Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt

by Pippa Roscoe

  ‘Do not fear. My tastes have never run in your direction.’

  ‘Fear? I am perfectly happy with my masculinity to appreciate another’s attraction to me, no matter who it comes from. I just happen to prefer the female form.’

  Theo quirked an eyebrow. ‘Anyone in particular?’

  ‘God, no. There is only one thing that would ever tempt me into the state of holy matrimony.’

  ‘Money?’

  ‘Amnesia.’

  ‘I’m sure there are many women out there who would willingly oblige a good bludgeoning to ensure such a thing.’

  ‘True. Perhaps I should start wearing a helmet.’

  ‘A bicycle helmet?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking something more dramatic like a knight’s armour, but I suppose your suggestion would do just as well and be a hell of a lot easier to get my hands on. How have you been?’ Sebastian demanded, an assessing gaze raking over Theo’s features. ‘You look...different.’

  Theo shook off the question with a shake of his head. Sebastian was almost as close to him as his own mother, but he was not ready to open the can of worms that he’d been brooding on. Though he knew he could do with his friend’s counsel. ‘Honestly? I’m not so sure. Things are...different to what I had thought them to be. Sofia had her own reasons for doing what she did that night, and I...I think I understand them now.’ And as he spoke the words he realised the truth of them. Theo refused to betray her confidence, even to Sebastian. But he did understand her choices, did believe her when she had said that she was sorry, and fully believed that she really did understand the consequences of her actions. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps it was those very choices that had brought them to this point. This moment, where he finally had everything he’d ever wanted within his grasp.

  But throughout it all was this rising sense of guilt. Guilt at what he would have done to her. Guilt for having preached all this time about the consequences of actions, when he had given little thought to anything of the consequences of his revenge. A guilt that was at once so familiar and terrible that it threatened to overwhelm him. But he could change his path. He could avoid those consequences. He would. This time, he could only hope that he would be good enough.

  ‘I am going to marry her,’ he said with a finality that did little to ease the feelings in his chest.

  ‘Really?’ Sebastian asked, shocked. ‘I thought you might change your mind, but I didn’t think you would actually get married.’

  Theo shrugged off the weight on his shoulders, and Sebastian could have been forgiven for thinking that it was in response to his question.

  ‘But I suppose it is still good business,’ Sebastian said into the quiet room.

  ‘That it may be, but no. It’s more than that. It’s... All these years I have thought her cold and calculating, but that’s not the truth of her.’

  ‘You love her?’ Sebastian queried.

  Did he? He might have been able to forgive the transgressions he thought she’d been guilty of, but love? Was he even capable of such a thing? When he thought of how he’d felt, seeing her struck by the boat’s boom, when he’d paced the hospital hallways, devastated by the mere thought of her hurt, when he’d seen her share the laughter with his mother only the night before...the way it had eased a years-long ache in his chest... When he’d finally seen Sofia and how she had grown into a woman far greater than he had ever imagined possible...his lips curved into a smile, and something almost impossible to contain bloomed in his chest.

  It was a strange thing, filling him from the inside out, covering and swelling to fit the empty places of his heart... Wondrous was the only word he could use to describe how it felt. And if there were edges of darkness, of a deeper hurt, of a twisted guilt in his chest, he pushed them aside with the same ruthlessness that had driven him to Sofia’s doorstep.

  ‘Yes. I do.’

  ‘That is a wonderful thing, my friend,’ Seb replied genuinely. ‘Now, though, you just have to break it to my sister,’ he said. ‘For I believe she had pinned her hopes on the fact that you were going to abandon your princess at the altar.’

  * * *

  La Sereine was one of Sofia’s most favourite places in Iondorra—and she had often wanted to come with Antoine, but they had never managed to find the time. She knew that being here with Theo should make her feel guilty, but she couldn’t manage it. She hoped, believed, that Antoine would understand. They might not have shared everything, but they had understood each other and the pressures of duty.

  Though could Sofia still claim that this wedding, this marriage, was solely for duty? She expected to feel unease as she questioned herself, but instead, she felt the thrum of excitement, of...happiness. Theo had said that he chose to do this, that he wanted it. And she was desperate to take him at his word, because somehow in the last few weeks she had begun to fall deeply for the passionate man who had woken her from a slumber of duty and grief. Her heart ached for the man she knew still hurt deep within himself. The man who had yet to resolve the real hurt that beat in his heart.

  But since that night in Paris he had coaxed out some inner sense of herself—the one she had left behind with Theo that night at the boarding school—and she felt strange and new, and mysteriously whole. She felt strong...in her love for him. Because wasn’t that what had really changed? That finally after all these years she had allowed herself to feel that love for him? The love that had always been there, waiting for a chance to escape, to be given to him?

  With only a week before the wedding, Sofia didn’t think she had enough time to undo the pain of the past, but after the wedding? Would they not have a lifetime together? For her to show him how much he meant to her, and just what he had done for her. Was it enough, perhaps, for her to do the same for him?

  A knock at the door to her suite pulled Sofia’s gaze from the lake and mountains beyond.

