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“Sofi´a—”
“Leave it,” she advised. “I’m fine.”
She was anything but, but he did, likely as aware as she was that if they kept this up, the official photograph was going to be of them having a fight.
She danced with his father after that, which did nothing for her demeanor, Harry, Nik’s best friend from New York, then with a succession of partners, following Akathinian tradition that the bride and groom-to-be began and ended the evening in the arms of their betrothed, but in between were encouraged to enjoy the charms of as many eligible guests as they could. To celebrate their last days of freedom as it were.
When Aristos Nicolades approached her to dance, his blonde goddess Lord knew where, she almost refused him, not sure she was up to it. Then the defiant part of her that had been kicking up its heels all evening took over.
“I would love to,” she accepted, taking the hand he offered. He was wickedly tall and solid as he took her into his arms on the dance floor, moving with a smooth, commanding precision. He flirted with her with that irreverent carelessness that seemed to be so much a part of him and it was exactly what Sofi´a needed in her current mood. When she laughed at a particularly outrageous anecdote he recounted, Nik trained his gaze on her from across the dance floor.
Good, she thought. Let him watch.
She looked up at her dance partner. “Why don’t you end it cleanly if you know your relationship is over?”
His black-as-night eyes glimmered. “Are you reprimanding me, Ms. Ramirez?”
“I think maybe I am.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Nikandros is going to have his hands full with you. No doubt about it. And yes, you are right. If I was anything but, what would the old-fashioned term be? A cad? I would have done so a few weeks ago.”
“A woman would far more appreciate your honesty than to be treated as an expendable commodity.”
An amused smile played about his lips. “Some of the women I date would prefer to bury their head in the sand when it’s time to call it quits. Perhaps it is my bank account that gives them pause.”
“Then you, Mr. Nicolades,” she said tartly, “are dating the wrong women.”
“Maybe so.” He gave her a considering look. “I would wish your husband-to-be good luck taming such a fiery personality, but I have the distinct feeling he is up to the challenge. And that he will enjoy it very much.”
She blushed and lifted a brow. “You think so?”
“Undoubtedly. Everyone talked about Athamos’s cool negotiating skills, yet I would far rather face him across a boardroom table than Nik. Nik may be passionate, but he is the iciest, most formidable negotiator I have ever encountered when he sits down at a table. He is willing to take it to the limit, to the very edge of a deal to win. A much more worthy adversary.”
Aristos’s assessment of her fiancé only underscored the sinking feeling in her stomach. She had given her life up to become queen in a country that didn’t want her, for a man who thought she was a liar, who was only marrying her because she carried his heir. A man who would do what it took to have her fall in line so he could move on and rule his country. Her happiness was inconsequential.
Thinking she could ever belong to this world had been madness.
Her head reeling, a panicky feeling lingering just around the edges of her consciousness, she finished her dance with Aristos, grabbed a glass of sparkling water from a waiter’s tray and sought refuge on one of the smaller, more intimate balconies, desperately needing air. Relieved to find it empty, she rested her elbows on the railing, the still warm, fragrant air drifting across her bare shoulders in a featherlight caress. It was too late to change her mind. Too late to put a halt to the chain of events she’d set in place when she’d agreed to become Nik’s wife. But oh, how she wished she could in this moment. She would give anything to be back in New York, handling a busy rush at the boutique, her busy, ordinary life pulsing ahead. Instead she had descended into a version of hell she had no idea how she was going to manage.
“A bit overwhelming, is it not?”
She turned at the sound of the smooth, lightly accented voice. The countess. Dammit. She had done her best to avoid the woman all evening, yet here she was as if she’d specifically hunted her down.
“I needed some air,” she acknowledged, turning back to look at the formal gardens, breathtaking in their color and symmetry.
The countess joined her at the railing, balancing her champagne glass on the ledge. “Akathinians are not the most welcoming to outsiders. Oh, we appreciate the influx of foreigners and the money they spend here, but when it comes down to it, they are not Akathinians. They will never achieve the same station, the same acceptance as a native with the right bloodlines.”
