She stood there, shoes in hand as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting up. Damn him. This was not the way she needed to face the most intimidating night of her life. Off balance and suddenly unsure of everything.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SOFÍA HAD ATTENDED a seemingly endless amount of events in New York to promote her business to the fashionable women who frequented them. Hospital fund-raisers, art galas, gallery openings, society events, all at stunning venues with the crème de la crème of society in attendance. But not one of those occasions could have prepared her for the near frenetic energy that surrounded the palace as car after car of dignitaries and upper-crust Akathinians arrived under the furious shutters of the paparazzi cameras.
Lit this evening in the gold and blue national colors of Akathinia, the palace looked straight out of a fairy tale with its square turrets and gold-accented glory. Sofi´a and Nik stood at the center of it all at the head of the receiving line with Nik’s family, Sofi´a in a bloodred gown by her favorite Italian designer and Nik in ceremonial military dress that made him look lethally handsome.
Her mother and her fiancé, Benetio, already inside, Sofi´a turned a smile on the King and Queen of Sweden, her lips feeling as if they were painted on by this point. “So lovely to meet you,” she murmured to the queen.
On and on it went, for another thirty minutes, names and faces blurring into one another. Ambassadors, European royalty, upper-crust Akathinians and the filthy rich who spent their life moving from one party to the next.
She lifted her head to offer one of the final arrivals a smile. Almost done. And lost it immediately. Stunning in an ice-blue gown, the simplicity of which only enhanced her elegant, reed-thin figure, Sofi´a would have recognized the countess anywhere. She was so perfect she almost didn’t look real with her coiffed, ethereal beauty.
Her own defiant choice of red suddenly screamed overdone.
“Countess,” she murmured, inclining her head.
The countess’s gaze slid over her in the same unabashed study as Sofi´a had given her. Sofi´a stood, back ramrod straight, head tossed back under the scrutiny.
“What a...sensational choice of dress,” the countess finally responded, leaning forward to blow air-kisses to both of Sofi´a’s cheeks. “It makes quite a statement. Congratulations to you and Nikandros.”
Sofi´a drew back. The scarlet woman, she might as well have said. Nik’s pregnant lover who’d reeled him in. She could just imagine all the labels running through the countess’s head.
Frosty Maurizio and the rest of the Agieros were next, then the American ambassador to Akathinia, who, at least, finished off the endless precession on a pleasant note.
Nik curved his fingers around hers. “Now you can relax.”
Relax? Was that a joke?
The paparazzi chanted their names from the bottom of the steps, the refrain growing louder with every second. Nik tugged on her hand to turn her around. “They’ve been patient,” he said, “let’s give them a good shot.”
She didn’t have a smile left in her as they walked down the steps toward the crowd of photographers. Not a single one. Nik slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “You’re stiff as a board,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re supposed to be in love with me. Fairy-tale engagement and all that.”
She pasted one last fake smile on her face. “I’m a terrible actor.”
“Then don’t act.” He turned her toward him, his fingers curving around her jaw as he brought his mouth down on hers in a hard, possessive kiss. No avenue of escape existed with camera flashbulbs exploding all around them, Nik’s less than PG-rated kiss passionate, demonstrative, demanding a response from her. Knocked completely off balance, Sofi´a curved her fingers around his lapel to steady herself.
The paparazzi loved it, catcalls and whistles filling the air as their flashes went mad. Sofi´a surrendered helplessly, for what else could she do, her lips clinging to Nik’s, her body poised on tiptoe as she absorbed the magic of what it was like to be kissed by him.
A dangerous occupation.
Nik lifted his mouth from hers, eyes glittering. “Much better.”
She fought for composure, heart pounding, lips stinging. “You have your reaction,” she came back tartly. “We’re needed inside.”
His low laughter taunted her. “That wasn’t even close to the reaction I’m looking for from you, Sofi´a. We save that for later.”