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Molo, Cortina d’Ampezzo, Tuesday: 1:17am
“At the end of day seven, the United Kingdom tops the medal tally board with 23 gold, 17 silver and 11 bronze.”
“Let’s not forget half those medals were won on the ski fields, Gary, an absolutely brilliant effort by their athletes at these Olympic Games. The nearest competition is Italy and Norway with 17 and 15 gold medals respectively.”
“We’re only halfway through the games too, John, and given our impressive talent on the ice there’ll only be more medals to come, especially gold ones.”
“No pressure,” she mutters, playing distractedly with the antique brooch firmly in her grasp.
Given it’s a family heirloom, and her lucky charm, she’s long since familiarised herself with each and every groove as her fingers trace over it slowly. Touching it is supposed to calm her nerves but it doesn’t seem to be working.
She figures asking the bartender to turn down the volume is not an option given he’s clearly entranced by the Winter Olympics coverage on TV, much like the rest of the world.
Molo is a pub in the town’s centre and usually packed with spectators and journalists alike. Thankfully, given the time, it’s fairly empty at this time. Which is exactly what Sophie hoped for when planning her impromptu escape. Her coach would kill her if he knew she’d sneaked out of the olympic village after curfew but she needs some breathing space as well as the assistance of a strong vodka on the rocks.
“Don’t forget we still have strong medal potential in a number of other, upcoming events including luge, cross country skiing and ice skating, Gary.”
“Yes we do. Who can forget England’s very own, Sophie Baek?” Gary offers, all too enthusiastically for her liking. “She has the potential to be the best we’ve ever seen from the UK in the women’s ice skating competition.”
“She won silver in her first Olympics in Beijing four years ago and given the plethora of national and world championship titles under her belt since then, and at only 22, she can easily take out the competition.”
“No pressure, at all,” she sighs loudly, forgetting her plan to be discreet just as her image fills the screen.
“You...” the bartender begins, turning around slowly just as Sophie realises she’s done a terrible job of remaining incognito. Before she can reply, he continues, “need another one?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
Being a world class athlete, having one vodka is bad enough let alone multiple especially the night before your competition.
“You look familiar, has anyone ever told you that?”
Sophie’s hoping that her strategically placed cap is enough to convince the guy she isn’t the person currently on screen. Before he can press further, the front door opens unexpectedly.
“Hello, what’s good here, mate?” He’s clearly out of breath as he asks the question while shrugging off his thick jacket.
She looks up from beneath her cap, not sure whether this interruption is a good or bad thing. If it diverts attention elsewhere and drowns out the television she figures it can’t be all that bad.
The stranger’s voice is distinctly English but what grabs her attention most is that he’s wearing a cap as well, even if a few, stray, chestnut locks have teasingly escaped. An English native, Sophie immediately recognises his red and white cap as that from her rival football team.
“Alcohol,” the largely silent but burly bartender grunts, not even bothering to turn around given his attention is back firmly focused on the television.
“Great, I’ll take one of those then,” he requests wryly, taking a seat on the neighbouring barstool.
“Really?” It’s out of her mouth before she can stop it.
“Not that it’s any of your business but I was merely responding to sarcasm with sarcasm.” She gives him a pointed look by way of response. “What? Was that too sarcastic a response? Fine, I’ll take a beer,” he asks, before leaning across to whisper in her ear.
She’s trying to ignore how his breath tickles the shell of her ear and just how good he smells, a mixture of spices and mint. “I’m sure your boyfriend over there will get over it.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Nothing against the bartender but Sophie likes to think her taste in men is slightly less hairy.
“Liar,” he teases. “What you’ve failed to notice is that this place is practically dead so it probably doesn’t matter much.”
“Says the guy in that, just do us all a favour and take it off.”
“Excuse me? Take what off exactly? I’ve only just met you and, believe it or not, I’m not that easy.”
“You wish,” she drawls, rolling her eyes. He might be kind of cute but she has no intention of admitting that fact. “The cap, I mean, Arsenal really?”