  ‘Enter,’ she commanded, her voice soft in expectation of what was about to happen. A small woman with dark hair pushed in a clothing rack with three heavy garment bags hanging from the rail.

  ‘Your Highness,’ said Alexa—her dress designer—the address slightly unfamiliar to Sofia after just a few days away from Iondorra and the formal etiquette required by her status. ‘From our conversation on the phone, and the description of what you require, I have brought the original design along with some alteration options, but also two other suggestions in case they become preferable.’

  ‘Thank you, Alexa, and thank you again for making the trip out here.’

  Alexa smiled. ‘It is my pleasure, Your Highness. Lac du Peridot is always a welcome sight, and La Sereine is just as beautiful as I’ve always heard.’ Sofia couldn’t help but smile at the older woman’s enthusiasm. ‘Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with.’

  Sofia untied the silk robe and slipped the sleeves from her shoulders to reveal the bruise that was still quite evident from where the yacht’s boom had caught her. Alexa might not have winced, but Sofia didn’t miss the concern in her eyes. Alexa had been dressing and designing for her ever since she left the boarding school. She tutted as she circled Sofia with an assessing gaze. Hmmed and humphed a few times, before nodding to herself.

  ‘You are okay?’

  Sofia nodded quickly, feeling like the little seventeen-year-old Alexa had first met before her debut ball. Unaccountably she was blinking back tears and struggled to find the cause of them. She felt as if she were in a sea of emotions, her love for Theo, her hopes for the future, her ache for the past. She wanted to look beautiful on her wedding day, and the thought that had begun to wind around her heart, the possibility that the Widow Princess had finally found her Prince Charming...was one she wanted to hold on to so desperately.

  ‘I have just the thing,’ Alexa said, and Sofia lost herself in the bustling actions of the last-minute alterations to the dress she had always wanted to wear.
..for him.

  * * *

  The gala was going well. Sofia had delivered the opening speech and the event had moved on to the auction part of the evening. Theo had been with her as she had met with a few of the child ambassadors for the charity—and she couldn’t help but smile at his surprise at how well she knew them. This had been her first charity, and would always have a special place in her heart. As an adult, she’d struggled with the secrecy and care around her father, so she simply couldn’t imagine how much worse it was for children.

  He had barely left her side all evening. And it had been both wonderful and terrible. She hadn’t realised just how alone she had felt without companionship, without someone by her side since Antoine had died. Her parents had retreated to their estate, and she felt as if she had been alone for so long. But having Theo beside her made her feel stronger, more capable. It made the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders so much lighter to bear.

  The thought of having him beside her in the future made her feel more capable of the things she wanted to do for Iondorra. And for the first time, perhaps ever, she began to relish the idea of the changes, could feel the power and energy there, to do even the larger things she wanted to accomplish. Now she began to hope that they might actually weather the storm that would hit once her father’s diagnosis was made public.

  She cast a glance around the hotel’s grand ballroom, but couldn’t see where Theo was. But his absence failed to dim the thrill and excitement that had filled her when trying on the beautiful wedding dress, and suddenly the hopes for her future were almost too much for her to bear.

  She looked around the room, once again, for a glimpse of the man she loved with all of her heart. She wanted to tell him. An urgency she couldn’t explain began to wind within her chest. As if something, time perhaps, was running away from her.

  Finally she caught sight of him on the veranda, speaking to a young woman with long dark hair that she recognised as Maria Rohan de Luen—Sebastian’s young sister. They appeared to be arguing, which confused her, drawing her to the couple. The sliding floor-to-ceiling French windows were slightly open, the gauzy white curtains shifting in the breeze, doing very little to disguise their words.

  * * *

  ‘But you can’t!’ The hurt in Maria’s voice slashed him. Theo truly hadn’t realised the extent of her feelings.

  ‘Maria, please.’

  ‘No. You said...you said that you weren’t going to go through with it. You said that you were doing it to teach her a lesson! She hurt you and you were going to leave her at the altar! You can’t marry her, Theo!’

  He searched his mind for explanations, something that would lessen the pain, but he didn’t know what to say.

  ‘Maria—’

  His words were cut off the moment Maria’s whole demeanour changed. Shocked and wide-eyed, she was no longer looking at him, but over his shoulder...and every single hair on his body lifted as if touched by the same electric lightning bolt that had struck Maria still.

  Horror filled him before he’d even turned and he barely registered Maria’s flight from the veranda wrapping around the ground floor of the hotel.

  Sofia.

  He’d never seen her look the way she did in that moment. All the lies and mistruths he’d imagined he’d seen in her features were nothing compared to the raw pain and shock vibrating from her now.

  ‘What did she mean?’

  ‘Sofia—’

  ‘Is it true?’ she demanded, her voice breaking over the words.

  Sofia saw the moment that fear and panic truly entered him. It froze him as if he thought that should he move, should he speak, it would set into motion a chain of events he could not take back.

  Finally he moved, his long legs pacing wide steps across the wooden veranda, each one feeling as if it took him further and further away from her, even as it closed the distance between them. She’d hoped, in some far corner of her heart, that Maria had lied, had misunderstood somehow. But she knew that hope was futile.

