Virgin Princess's Marriage Debt. Pippa Roscoe
to attend, but at least they had owned their cruelty. No—Sofia’s had been worse, because she had hidden her betrayal until the last moment, she had purposefully set him up to take the blame for her reckless actions and he had been expelled.
And the shame he’d felt when he realised he had lost it all? The anger that had coursed through his veins when he realised her words, her touches had been nothing more than a game to be played by a bored and spoilt princess? It had been nothing compared to the moment where his heart had shattered into a thousand pieces. The moment he’d seen the announcement of her engagement. To be betrayed by someone he had…he could no longer bring himself to say the word. He forced his thoughts fiercely away from reflections that would only see him lose his temper. And if anything was to be lost tonight, it couldn’t be that.
‘I spent years—years—watching and waiting to see if I would lose this…need for vengeance.’ He had thrown himself into any willing woman he could find in an attempt to erase the memory of her. He hadn’t managed to turn his tastes to the blonde hair that seemed dull and lifeless in comparison to the lustre his memories had endowed her with. Blue eyes seemed bland and insipid against the sparkle and shine of the strange combination of intelligence and recklessness that seemed unique only to her. Brunettes were the only way forward through those dark, hedonistic two years as he had tried and failed to satiate the wild, driving need for her…for revenge that had all but consumed him.
‘Two years in which you developed a truly debauched reputation,’ Sebastian said, cutting through his thoughts.
‘You sound jealous.’
‘I am. How on earth am I supposed to be the most notorious playboy in Europe, if you are there competing for that same title?’
Theo couldn’t help but smile.
‘But,’ Sebastian said, his mocking gaze growing serious, ‘despite all that, my sister doesn’t seem to have realised that she will never have your heart.’
‘I don’t have a heart to give, Sebastian,’ he growled, ‘but I will speak to Maria. I had hoped that it might dissipate with time, but—’
‘I know you do not encourage it,’ Sebastian said, slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders. ‘Truly. But she is still very much…’
Clearly unable or unwilling to describe the extent of Maria’s infatuation with Theo, Sebastian trailed off.
‘It will be done. Kindly,’ Theo assured him.
He liked Maria, but no matter how much he resisted her somewhat naïve attempts to pursue him, nor how many headlines proclaimed him to be just as debauched as her brother, she had not been put off. Yet. Depending on how tonight would go, it could be the final nail in the coffin of her yearning for him.
Apparently appeased, Sebastian replaced his mask and turned back to the party. Following his lead, Theo took a glass of the prosecco and bit back the curse that Europe’s insistence that the masses should drink the alcohol like water had clearly infiltrated this Parisian ballroom too. Yes, he made his money with wine, but his tastes ran to whisky this evening, and right now he’d give someone else’s kingdom for one.
Theo took in the glamorous couples, the range of costumes that were everything from the sublime to outrageous, but never ridiculous. The sheer extravagance and money in the room saw to that. His quick mind calculated the cost of such an event. The room hire, the staff, the overpriced and frankly unpalatable alcohol being served, all of it would fund a thousand small businesses well into the next year, a fact probably not even considered by the birthday girl’s family.
After he’d spent the first few years of his adult life weighing up every single decision, every single purchase, his ability to price almost anything was ingrained. Deeply. From the moment he had returned to Greece with his mother after his expulsion from school, the shame he had brought to the family who had funded his education there, the termination of his mother’s employment, and the return to the people who had rejected them both ever since his conception…he had never lost the taste of bitterness in his mouth, no matter how rich, sweet or satisfying the grape or wine he produced.
After initial notoriety as the young vintner shocking the international wine industry—and his mother’s family—with the incredible popularity of his Greek blended wine, he had proved himself time and time again. And despite the almost constant criticism proclaiming his success as a flash in the pan—as if it hadn’t taken blood, sweat, his mother’s tears—even after eight years in the profession, he was still seen as the most upsetting thing to happen in the wine world since the invention of screw-top caps. That he’d dared to produce an award-winning blended wine rather than that of a pure grape somehow suited his own illegitimate status. That he persevered with blended wines seemed only to infuriate the old-school vintners who sniffed and huffed as he dominated the market, proclaiming him a young upstart. He didn’t feel young. Especially as he cast a frowning glance around the fancy frippery of the masked ball in Paris. No. He just felt jaded.
None of these people would have given him the time of day before he’d found his success, and Theo now returned the favour, ignoring the lascivious glances cast his way. Instead of firing his blood, they only turned him cold. If he was honest, not since he was seventeen had he felt the heat of passion truly stir. Desire? Yes. The arousal of attraction? Of course. But never need. Never passion. And he fiercely reminded himself that he liked it that way. Because the last time he had felt that had heralded the destruction of every hope and dream he and his mother had ever held.
And now he was on the brink of facing his demon, he had to remind himself that he was not a monster. That he was not as cruel as she had been. As if sensing his resolve, Sebastian turned to him with a raised eyebrow in query.
‘I will give her one chance,’ Theo said, forcing his eyes back to the ballroom, back to his prey. ‘If she apologises for what she did, then I will walk away, no harm, no foul.’ But if she didn’t, then Sofia de Loria would rue the day she had crossed him and finally learn the consequences of her actions.
AS SOFIA STEPPED away from the second of the would-be suitors with a resigned smile, she realised that she was losing hope. Neither he nor the first were right and she couldn’t help but feel that she was expecting the impossible. She was the worst Goldilocks ever. But as much as she didn’t want to rush into another marriage, she didn’t have a choice.
She hung back around the edges of the grand ballroom, thankful that she was hidden amongst the crowds of people watching the figures making their way round the dance floor. She had dismissed her personal assistant in order to speak to the suitors alone, and relished the opportunity for the closest thing to anonymity she’d experienced in almost ten years. The fine golden leaf-like swirls of her mask tickled at the edges of her hair, but she would take that minor discomfort for the concealment it offered. It swept upward, asymmetrically, to one side, and matched the colour of her dress perfectly.
Sofia bit back a laugh as she imagined for a moment that this would be how a wallflower, found between the pages of some historical romance, felt. Both terrified and hopeful of being plucked from obscurity to dance beneath the candlelit chandeliers by the handsome prince. But hers wasn’t that kind of story. No, she was the royal and it seemed that the second sons, or cousins—like the two previous candidates who had seemed so fine on paper—had quite definitive ideas about their place within her royal office.
She had never wanted it. Not in truth. As a child, she had hardly been perfect princess material. Her parents had despaired and sent her to boarding school, tired of having to bribe the Iondorran press to silence yet another social faux pas on their daughter’s behalf. For security reasons they had all agreed to keep her royal status a secret. But for Sofia it hadn’t been about a desire for protection, it had been her last attempt for something normal, to be treated like anyone else. But ultimately that had backfired in the most spectacularly painful way.
She