And there was the real issue. Not him caring about her. She was taking up his precious brain space.
She lifted her chin. “I don’t have time. I have a wedding to plan.”
“To supervise,” he corrected, stripping off his tie and starting on the buttons of his shirt. “And we aren’t going far. Just to the summerhouse.”
The one on the private island off the shore of Akathinia Stella had pointed out on their tour? Her stomach curled in on itself. “It’s not necessary. We can work things out here.”
“Like we’ve been doing?” He lifted a brow as he shrugged out of his shirt. “We are good together, Sofía. We will make a great team together if we can iron out this discord.”
“If that’s even possible.”
“Oh, it’s possible.” He threw his shirt on the chair and breezed past her on his way to the bathroom. “The only variable is how long it takes for you to give in to what you know is the truth. And how I make you do it.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Did I actually like you once?”
He paused in midstride, his mouth tugging up at the corners in one of those rare devilish smiles that made her heart go pitter-patter. “You adored me once, glykeia mou. I’m sure you can get that loving feeling back.”
“Oof.” She stared at him as he walked into the bathroom. Her engagement ring shimmered in the light as she made a rude hand gesture at his back. The cursed ring.
“Haven’t you already doomed us with this ring?”
He turned around, the smile fading from his face. “I bought you that ring because you loved it. Because we don’t need luck. We can do this, Sofía. You just have to make the call.”
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. Sofía and Nik stood at the center of it all at the head of the receiving line with Nik’s family, Sofía 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, Sofía 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, Sofía 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 Sofía had given her. Sofía 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 Sofía’s cheeks. “It makes quite a statement. Congratulations to you and Nikandros.”
Sofía 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.”