Page 42 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

If I let myself fall too deep for Sophaya, I have a feeling the pain of ultimately losing her will be unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

Chapter Fourteen

Dominic

Tall, thin glass vases stretch up toward the domed ceiling of the grand ballroom, filled with roses colored in burnt orange, deep red and vivid white. Long tables fill one side of the ballroom, flanked by gold cane-backed chairs and topped by actual candelabras. One side of the ballroom is made entirely of glass and overlooks the sea. The other walls are a mix of pale wood and windows overlooking the royal gardens. Guests mill about, sipping on champagne and nibbling on caviar, while others dance in front of a full-blown orchestra.

I’ve attended plenty of high-end events, planned one every year myself for the annual autumn gala I host for the Hawke Foundation. But tonight takes the award for sheer opulence.

And this is only the rehearsal ball. By my last count I’ve been introduced to seventy-eight people out of the two-hundred-plus guests. My fluency in various languages has enabled me to engage with kings, queens, prime ministers, ambassadors and presidents. My knowledge of current events has even led to several interesting conversations.

Aiden and Cassian are here, too, as well as Aiden’s fiancée, Seraphina. They joined Sophaya and me for lunch today. Sophaya then invited Seraphina to go for a walk down through the gardens where we’ll be married, giving Aiden, Cassian and me time to catch up. A gesture that meant a lot.

But aside from our grand entrance, Sophaya and I have barely spoken all night, separated almost as soon as we came down the velvet-carpeted stairs.

My eyes seek her out. She’s stunning, dressed in a sleek copper-colored gown that clings to her hips before flaring into a dramatic train. The sheer sleeves are decorated with lace flowers and vines the same deep orange, the V-neck demure yet still sexy with the faintest dip between her breasts. Her hair is twisted into a low chignon at the base of her neck. I can see every detail of her face, the delicate lines of her jaw and the fullness of her smile as she speaks with one of the guests.

Want stirs inside me. Ever since our near-kiss in the elevator, I can barely think about her without going hard. I thought the ache I had for her before was torture. But it’s nothing compared to every time I think about the way she brazenly pressed her hips against me, how she looked at me right before I pushed her away.

We’ve seen each other every day since the hospital. Meetings with the wedding planners, introductions to members of Parliament, press conferences. My takedown of Wilford has made the rounds, unfortunately drawing even more reporters to Siravelle. The one bright spot is that they’re all treating her like a human being instead of a commodity.

But we haven’t had a single moment alone. I told myself it was better that way. I want her, but I can’t shake the lingering guilt that dug its claws into me after my conversation with Arthur. Sophaya hasn’t sought me out, either.

I should be relieved. But instead I find myself acutely aware that we’re reverting back to our former relationship when I first became her bodyguard: cool, formal, distant. She may be wearing my ring and carrying my child, but we might as well be strangers. I thought distance would be better. Instead, it hurts being this close to her, yet so far away.

Movement to my right catches my eye. The queen herself stops next to me, dressed in elegant rose-colored satin and holding a glass of wine. She may be ice personified, but there’s no denying her lingering beauty or commanding presence. Unlike her husband, who sometimes strikes me as more buffoonish than kingly, Queen Sylvia is a royal down to the bone.

“You care for her.”

Her words surprise me. “I like and respect her.”

Her mouth turns down at the corners. “You’ve already done more for Sophaya than my husband ever did for me. More than I ever did for her.”

She speaks the last words so quietly I barely hear her. Suspicious, I keep my eyes trained on Sophaya. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

“I hope so.”

I glance over at her. The queen is an excellent actress. The refined royal I’ve seen in public is a far cry from the bitter woman who appears behind palace walls. But she’s seemingly softened the last month, even talking with me at dinner or behind the scenes at events. And right now her regretful words sound genuine.

“Whether I’m able to fix my mistakes or not, I hope for both your sake and hers that you don’t make the same errors my husband and I did.”

“Our relationship may have had an unconventional beginning.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. “But I will honor our vows.”

“Vows aren’t just about fidelity.”

She walks away before I can reply.

Irritated and slightly confused by her cryptic statement, I glance back at Sophaya just as a man approaches her. I instantly go on alert as I take in the blond hair, the long face and rounded chin.

Louis Bernard. Sophaya’s ex-boyfriend.

I’m already halfway across the ballroom as Louis’s hand comes up and settles on her back with an intimacy that makes me furious.

“Whoa, brother.” Aiden steps in front of me, his smile wide and bright as he presses a champagne glass into my hands. “Wipe that look off your face before someone sees you contemplating murder.”

My hands clench on the glass as Louis leans down and whispers something in Sophaya’s ear. I can’t see her face from this angle, but she’s not pulling away. “That’s her ex.”

“I figured.” Aiden lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not telling you not to interfere. But handle it the way you did the press. Be clinical, not emotional.”