“There’s only one good football team and it’s Arsenal. Although given your choice of headwear I understand all of the hostility now. Your team is Tottenham, really?” He replies using her language no doubt on purpose. “Fine. I’ll remove mine if you remove yours.”
“How about we don’t speak at all?”
“Suits me, saves me having to say that Arsenal has won more matches head-to-head. You know, just saying.” He smirks and Sophie is doing all she can not to roll her eyes.
“Sarcasm again, how cute.”
“You think I’m cute?”
Before she can rebuff his response, their bartender interrupts.
“That’s how I know you,” the bartender comments after begrudgingly sending a beer to her neighbour. “You’re the ice skating girl.”
His timing couldn’t be worse given she doesn’t want the smirky guy next door to know her true identity. “No, not me, not at all given I’m incredibly clumsy, especially on icy surfaces.”
“She’s actually the goalie for Great Britain’s ice hockey team and, between you and me, I wouldn’t mess with her, mate.”
The bartender turns back to the coverage clearly not understanding his humour but, given how bad it is, Sophie doesn’t blame the guy.
“At least you’ve got one thing right,” she replies.
Sophie’s grown up on the ice and as a result has played a lot of ice hockey in her time, even if her coach hated it because he didn’t want her getting injured.
“What? You attack people with sticks?”
“I’m only thinking of one person I want to do that to right now.”
“And to think I was kind of warming to you.”
“Should I be flattered?”
He doesn’t respond, just sends her a wolfish grin for bothering to ask the question. Then he surprises her by finally removing his cap and placing it on the bar. What Sophie isn’t expecting is for the big reveal to unveil such an attractive pair of teasing lips, jade coloured eyes and is that a dimple he just flashed in her direction? Maybe she prefers him with the cap on instead.
She’s also trying to ignore the niggling feeling that he looks very familiar. Then it comes to her all at once and Sophie almost falls off the barstool.
Did she just threaten the fifth in line to the British throne with harm?
It’s Prince Benedict Bridgerton and he’s as hot in person as he is on her television. She knows some members of the British Royal Family are at the games for official duties and to help build morale but Sophie clearly missed the memo about Prince Benedict.
Also known as the fun loving Prince with girlfriends aplenty and, if you believe the tabloids, the black sheep of the family because Benedict has quite the reputation.
Although, now she doesn’t know how to address him. Does she need to curtsey?
“No, you don’t have to curtsey,” he says, reading her mind.
“How did you…”
“I’ve seen that same expression on your face thousands of times,” he murmurs. “Maybe I should’ve kept the cap on, at least the conversation was flowing nicely then.”
“Was that before or after I threatened to hit you with a stick?” She jokes, then realises her manners. “Your Majesty.”
“Wrong person,” he explains. “It’s actually Your Royal Highness but I much preferred it when you called me cute.”
“Someone has a selective memory, I didn’t call you cute,” she replies, feeling a little flustered.
“Well, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”
Can this guy read her mind or what? Sophie can feel her cheeks warming up and needs to do something to distract her from the fact she’s sitting next to a Prince. So, she removes her cap, her long, dark hair tumbling out from beneath and flowing down her back.
It’s probably a risk but for some reason she’s past the point of caring and she’s no longer the most famous or most recognisable in the bar anymore. He seems a little taken aback by her surprise move, his eyes taking in her altered appearance. Maybe someone else is flustered.
“You are the ice skating girl,” he whispers, quoting the barman. “Not to nit pick but shouldn’t you be sleeping and not out at a bar drinking with me?”
“I’m not doing anything with you,” she clarified. “Your Highness.”
“I’m assuming your coach doesn’t know where you are.”
“Why, are you going to tell on me, YH?”
“Cute nickname,” he smiles, flashing not one but two dimples this time. Those things should come with a warning. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk about why you’re here, what should we talk about?”
“How about why you’re here, YH?”
“I needed some breathing space,” he admits. “Sometimes things just get so over...”
“Whelming,” she finishes. ‘Sorry to interrupt but I feel like I can relate.”
“I can only imagine with all of the expectations put on your shoulders. I’d be drinking too.”
“It’s a lot,” she exhales. “Especially being in the middle of that zoo they call the athlete’s village with your coach breathing down your neck.”
