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, Sofía curved her fingers around his lapel to steady herself.
The paparazzi loved it, catcalls and whistles filling the air as their flashes went mad. Sofía 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, Sofía. We save that for later.”
Flashbulbs continued to explode in her face. She ignored him, or attempted to with her insides a hot mess of confusion.
“Sofía,” a paparazzi called. “Who are you wearing?”
A genuine smile curved her lips. “Francesco Villa. He’s a genius. He’s making my wedding dress.”
They answered a handful of other questions, then turned to make their way up the steps.
“Sofía. It’s rumored you’re carrying the royal heir. Care to comment?”
She froze, desperately grateful her back was to the cameras. She would have given it away in a shutter click. Nik’s hand tightened around hers as they turned back to the cameras.
“I’m working on it,” he drawled. “Isn’t that supposed to be the enjoyable part?”
Laughter rang out. The photographer held up his camera in a wry gesture that said “I had to ask.”
She and Nik resumed their path up the steps. “Better you took that one,” she murmured. “Although I’m not sure that’s the way I would have answered it.”
They made their way into the palace and up to the second-story ballroom. The service staff scurried to ensure the guests had a glass of champagne in their hands before they made their entrance.
She stood beside Nik underneath the massive, twenty-foot-high double doors to the ballroom, her stomach spinning circles. The room looked magical cast in its blue-and-gold glow, its ten-foot-wide chandeliers dripping with crystal rivaling the jewels that adorned the exquisitely clad guests.
It was like walking into a fairy tale. Except this was real. She was about to marry a king.
A fleeting wish that this was real instead of being the pretend, practical union it was flashed through her head. She extinguished it as quickly as it came because believing in fairy tales had never been a luxury for her. That had all ended far too early in life.
A booming voice announced them. She took Nik’s arm as they moved to the front of the room to give the welcome toast. The glare of the spotlight, the sensation of hundreds of eyes on her made her hand tremble as she took the glass of sparkling juice a waiter handed her. She kept her eyes on Nik to ground herself.
Nik lifted his glass. “Tonight is a joyous occasion for Akathinia. A time for us to celebrate this stunning nation we are fortunate enough to call our own, and my beautiful bride-to-be, Sofía.” He turned to face her, his brilliant blue gaze resting on her face. “Sofía reminds me so much of our great country. Vibrant and proud. Strong. I know Akathinia will benefit from her warmth, wisdom and perspective.”
Heat flooded her cheeks. It was a message, she knew, for the press and Akathinians gathered, but it did something funny to her insides.
His attention switched back to the crowd. “Let this also be a night for healing. A time for us all to move on. My brother was taken from us far too soon,” he said, a rough edge inflecting his tone, “in far too unjust a way, but I know tonight, he would have wanted us to celebrate. To let him go.
“Thank you for coming,” he said huskily, lifting his glass. “We look forward to sharing this special evening with you.”
Sofía lifted her glass, a deep throb in her chest. It was as if he had finally let himself feel. To digest the pain that was clearly tearing him apart. She thought perhaps the message of renewal had been meant for her, too. That they needed to move on.