Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt

When she next woke, Sofia was thankful that the light didn’t hurt her eyes any more, and she experimentally moved her head from side to side, relishing the fact that the jackhammer seemed to have given up.

She turned to find Theo in the chair beside her, his long legs thrust out in front of him, his head resting awkwardly on his fisted hand, elbow on the arm of the chair, and even in sleep the man looked incredible.

Long, midnight-coloured eyelashes dusted his cheeks, his dark hair tousled as if he’d spent the entire night thrusting his hands through it, and his jawline was now in serious risk of growing a half-decent beard. She kind of liked the look on him. It made him even more...just more.

When a nurse entered, Sofia thrust a finger to her lips, unwilling to wake him. The small, dark-haired woman smiled conspiratorially and came to her side to check the little monitor assessing her vitals.

‘How are you feeling?’ she whispered.

‘Like I was struck off a yacht by a boom.’

She huffed out a small laugh. ‘You should be able to go soon. I’ll have the doctor sign your discharge papers.’

‘Thank you. I can speak to the Iondorran consulate and arrange for payment if—’

‘No need. That’s all been taken care of.’

At Sofia’s frown, the nurse gestured to Theo, still asleep, and Sofia nodded and sighed. Not only had he rescued her from the sea, but also paid for her care. He was hardly getting his money’s worth out of this, was he? A thread of sadness began to wind through her. Was that all there was between them or could there ever be more? she wondered. For years she had consigned thoughts and memories of him to a locked box in her heart. But now? She wasn’t so sure any more.

It took them about an hour to get out of the hospital, partly because Sofia had wanted to thank everyone who had treated her. She made a mental note to ensure there was a donation to the hospital for their generosity and discretion. She couldn’t express how relieved she was that there were no reporters camped out on the steps, that no international incident had been accidentally created. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that it was out of respect for her, and could plainly see the adoration for Theo in the faces of most of the medical staff. He seemed to be on first-name terms with half of them, and it went beyond simple patronage, which confused her a little. Surely he had not worked up such strong bonds just in the time of her overnight stay there?

She waited on the steps to the hospital as a man brought round a large black Jeep and handed Theo the keys.

He ushered her into the passenger seat and went round to the driver’s side, and got in.

‘You’re driving yourself?’

‘Why? Did you want to?’ he said with a laugh.

It stung. She couldn’t help it. ‘I can’t.’

‘When you’re feeling better—’

‘I can’t drive,’ she said angrily. It had been a small fight with her father, certainly not one of their greatest, but it had hurt just as much. Somehow it had become a larger symbol of all the things she wasn’t allowed to do as a princess-in-waiting. But more than that, it had signified the true end to her freedom.

‘I suppose you don’t need to know how to drive,’ Theo said as he pulled out of the hospital car park.

‘No. I suppose I don’t,’ she replied bitterly, and almost growled when she saw Theo suppress a laugh. ‘It’s not funny.’

‘I’m not laughing at you, Princess. It’s just that you’re cute when...when you’re angry.’

‘I’m not cute either,’ and even she couldn’t help but let loose a small laugh at the ridiculousness of her own sulk. This. This was what she had missed most about him. The ease. The ease and friendship that had turned into distrust and resentment the moment they had met again in Paris. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked to turn the wayward direction of her thoughts.

‘Home. My home.’

* * *

Theo directed the car with the same ease with which he had directed the boat. He had always loved travel, movement, something that appeased the restlessness he’d always seemed to feel back in Greece. The freedom he felt at being in charge of his own destiny, especially having spent years at the whim of the elements and the vineyard. He couldn’t imagine not being able to control that, and wondered whether that was what had made Sofia so bitter. Not being able to choose when and where and how she wanted to go.

He frowned as he remembered the thread of a conversation from the night in Monaco.

‘I have no choice in this whatsoever.’

Casting an eye over to where Sofia slept, he felt unease stir in his chest. He hadn’t given her a choice. Not really, no matter what he had said to her. Every single moment of that night in Paris, and then Monaco, had been carefully orchestrated to ensure Sofia’s ultimate humiliation. But now? Was that still what he wanted?

He changed lanes and came off the motorway as they began to make their way through the Peloponnese countryside, travelling along the southern part almost to the border with Messinia.

Cypress and olive trees skirted the mountains in the distance, scarred with jagged lines of white stone and brown scrub, and through the open window the scent of home filled the Jeep. Large stretches of mottled green land were occasionally interrupted by red-roofed towns and he welcomed the sight of them. Arcadia might not be the typical tourist destination popular with travellers from across the world, as Athens and the islands were, but that just made it even more precious to him.