“Hence your escape.”
“Exactly. Do you have the equivalent of a coach?”
“My protection detail is about one hundred coaches,” he shares. “A few of them are waiting outside but they’re loyal so they let me have these little moments on my own.”
“But you’re stuck here with me instead.”
“I could think of much worse people to be stuck with, Sophie.” She isn’t expecting him to know her name, let alone say it and it’s causing a few unexpected flutters in her stomach.
“I’m sorry, Ms Baek. It’s the least I can do seeing as you’re being so formal.”
“I prefer Sophie.”
“Well, how about we make a deal? I call you Sophie and you call me Benedict.”
“I’ve already threatened to hurt you, I can’t call you that.”
“I tried,” he sighs. “So, why figure skating?”
“I used to love playing in the snow and one day my mother took me for lessons.” Sophie squeezes the brooch, almost like she’s hoping for a sign. “I also don’t know how to do anything else,” she jokes.
“That’s an impressive piece of jewellery,” he notes, gesturing to her hand. “Is that an antique?”
“It was my grandmother’s brooch and then she passed it down to my mother,” she murmurs, wondering why she’s choosing to share the information. “She, uh, died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine,” she lies. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last she’s pretended to be okay. “You could say it’s become my lucky charm since and never let me down once.”
“The only luck I’ve ever had in my life was my childhood imaginary friend,” he shares, taking a sip of beer. “HIs full name was Master Lucky Chester Wentworth Buttons III.”
“Wow, that’s a mouthful. My imaginary friend was just Jane so you definitely get a prize for creativity.”
“What can I say, I was an overly competitive child and incredibly detail oriented, still am,” he jokes. “My head of security hates it.”
“Watch what you say about me, Your Highness,” a voice interrupts from behind them. “I hear and see everything and have no qualms about sharing it.”
Sophie turns around not expecting company. He’s tall, dark haired and incredibly handsome from this vantage point.
“You wouldn’t dare, Simon.”
“Don’t tempt me.” The bartender finally notices them, the television a distant memory. “There’s some people outside trying to vandalise the place, you might want to check it out.”
The barman leaves, suddenly fast on his feet.
“What are you doing here?”
“Well, Your Highness,” he drawls. “I’ve held them off as long as I can but there’s a horde of reporters currently gathered outside and threatening to stampede the place and take some pretty pictures of you, Princess.”
“He’s not that pretty,” Sophie comments offhandedly.
“I like her,” Simon replies. “Can we keep her, just to insult you for my personal entertainment?”
“Of course you do,” Benedict growls.
“Hang on, did you say reporters? All I wanted to do was have a quiet drink on my own with absolutely no attention and absolutely no press. Are you happy with yourself?”
“Well…”
“No need to speak, YH. I’m leaving before my coach finds out what I’ve done after your sycophantic pack of reporters descend on this place.”
“Out through the kitchen works if...” Simon suggests, pointing in the direction from where he suddenly appeared.
Sophie’s gone before he can finish his sentence.
Royal Accommodation, Wednesday 6:33am
“I need to return this to her today,” Benedict insists, his thumb exploring the brooch for the umpteenth time.
He may have been staring at it for hours on end but will never admit it. Benedict likens its enticing beauty to the woman who abused him but at the same time endeared herself to him in the space of fourteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Yes, he might’ve counted.
When she ran out just like Cinderella at the ball, it wasn’t a glass slipper but her brooch that temptingly remained. Benedict knew she was too preoccupied to realise she’d forgotten it but was long gone before he could raise the alarm.
“No, your personal secretary can do that. What you need to be doing is looking over your day’s schedule. You’re due to attend the Freestyle Skiing finals and present medals.”
“Must I?”
“Always so over the top, your royal drama-queen-ness,” Simon, as per protocol, calls him the obligatory address in public but behind closed doors has free reign. “Given you’re representing the Crown, I’d say it’s compulsory much like the rest of this official visit, but you knew that when we left Windsor Castle last Thursday.”
“Always ruining my fun,” he drawls. “Given Anthony is going to be King one day you’d think he could’ve taken one for the team.”
