of a King in the seventeenth century.

"And that's how my family came to the throne," he wiggled his brows and she smiled.

"Seriously?"

He dragged a hand over his jaw. "It's a long line."

"Wow." She blinked at him, trying to imagine what that must feel like, and then drawing a blank. "You're saying someone from your family has been a King of Moricosia for that long?"

He nodded. Sofia leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "How old are you, Your Highness?"

One corner of his mouth tilted upwards. "Twenty-eight."

She angled her head a little. "Do you feel pressure to get married and have little royal children of your own, to make sure the line isn't broken?"

"I have younger siblings," he pointed out, not answering the question.

Which was their deal, she reminded herself, trying to ignore the frustration curling inside her belly. And failing.

"Sure, but you wouldn't foist this on them."

He looked at her in surprise.

"Sorry," she clasped a hand over her mouth, then shook her head. "I know you see it as a great honour to rule, yada yada yada, but it's still an imposition, and a huge pressure, right? So, you wouldn't inflict that on a younger sibling unless it was unavoidable."

He clamped his lips together and a muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw as he seemed to be weighing up whether or not to answer. "No," he said, finally.

She expelled a breath.

"I'll be the one who carries on the line."

"By marrying and having children."

His eyes met hers and he nodded, once. A tight, curt nod.

She could understand why he was reluctant to get into this. Less than two months ago, he'd been dumped by the woman he probably had lined up for the job. The woman he'd loved, and seemingly still did.

A familiar sense of emptiness seemed to whip through Sofia, as she imagined Ares and the kind of woman he might have loved and chosen to marry.

She looked away, losing herself in the depths of the forest, glad for the hectic quantity of tree trunks she could focus on while trying to rally her thoughts and quell her racing heart.

"The problem is," he said, slowly. "I'm not sure I want to inflict that on anyone."

She whipped around to face him. "What?"

"Marrying into this," he gestured to the city, but she knew he meant his royalness. "It's a completely different lifestyle. The pressures, expectations, the sense that you no longer belong to yourself, but rather to every man, woman, child, and dog in the country." He smiled but it lacked humour. "Who'd want that?"

She furrowed her brow. "Isn't it some kind of girlish fantasy to grow up and become a princess?"

He made a thick sound, almost a laugh. "The fantasy isn't borne out by reality."

"Are you unhappy?"

He looked genuinely surprised.

"Me?"

She nodded.

"This is my life."

"It wasn't always, though."

"No."

She contemplated that. "What do you think you'd have done, were it not…"

"For the accident?" he asked, with a tone in his voice she perfectly understood. ‘Accident' was such a misnomer. When people you love died, and in awful, premature ways, it is a tragedy of inexplicable proportions. She felt that grief every day—not in a settled, dull ache kind of way, but like a still raw, festering wound.

Ares continued regardless of whether he felt that same way. "Believe it or not, I wanted this." His voice was gruff, and there was something in his eyes that showed shame. Guilt. She said nothing, aware that he was taking stock, before continuing.

"From when I was a very young boy, I used to follow my father around, always learning, listening, and before too long, weighing in on decisions." His smile was laced with self-mockery. "He was patient with me."

Something dried out her mouth, making it hard to speak. Her father had been like that too. Endlessly patient, kind, loving, and fun. She laughed so much in the first nine years of her life, and not a lot thereafter.

"What about your brother?" Sofia asked gently.

"Apollo was thirteen months older. I idolised him. I have no doubt that had he lived, he would have been an excellent King."

She nodded softly.

"But back then, as boys, we wanted to swap places so badly."

She arched a brow. "You wanted to be the heir?"

"And he wanted to go overseas, and live an anonymous life, where he could study his passions, like archaeology." He shook his head with a rush of emotion. "That's what they were doing, you know. My parents had taken him to Egypt—to show him that as King, he could still do and be whatever he wanted. They were on a scenic flight and their helicopter got caught in a freak sandstorm. It crashed; they died instantly, as well as the pilot."

She closed her eyes on a wave of sadness. She knew they'd died in a helicopter accident—it had been widely publicised at the time, and she'd heard the Santoros refer to it since—but just the small amounts of biographical information provided by Ares brought it all to life for her, made her see and feel and imagine that devastation.

"I had wanted to be King for almost as long as I can remember, but the moment I inherited the throne—Apollo's birthright—I wanted to run a mile. This is his throne, his crown, his country, his people."

There was such passionate anger in his words, all entirely self-directed, that Sofia couldn't help but reach out for him, putting a hand on his knee, stroking him there solicitously. "You lost so much that day, Ares. And you had the weight of the world thrown around your shoulders. It must have been an impossible time."

His eyes focused on hers. "I was glad to have something to distract me. The protocols surrounding my inheritance took up a lot of time."

"But when you were alone," she said, from experience, "you must have grieved like a normal boy, who'd lost some of the most important people in his life."

"I didn't have time to grieve. Nor the space. I had to take care of my younger siblings—they needed me."

"Everyone needed you," she said, putting her head on his shoulder. "But what about you? What did you need?"

"Part of being King, part of what I saw my dad do again and again, is doing what is right for others, always."

"That's not an answer."

"What I needed was irrelevant."

"I don't believe that."

Silence fell, except for the backdrop of the forest, which Sofia had now become completely familiar with. In fact, she was so used to the melodious bird songs and rustling leaves that she barely registered them now.

"We should start the hike," Ares said, reaching down to squeeze her hand before shifting it aside and standing. "Do you need long?"

He was walling her off, putting their conversation, and relationship, back in the box he was comfortable with. And she should have been glad because Sofia had always liked boxes and lines, boundaries and rules. She'd always seen them as a path to freedom. She could come and go as she pleased, so long as that was expected. But now, their boxes and boundaries had started to feel overly restrictive, so she had the strangest feeling that she couldn't breathe properly.

"Sofia?"

She blinked at him; a frown etched on her face. "Oh. No. Just…ten minutes or so."

"Great." His voice was bland, blank of emotion. "I'll pack up."

It was their last night. The next day, they'd return to the clearing and be collected by his security detail, and everything would change. Sofia couldn't decide if she was excited, or disappointed. Or both.

Because she desperately wanted to take things with Ares to the next level, with the added precaution of a condom, to be extra sure there wouldn't be any consequences.

But she was also reluctant to shed the freedom this hike had afforded him—and them. She'd loved getting to know him like this.

Except…had she really gotten to know him? On some level, yes, but in other ways, he remained a stranger. And that was something she'd just have to live with. Even the small parts of himself he'd been happy to share had been more compelling and addictive than any other man she'd known. Sofia suspected it would be many years before she'd forget her time in the forest with King Ares.