Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt

of the Wine Industry!

THE HEADLINES SCREAMED in Sofia’s mind, punctuated by exclamation marks that struck almost physical blows as she threw down the collection of newspapers unceremoniously handed to her by the royal council earlier that day. She peered through the window of the car and cast a glance up and down one of Monaco’s most famous streets. The light illuminating the Plaza del Casino de Mónaco caused the water feature in the centre to sparkle in the night like a thousand diamonds.

And each and every glint scratched against her already frayed nerves and temper.

It wasn’t the fact that she had been captured in a kiss with one of Europe’s most notorious playboys, and splashed across the front pages for the world to see. It wasn’t even the fact that the morning after the party, Joachim—her third and last hope for a fiancé—had regrettably informed Angelique that he could no longer consider matrimony with Sofia.

It was the fact that Theo Tersi—notorious womaniser—had refused to comment. And he always commented. By neither confirming nor denying their speculative questions, he had served only to inflame the rabid press. The Iondorran privy council had further tied her hands and refused to allow a statement to be issued by the royal communications office in a desperate act of blind ignorance, wilfully hoping that it would all ‘blow over’.

But she knew better. Because the sneaking suspicion that had begun the first moment she’d seen the awful photographs had grown into a living, breathing belief that Theo Tersi had somehow managed to orchestrate this whole disaster. The birthday party in Paris had been under a strict press embargo, the girl’s family having sold the rights for images to Paris Match. Furthermore, the only photos surfacing from that night were of them—no other guests—despite the fact that Sofia was aware of at least three front-page headline-worthy incidents. In the last three weeks she had stopped wondering how and instead focused on the why.

She bit back a distinctly unladylike growl as she exited the dark diplomatic-plated sedan, remembering how she had held herself that night as her body trembled after their conversation, after their kiss, as it shook at how he had weakened her. For the hours following, her body left overly sensitised, she had found herself pressing her fingers to her mouth as if in denial or longing, she couldn’t tell, and no matter how much she wished it the low, aching throb between her legs and in her chest had both shocked and terrified her. She had allowed herself that night to feel, to ache, to want. But in the morning when she had seen the headlines, something within her had turned to steel. Sofia dismissed the guards she usually travelled with. She did not want an audience for what was about to happen.

She cast a glance up and down the stunning architecture of the buildings gathered around Monaco’s famous gambling district. She had never been anywhere like it. People filled the streets, couples holding hands, groups of men stalking the bars and cafes brimming with tourists and celebrities. Their excitement was infectious, but she resisted the instinct to relish in their levity, instead clinging to her incredulity that Theo would do something so...so...

Theo had resisted every single attempt she had made to contact him. Email, telephone, text message... she had dismissed the idea of carrier pigeon as ridiculous. In the last two days he had repeatedly posted images of himself on Twitter at some of the many casinos in Monaco, and finally, just an hour ago, she had located this club as his current place of residence, if the latest Victoria’s Secret model to hit the headlines was to be believed.

Two blondes, two Doms and two Ts. Lol.

Lol. Honestly. Sofia had barely repressed the acidic taste of bile at the back of her throat the moment she saw the accompanying obligatory selfie of two beautiful blondes, two bottles of Dom Perignon and ‘TT’, aka Theo Tersi, grinning in the background as if he was purposefully taunting Sofia. Which he was.

Clearly less than two hundred and eighty characters were needed to explain

the models’ ecstasy, and the fact they had snared Theo’s legendarily short attention span.

She knew that Theo wasn’t naïve or stupid. He must have known that every single indecent headline following the publication of their kiss nearly three weeks ago now would take her down with him. She knew that this was an act of revenge, knew that in his mind she most definitely deserved it. And in a very small, very quiet part of her own mind, she feared that he might be right. But right or wrong had no place here. She needed to get him to issue a denial so that she could do whatever damage limitation was required and press forward with her hopes to find a forgiving fiancé.

Her heartbeat thrummed beneath the thin silk top and jeans she had chosen with the express purpose of blending in. Her aim was to get in, get him to agree and get out, without being spotted. In her youth, she had achieved much greater things under the radar. Surely this would be possible?

Her inner voice mocked her naivety, while her desperation drove her forward.

She reminded herself that no one would be looking for her here. It was the first time in nearly ten years that she’d been outside amongst people without the trappings of her royal status and she was slightly fascinated and slightly sad.

