Page 197 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

Gustav’s thoughts jumped so easily to his arguments for why he was acting quite fairly, far within the bounds of the power game they were all playing. But for now, it was time to put that aside and let himself feel the attraction he had denied himself since he’d walked into her apartment a few hours before. He let himself study the way her dress slid over her hips. He let himself be mesmerized by the way the train that followed behind her cascaded down the steps like a waterfall.

Livia came to stop next to him, and her gaze lifted to his. Her eyes were a dark green that made him feel as if he were looking back in time. But it wasn’t just a past version of her that he saw in her eyes. He was remembering what it felt like to be Gustav af Isborg eight years ago, when possibilities seemed so much more open. When he and Livia still existed outside the complications of the real world and he had dreamed that there was a future far away from the confines of the life his title dictated. A life where she accepted him.

She furrowed her brow a little as if she were asking him a question. In this moment, he wanted the answer to be yes.

The priest began to speak, reminding him of where they were and what came next. Blessings were recited, but all Gustav could think about was his consuming ache for her.

The priest moved on to the vows, and Livia’s voice was light and musical as she recited them in his mother tongue, the language that was not her native French. Then it was Gustav’s turn. But when the priest spoke of love and honor and cherishing, he hesitated. He could promise none of this. Gustav swallowed back his discomfort and forced himself to continue.

The priest presented them with rings, and Livia’s fingers trembled as she slipped the hard, endless band onto his finger. And when he held her hand in his, he couldn’t help but stare at the engagement ring his assistant had delivered to the bridal cottage. In all his preparations, he had decided it was excessive and unnecessary to select one himself. Now Gustav was entirely dissatisfied with the uneasy sense that he shouldn’t have delegated that task. Not that it mattered, he told himself, as she would likely throw it away tomorrow. But in this moment, he wanted the illusion that this was real. Livia was looking down at the ring on her finger, too, but if the same thought had occurred to her, she didn’t let on.

After a few more blessings and many more admonishments dressed up as blessings, the priest said, “You may kiss.”

She looked up at him, and the endless seas of green in her eyes sparkled brighter. He lowered his mouth to hers, so lush and ripe, and he brushed his lips against her lips, just a graze, testing what she would do. It was a temptation. She brought her hand to his chest, and his body lit up with the fire he had kept so tightly contained, a fire that threatened to explode. Still, he brought his hand to her slim neck and pressed his lips to hers again. She parted her mouth, and he tasted mint and roses, and in that moment, eight years of longing and desire swept over him. It was a storm that stirred up long-buried memories, whipping them into a miasma of desire and need. But he would not lose control. Not here. Not now.

He pulled back, and she looked up at him, her eyes unfocused, filled with questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

The priest cleared his throat and declared, “For now and into eternity, you are one.”

Chapter Five

She couldn’t trust him. No matter how real their kiss felt. No matter how much she wanted to kiss him again. Livia knew power struggles were never as straightforward as they were presented. The kind of royal coup that Gustav had just pulled off would demand endless maneuvering to ensure that his father and brother didn’t wrench back the control that Gustav had taken. The king was doubtlessly planning his next move at this very moment. The problem was that Livia had no idea what the next move in this game was. She might have assumed the wedding was the end point, and yet when she searched for hints of celebratory relief in Gustav’s manner, she found nothing.

Livia waited for some indication, but the only hint of change had been in the kiss. It was soft and so achingly tender that for a moment, all the wariness and strategizing dissolved. There was only touch and heat and the kind of longing that she had tried so hard to forget. But afterward, when she disappeared into the bridal cottage to don a more practical dress, that hard tension radiated from him again. He was on a mission, one that could not possibly bode well for her.

Now they walked down the path that led to the pier where the royal yacht waited for them. As she approached the docks, she slowed when she spotted the few curious onlookers that gathered at a respectful distance and found a little girl with dark braids and a yellow sundress to smile and wave to. It was a trick she had learned over the past few months: find someone that brought out her genuine smile. Her royal tutor had told her that this would result in both better photos and better press, but Livia just found that a genuine smile made the entire experience of being in the spotlight less painful.