“I think he’s already taking a thousand for the team.”
Benedict can’t disagree with that given it’s one title he isn’t chasing due to the immense pressure associated with it. “Fine. We should have sent Colin instead.”
“Now I know you’re just messing with me, Benny,” he replies tartly.
“You’re starting to sound just like my little sister, Basset. Speaking of Daphne, any reason why you two have been spending a lot of time together lately?”
“So, you say you want to return this?”
“I knew you’d see things my way.”
“Is this really about a piece of jewellery or does someone have a little crush?”
Benedict knows he has a crush and little doesn’t even come close to explaining it.
“That’s beside the point, she must be sick with worry about losing something so sentimental.” Also, the fact it’s her lucky charm and her competition is tonight makes this urgent.
“I understand but you can’t just return it in person without attracting a lot of unwanted media attention. She also didn’t want her coach to find out she was out past curfew and you’ll blow her secret.”
He doesn’t want to admit it aloud but Simon has a good point. Benedict can’t explain it but he just has to see her again.
“She’s competing tonight so she must be practicing or maybe I can meet her somewhere else?”
“Or maybe we need to get creative.”
Olympic Village Dining Hall, Wednesday: 7:45am
“So, what you’re telling me is that you snuck out, without me I might add, and managed to snare the Prince of England?”
“Snare no, couldn’t be further from the truth but shhhhh, I don’t think they heard you in the city hosting the next Olympic Games, Kate.”
“That would be France and I’m glad you brought that up because I’m wondering just what his baguette is like.”
“Way to ruin my appetite.”
They’re in the village’s dining hall eating the bland offerings before today’s competition. Sophie has her short program tonight and is trying to concentrate but struggling without her lucky charm.
She called the bar upon returning to her room but they didn’t have it, which only left one person. She’s told her friend and teammate about that part of the story but she’s clearly too focused on princes and bread euphemisms to concentrate.
“Also, what part of ‘I lost my mother’s brooch before my competition today,’ did you misunderstand, Kate?”
“You like him!”
“No, I just need something back that he happens to have in his possession,” she argues. “Once I get my brooch it’ll be like we never met.”
“Liar,” she snorts. “That’s code for ‘I want my brooch back but if he’s up for more I might be interested because I haven’t had any action for longer than I’m willing to admit,’ right?”
“You have an overactive imagination.”
“Says the girl who hasn’t gotten any for some time,” she scoffs. “That issue aside, we’ll get it back but I’d just like to say you don’t need a lucky charm, Baek. You’re brilliant with and without it.”
“Well, excuse me if I’m superstitious,” she replies. “Plus, ignoring my event today, the Prince has something that belongs to me and given he owns the crown jewels already it’s just a little greedy, no?”
“It definitely is,” she replies, waving a pathetic piece of limp, fat free bacon substitute in her direction. “But how are you going to get it back without your little curfew breach getting back to the coach?"
Team GB Practice, Wednesday: 11:45am
“We have a little surprise for you all today,” their coach announces after they arrive at practice. “His Royal Highness, Prince Bridgerton, will be attending practice. I trust you’ll all be on your best behaviour,” she says, looking at Kate in particular.
“Why am I always the bad guy?” Kate mutters loud enough so only Sophie can hear. “His Royal Hotness is here for only one reason and it’s to see you, Soph.”
“Well, I’m not sure…”
“Well, I’m sure and you should be happy he’s bringing back your brooch.”
Sophie’s pleased about that but she also hopes he keeps that part of his visit discreet because the last thing she needs is to be in trouble with her coach right before she competes.
“I’m glad, yes. Once he gives it back I can focus on more important matters, like winning a gold medal.”
“Do we need to curtsey?”
Half an hour later his entourage appears, Sophie notices Simon straight away looking good in his suit. Kate noticed too by the way she let out an impromptu meow. The Prince in question is dressed much more formally today and while she thinks the suit is fitting him in all the right places, she can’t forget the way he filled out those dark jeans and the way his wayward hair peeked out of his cap.