Sofia couldn’t help but wonder what her life would have been like had her father not become ill. Yes, she still would have ascended to the throne, but could she have had some time? Time to explore a little fun, or even herself just a little...more? Would she have found some enjoyment in life in a way she could never do now? Not that she would ever have been able to fritter away money on a hand of cards, or tweet mindlessly using emojis and take selfies with any number of handsome men.

If her father hadn’t come to find her that night, would she have risked it all and found a way to be with Theo as she had often dreamed? No matter how hard she tried to imagine what would have happened had she met him behind the shrubs at their boarding school, rather than the headmaster who must have been sent by her father, she just couldn’t. Was that because it could never have truly happened as she had once told herself? Or because she had spent years repressing those exact thoughts and desires for far too long? She could no longer say.

Still, the Theo that she fell in love with all those years ago was now long gone. There had been no trace of him in the eyes of the man who had mocked her so cruelly. Who had taunted her, teased her into furious, anger-filled words in the Parisian garden just three weeks ago. And if there had been traces of him only in the kiss he stole from her, she chose to ignore it.

The large security guard beside the entrance to the club gave her a cursory glance and allowed her to pass through the doors into the dark, cavernous chamber beyond. Music assaulted her ears, and she blinked against the chaotically strobing light throbbing in time with a baseline she felt buzz through her skin and bone to the soft inside of her.

She shouldn’t be doing this. She should just let someone else confront Theo, but she knew—instinctively—that this was what he had wanted. As if he had planned everything down to the finest detail and only her presence would do.

Sofia brushed aside her concerns, her fears, and scanned the chaotic mass of people on the dance floor. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t imagine Theo amongst the thriving group. No. He was far too voyeuristic for that. She remembered the feel of his gaze upon her skin at the Parisian ballroom. Remembered the feel of being hunted by a predator purposefully choosing when best to strike.

Her gaze finally took in the raised area of the club, an entire glass-fronted section roped off and guarded by another large, dark-suited man. She caught sight of the blonde model she recognised from the tweet, and, sure enough, Theo was sitting with one arm draped around her, the other draped around the thin shoulders of the other, the only difference in the scene being the additional upturned bottle of champagne beside the other two. Either the staff were very slow at tending to the tables in this club, or Theo was enjoying showing off his power and wealth. Sofia very much leaned towards the latter.

She made her way towards the large, suited man, and when she tried to pass he thrust out a meaty arm to block her. Shocked, she very nearly uttered the famously awful words, Do you know who I am?, but just managed to prevent herself. She was here incognito and she had not the first idea of how to get around the man. She had no experience in these situations, no idea what was required, as usually her security handled every single small thing...but she had dismissed them. Boarding school had been the last time she’d been allowed her freedom and since her return to Iondorra she hadn’t exactly been out ‘clubbing’.

Did she offer him money? she wondered, then belatedly realised she didn’t have any. And even if she had, Sofia had no idea how much would have been appropriate. She could have given the man a year’s salary, or not even enough to buy milk. Suddenly feeling completely out of her depth, she felt the sting of tears pressing against the backs of her eyelids and blamed Theo Tersi wholeheartedly. She had not cried once since the night of the debutante ball when she and her mother had spoken. When she had realised there truly was no other option but to assume the throne and marry her childhood friend, Antoine. But in the three weeks since Theo had stormed into her life and turned it upside down, she felt as if she were only a breath away from it at all times.

Suddenly he appeared at the top of the stairs behind the bouncer, towering over her like an avenging angel, and she hated the way that her pulse instantly kicked at the sight. She pushed away the thoughts of how she had reacted to the kiss that night, with all the wanton, suppressed desire of ten years of need and yearning that she had refused to acknowledge. The photographer had caught the exact moment that she had clung to him as if her life depended on it, and the memory brought a furious blush to her cheeks even now.

She took in the sight of Theo’s broad shoulders filled out from youth with powerful masculinity, dark hair artfully messy—or at least she hoped it was by design and not the hands of either of the models he was currently parading about. She bit down on the thread of shocking jealousy unfurling in her chest, and replaced it with anger as Theo growled the phrase, ‘Let her come.’

It sounded more like the taunt of a battle cry than permission to enter some private section of a club. He’d turned his back on her before she’d taken the first step, and by the time she’d reached the top of the stairs he was nestled in between the two women once again.

She stood before the three of them, separated by the depth of a table with half-filled glasses and empty champagne bottles.