Gustav turned to her, and his expression was stern, distant, but when he reached for her hand, Livia’s whole body went up in flames. No amount of wariness or suspicion erased the rough scrape of the calluses on his palms and the soft warmth as his large hand closed around hers, but she fought against it just the same. She drew in a shaky breath, and Gustav studied her, eyes narrowed. Sparks of heat jumped between them. This man’s touch made her lose herself. Still, after all these years. And now he was her husband.

They continued along the cement pier and onto the dock where boats floated in the glassy water. She spotted theirs immediately. There was no mistaking the royal yacht for anything other than what it was. It was built long before yachts were interchangeable, floating monstrosities, churning up harbors and provoking pods of orcas. This one was a work of art, infinitely more stylish. If today’s yachts were the McMansions of the sea, this boat, with its clipper bow and a wooden hull painted in the deep blue of the country’s flag, was a well-preserved Victorian.

The top half was painted white, offset by well-polished brass and mahogany trim. The sun reflected off the portholes and the glass and metal flourishes, surrounding the yacht in a sparkling aura that was almost mystical. The only nods to this century were the solar panels that peeked out from the roof of the main cabin.

Livia walked past sailboats and fishing tugs, floating in the placid waters of the bay. They came to a stop in front of a narrow gangplank that stretched from the dock to the stern of the royal yacht. Back at the cottage next to the church, when she had found a new sundress, knee-length in pale blue, laid out for her, instinct told her to ignore it and stay in the infinitely less practical wedding dress that she’d loved. The vision of walking along the pier with a tangle of dusty silk dragging behind her, disrupting the perfect portrait of a royal couple they were supposed to play, was almost too tempting to ignore. Seventeen-year-old Livia would have done it, but now, as she navigated the narrow staircase onto the deck, she was glad she’d resisted. She likely would have tripped and fallen into the sea in a mess of waterlogged fabric by now.

Gustav released her hand, and the tightness in her chest eased a little. She crossed the gangway and stepped onto an elegant deck. Two members of the royal guard that had hovered around them since they had left the castle disappeared inside, and two others remained on the dock. But as Gustav walked along the built-in benches that traced the aft curve of the boat, five crew members filed out onto the deck.

They stood in a line against the windows that led to the cabin, and they all bowed and greeted both of them in that polite, impersonal way she was growing familiar with. “Your Highness.”

The introductions began: a captain, in her crisp naval uniform, along with a head housekeeper, a head chef and two personal assistants. Livia had no idea what they would need a personal assistant for on this boat. Probably part of some sort of yachting-when-royal lesson her tutor had not covered yet.

“Welcome to the Sophia,” said the captain in a tone that managed to convey both authority and deference.

Livia nodded, and the captain turned to Gustav. “The ship and course updates are ready whenever you would like to see them, sir.”

“We can discuss that later,” he said. “The princess and I will take a short tour of the boat, then celebrate our marriage on the deck.”

It took a moment for Livia to register that she was the princess he had referred to.

“Very good, sir,” said the captain, and the staff bowed and stood aside as Gustav started toward the glass and wood door and into the cabin.

Unlike the castle, with its ornate furniture, steeped in centuries of royal history, the main cabin room was warm and welcoming in its elegance. The windows that lined both sides brightened the room, and the furniture was built with the same polished mahogany as the trim and arranged into two main sitting areas. One was toward the bow with two plush chairs and a side table that created a sort of reading nook. A sofa and two half-circle armchairs formed the other area around a table. The blue-and-white-striped fabric and the yellow carpet gave the room an unexpectedly playful feel.

“The boat was built in 1951 as a summer home for King Olaf and Queen Greta to travel around the archipelago and visit islands and towns in Isrikesland that were less accessible by land,” said Gustav, as if he were a tour guide, as if it weren’t his own relatives he was referring to. “It is the second-oldest royal yacht in continuous use.”

“How often do you use it?” she asked. In her recent circles, Livia had heard rumors of the excesses of the current-day versions of these summer visits.

“Never.”