He looks over in her direction and catches her looking. She can tell by the way his dimple appears that he knows it too. Sophie really needs to focus and this isn’t helping her do that.
After the obligatory speeches and morale boosting everyone scatters. Sophie notices him gesture to the far end of the rink which is closed off to press. She looks around first and nobody seems to be paying her any attention so she makes her way to the end of the rink. It’s dark and also sheltered, so the perfect place to go undetected.
As much as she wants her brooch back, she’s also weirdly excited to see him again.
“You left something behind,” he murmurs, passing her a felt pouch. Sophie accidentally grazes his hand in the process and immediately feels warm all over.
“Thank you,” she replies, finally withdrawing her hand. “I really need this for tonight.”
“Do you though? I’ve seen you skate, Sophie, and it’s pretty spectacular.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls, YH,” she teases.
“Yes, I say it to all the figure skaters that cross my path,” he jokes. “I just meant that you have the talent already, no lucky charm is going to change that.”
“Well, thank you for saying that,” she murmurs, his spicy aftershave messing with her concentration. “But I have to get back to practice if I even want a chance to win.”
“I understand, I’m just glad I could get this back to you. I might see you around later in the week.”
Sophie has no idea what he means and she’s fairly certain he’s only saying that to be polite but she agrees with him anyway. “See you later, YH.”
Stadio Olimpico del Ghiaccio, Friday: 7:59pm
Official events and ceremonies are Benedict’s life. So this one, much like the rest, shouldn’t phase him but this is different.
He’s never presented a medal to the woman he not only really likes but also met at a bar a few nights earlier under strange circumstances. He’s also never had to walk onto ice to present a medal so this should be interesting.
The rink is silent in anticipation as Benedict makes his way towards the podium. He can’t hide his smile at seeing her standing at the very top as the newest gold medallist for team Great Britain.
It’s only as he places the medal around her neck that Benedict realises he might be falling for her and not just because of the way she practically floats on ice or that her hair smells like strawberries and vanilla. She’s also the first person not to treat him like royalty and for Benedict that’s everything, even if they were interrupted.
When Simon devised the plan to go to training under an official guise, Benedict personally wrapped her brooch and included a brief but personal note with it.
To the ‘ice skating girl’ AKA ‘cap police,'
No, this isn’t Jane, your imaginary friend. Please find enclosed your family brooch the importance of which I know all too well. I wrapped it myself (so excuse the poor presentation - Simon made me say that part).
Family is and will forever be important but knowing your incredible talent, I’m sure you don’t need a lucky charm at all. I believe in you and your talents.
Master Lucky Chester Churchill Wentworth Buttons III
“You owe me an explanation for that incredibly thoughtful note, Master Buttons,” she mumbles just as Benedict pulls away reluctantly after presenting the medal.
It takes all his willpower not to pull her into his embrace and tell her that he meant every word.
“So, as predicted Sophie Baek won the women’s individual figure skating gold medal, John. This takes Great Britain’s medal tally to 33 gold medals with other competitions still to be completed.”
“She deserves it all after that flawless performance, Gary,” he agrees. “I'm notTMZ but looking at that medal ceremony, does anyone notice just how familiar she and the Prince seem to be?”
“Maybe you need to stick to sports and not gossip, John.”
Palais des Expositions, Nice, Fr, Thursday: 7:17am (4 years later)
"Nice form,” he murmurs in his ear, his hot breath tickling the hairs at the nape of her neck. “Can I have an autograph? I’m your biggest fan.”
She’s leaning against the rink before practice, not expecting him to be there. He’s dressed in the obligatory Team Great Britain colours and it’s really doing it for Sophie.
“Oh really? My biggest fan you say? I think that can be arranged Mr…?”
“YH Bridgerton,” he emphasises the YH part and flashes his wedding ring for added effect. “Just don’t tell my wife, she can be very protective.”
“My lips are sealed,” she smirks. “So, where do you want it, YH?”
“Well, actually,” he begins, unzipping his jacket. “I was thinking that maybe you could do it right…”
“Do I need to separate you two again?” Simon interrupts.
“Again?” Daphne adds.