  ‘Yes,’ he said simply. And her whole world came crashing down. ‘When I first met you again in Paris that night, I had a plan. I thought that I was being merciful, offering you a silent, unknown chance to apologise and release yourself of a path that would lead to your eventual humiliation. When you didn’t, when you refused, I had the photographer find us in the garden—I even chose which photo he should use. And yes, when I forced your hand to agree to our engagement I knew that I wouldn’t go through with the marriage. That on the day of our wedding you would be at the church filled with hundreds of guests and filmed by thousands...and I would leave you waiting as you once left me waiting.’

  His voice had gained a power, a guttural tone that suggested he was almost trying to convince himself that he’d been right. That he’d been justified. Hearing the words on his lips sliced away the soft layers of her heart, until the knife struck stone.

  Because that was what Sofia needed most now. A heart of stone. Because she loved this man. This man who would have hurt her, yes, but even worse hurt her country. The humiliation wouldn’t have been hers alone to bear. It would have been theirs. And that devastated her. The one thing she had been raised and trained to do, to put her country first, and she had nearly failed even before the crown came to rest on her head.

  ‘But I had changed my mind, Sofia. I didn’t know... I didn’t know about your father, about why you were forced to leave that day, about any of it. I didn’t understand.’

  Desperate pain filled her completely. Pain and anger, an anger that felt almost uncontainable. ‘It wasn’t for you to understand, Theo!’ She wanted to lash out, to howl her hurt, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Not here, with hundreds of people behind them. She had been ruthlessly trained to bear the weight of the crown and she would not betray them now by giving Theo the humiliation he had once so desperately wanted. ‘But it is for me to protect my country and people from those who would do it harm, even those I love. Especially those I love. For years I have done so for my father. And now I’ll do it for you.’

  ‘But you don’t have to. Sofia, I want to marry you. I want to be standing at the top of the aisle you walk down in five days’ time. Sofia, I—’

  ‘I think you’ve done enough, don’t you? You will have what you wanted. I will break the engagement. My humiliation will still happen for you. It will just not quite be as public as you wished.’

  Theo let loose a growl. ‘That is not what I want. This doesn’t have to happen.’

  ‘You think I can trust you, after this?’

  ‘Why not? I trusted you after you...’ His bitter words trailed off.

  ‘So you still have not forgiven me. Not really.’

  ‘I have,’ he growled again. ‘But you’re leaving me, again. Just like...’

  ‘Him,’ she said, completing his sentence. Speaking of the one man that Theo refused to name. ‘Is that what this is really about? Your father, not me?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Until you forgive, Theo, you can’t truly love me. Not really.’

  ‘How on earth am I supposed to forgive him? I don’t even know where he is!’ he shouted.

  ‘Not him. You. All this time, this unworthiness...it’s you, you can’t forgive, not me or him. And I can’t make up for that, I can’t be that for you.’

  ‘Don’t you dare turn this back on me. I’m here, telling you that I love you and that I’m yours.’

  ‘You were never mine, and you’re still not,’ she said, her voice barely even a whisper.

  ‘And you’re still afraid!’ he accused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Still afraid of letting yourself be loved for you and not what you are. So tell me. Who is it that really feels unworthy here? Why is it that you’re so eager to fall at this first hurdle?’

  ‘Hurdle? You’re calling your plan to leave me at the altar a hurdle? The fact th
at you consider even doing that means you have no respect or regard for my people, my country! They are me and you would have left us all.’

  ‘But I’m not! I’m not leaving you. You’re the one who is walking away and if you don’t see that then you’re lying to yourself.’

  She didn’t want to hear it. Couldn’t. Because deep within her heart, she knew that there was some semblance of truth to his words. But she had to. She had to leave him. Her country had to come first. Hadn’t that been drilled into her as a child? As a young woman? By her parents, her father? There was no other choice here.

  ‘I have to return to the party—’

  ‘Let them wait!’ he yelled, his voice so loud she felt it echo within her body. ‘I’m trying to tell you that I love you.’

  ‘And I’m trying to tell you that it doesn’t matter.’

  She turned to leave, but Theo blocked her path. He crowded her, his shoulders, his body a barrier that wouldn’t be breached. She pulled herself up short before she crashed into him, but he caught her elbow and stopped her fall.

  ‘I love you, Sofia,’ he said, the only notice he gave her before drawing her to him, flush against his body, and kissing her with more passion and pain than she was capable of bearing. The moment his lips met hers, the fury and anger driving him, driving her, softened, and his tongue swept into her mouth as if it had a right to be there, as if it belonged to her and not him, just like his heart. Everything in her roared for release, desperate to escape and join him in this passion play. Her heart soared as much as it fell, as she realised that this would be the last time she could kiss him, hold him, show him all the huge, complex, amazing but terrible things she felt in that instant.

  Her hands flew to his head, fingers riffling through his hair, pulling him to her, as the tears escaped her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. The salty-sweet taste of them mingling with their kiss was the last thing she remembered, before pulling away from him and fleeing.