LITMIR.BIZ

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as if someone were pressing their fingers against her throat, Sophie turned away and found herself a hiding place behind a tall marble pillar, dejection washing over her as she leaned back against the wall. Because nothing had changed, had it? Despite her daredevil stab at gaining some independence, everything was as it always had been. She had tied up her future with a man who’d promised her the security of marriage but without the cushion of love. Just as Luc had done.

      And she was just as trapped as before!

      Only this time it was worse.

      Much worse.

      She’d known all along that her feelings for Luc had been tepid, because they’d never been given the freedom to get to know each other properly. But she did know Rafe. More intimately than she’d known anyone. She’d been his lover. She’d shared his bed. She’d cooked him meals and vice versa and she’d lain face down on the pillows of his New York bed while he had carefully massaged her shoulders and then, afterwards, eased himself inside her aching body. He’d taken her to parties, and shows. They’d shopped together and walked for miles through the snowy streets of New York City. And if the truth were known, she’d fallen in love with him along the way, hadn’t she?

      Hadn’t she?

      The music changed to a lively foxtrot as she tried to tell herself she was panicking unnecessarily. That tomorrow Rafe would slide on the huge ruby and diamond ring they’d chosen together on Madison Avenue and the people of Isolaverde would be delighted that their princess had found her own happy ending at last.

      But she hadn’t, had she?

      She was still that same dumb, docile princess who thought she couldn’t exist without the patronage of a powerful man. She was about as modern as one of the ancient suits of armour which stood in the palace entrance hall! How could she knowingly walk into such a one-sided relationship and open herself up to all the potential pain of such a union? How could she force that on Rafe when the agreement had been that neither of them was asking for love?

      Thought after disturbing thought rushed through her head, but she kept them hidden behind a careful smile as she went through the motions expected of her. She danced with the prime minister, with assorted Dukes and a visiting Sheikh. She even danced with Rafe again, trying not to indulge in a rush of jealous questions about his many dance partners.

      And this was what her future would be like, she realised. Life with a man who couldn’t love her. A man every woman would see and want and probably make a play for.

      And she would be left watching from the sidelines, not daring to show him her feelings because they didn’t have that kind of marriage.

      ‘Relax,’ he said, his thumb making idle little circles at her waist.

      ‘I’m trying.’

      ‘Then try a little harder.’ He smiled. ‘Because soon this will all be over.’

      The decision she’d been trying her best to avoid could no longer be ignored and Sophie wondered if Rafe had any idea how eerily accurate his words were. Because suddenly she knew she couldn’t keep running from the truth. Running only got you so far. Sooner or later you had to stop and face what was troubling you—and what was troubling her was that she couldn’t let this fantasy marriage go ahead. For all their sakes, she needed to stop it. She swallowed. ‘Rafe, I need to talk to you.’

      ‘Then talk.’

      ‘No. Not here. It’s too public. Can we go somewhere more private? Please.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s important.’

      He loosened his hold on her fractionally, pulling back from her so that his silver-grey gaze clashed with hers. ‘But the ball hasn’t finished.’

      It felt like a reprimand. It was a reprimand. How ironic that the commoner was giving the Princess a lesson in etiquette. ‘After the fireworks and once my brother has left, can you meet me in the Ruby Drawing Room?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘Do you know where that is?’

      He nodded, but now his gaze was thoughtful as it rested on her. ‘Sure.’

      Somehow Sophie got through the remainder of the evening. At midnight the French windows were opened and everyone moved onto the terrace as bells peeled out all over the island to celebrate the coming of the new year. It was always an emotional time but tonight it seemed even more poignant as Sophie thought about what lay ahead. She could feel the prick of tears as the sky exploded in a spectacular display of fireworks—silver, gold, cobalt and pink flowering against an indigo backdrop—all reflected in the dark gleaming waters of the Mediterranean. She heard the collective gasps of the ball-goers echoing around the vast terrace as the fireworks whirred and whistled in the air, but somehow she didn’t feel part of it.

      And then the evening became nothing more than an endurance of clock-watching. All she wanted was for Myron to retire, because nobody was allowed to move until after the King had taken his leave. At last the King whispered into the ear of a stunning redhead before sweeping with his entourage from the room and, a few moments later, Sophie saw the woman follow him.

      Sophie’s heart was thumping as she made her way to the eastern side of the palace. The Ruby Drawing Room was one of her favourite places in the palace, its décor overseen by her late mother, whose favourite colour and gemstone it had been. Hers, too. The walls and floor were in restful shades of darkest pink and only the ornate ceiling was gold—its intricate mouldings picked out with dazzling precision. It was a room which made her feel emotional for all kinds of reasons and therefore probably not the best choice for the kind of talk she and Rafe needed to have, but it was quiet and far away from the hustle and bustle of the ball.

      She walked in and saw that Rafe was already there, tall and magnificent as he stood beside the marble fireplace, his grey eyes watchful as she pushed the door shut.

      ‘So what’s with all the cloak and dagger stuff?’ he questioned.

      She drew in a deep breath, her heart pounding with nerves. ‘I’ve brought you here to tell you I can’t marry you, Rafe.’

      She searched his face for a trace of emotion. Something which might hint that her words had surprised him, even if they hadn’t actually wounded him. But no. There was nothing. Those dark features remained impenetrable. And somehow that made her decision easier. It reinforced that she was doing the right thing—because he could turn it on and off like a tap, couldn’t he? The man he’d been in New York seemed to have vanished. He seemed more of a stranger even than the day she’d first met him. ‘I wanted to tell you tonight...’ she stared into his eyes ‘...so we can stop the announcement being made.’

      Not a trace of emotion showed on his face as he shot out the single word. ‘Why?’ And then his face darkened. ‘Surely one episode of disappointing sex isn’t enough to make you have cold feet?’

      ‘It’s a contributory factor, yes.’

      He slanted her another unfathomable look. ‘You want me to lock the door and make you come? Will that make you feel better?’

      Sophie could feel her cheeks growing hot. ‘No, of course not. It’s about much more than that.’

      ‘Like what?’

      She bit her lip. She could do the easy thing of telling him she’d changed her mind and didn’t want marriage after all. She could even pretend that she’d been sucked back into palace life and had decided that she liked it too much to ever leave. Except she suspected he was intuitive enough to know that wasn’t the case—and besides, why on earth did she think any such option would be easy? None of this was ever going to be easy.

      ‘Because we want different things.’

      His brow darkened. ‘I thought we’d already thrashed this out and decided that ultimately we wanted the same things. A family life together. Wasn’t that what we both agreed, Sophie?’

      And Sophie knew then that nothing would do except for the truth, no matter what the cost to her own pride. She kept her voice very low. ‘I can’t marry you, Rafe, because

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