“Oh great mum and dad are here to ruin our fun,” Benedict groans, rolling his eyes at Sophie.
The 2030 Winter Olympic Games are being held in France and Sophie’s short program is scheduled for tomorrow. Besides figure skating, life is pretty great. Sophie Baek and Prince Benedict Bridgerton were married in Windsor Castle a year earlier after a two year engagement.
“I suppose I should get to my training session now,” Sophie places a kiss on his cheek, before skating off to practice.
“Why is it that every time I turn around you two are rubbing up against each other like two very needy canines.”
“We’re married, Daphne, it’s hardly surprising.”
“I’m sure the paparazzi love all of these photo ops,” she jokes.
“Well, we never get much time together just the two of us thanks to our competing schedules and the whole royal thing so we need to take what we can.”
“Oh, you mean like that little incident in the elevator yesterday?” Simon asks.
Benedict blushes, unable to stop himself. One minute Sophie was heading to training and the next her back was up against the elevator wall. If it hadn’t stopped at the next floor, who knows what might’ve happened?
Sometimes, the attraction between them is a blessing and a curse at the same time. Given they’re always so busy there’s limited time to reconnect and the elevator incident was case in point.
“We were just talking,” he lies, unconvincingly.
“Yeah that’s how I talk to all of my friends,” he jokes. “Look, Sophie needs to be focused. She’s going to be retiring soon enough so you’ll both have plenty of time to maul each other then.”
“So, we need to stop talking?”
“Yeah, if that’s what you call it,” he laughs. “If not, at least just be discreet."
Hotel Negresco, Nice, Thursday: 9pm
“Took your time, love,” he growls, pulling her inside his room and kissing her before she can even say hello.
His stubble tickles her cheeks as his lips explore hers. He smells like a familiar mixture of soap and mint and she melts into him. He’s warm and intoxicating and Sophie feels like she’s floating. She always does with Benedict.
“Mmmm, I'm sorry, YH,” she murmurs, reluctantly pulling away. He keeps his arms securely around her waist, a satisfied smile tugging at the edge of his mouth and one very familiar dimple making itself known. “Practice ran late and, boy, am I glad to be back.”
Given her security detail is extensive, she’s staying at a hotel rather than the Olympic Village.
“On another note, what are you wearing? Or not wearing?”
He’s naked except for a pair of very fitted, grey, boxer briefs and Sophie is struggling to concentrate all of a sudden.
“You’re really complaining, Soph? I was taking a shower and then you knocked on my door, see, my hair’s still wet.”
He leans in rubbing his cold locks over her face. “Benedict!”
He doesn’t relent, finding her weak spot and tickling her mercilessly. She attempts to wriggle free from his grasp and runs away. He chases her around the room and before too long they end up limbs intertwined on the large bed.
“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs into the crook of her neck. “I’ve missed you.” Sophie sighs, knowing just how he feels.
“I’ve missed us.”
“And just how good we are together.” His eyes are fixed on hers now as his hands caress her skin slowly.
“Well, it’s for our careers,” she replies, running her hands through his damp locks. “But yet here you are distracting me right before my competition.”
“Well, personally, I don’t understand why we can’t have some quality time beforehand, it's been known to be quite effective.”
“Oh really and where did you read that?”
He doesn’t respond, just starts placing kisses along her neck, his arousal rubbing against her teasingly. Sophie stops thinking, she just wants to forget about all of the pressure and lose herself in him.
4:30am
Sophie can't believe the time, she intended on going back to her separate room to avoid distractions but fell asleep in his arms. They’re pretty comfortable so she can’t really blame Benedict.
She gets up and haphazardly throws on her clothes which happen to be spread far and wide around the room.
“Are you really sneaking out on me? You do realise we’re married now so I know where you live?”
His voice is full of sleep but he still manages to be funny. One of the many things she loves about Benedict Bridgerton.
“I should have left already, the coach is going to kill me.”
“Not before you give me a proper goodbye,” he says, surprising her by pulling her back into the bed. “You’re going into battle today.”
“It’s skating, not war,” she laughs as he starts to tickle her again.
Sophie loves mornings like this, just the two of them in their own little bubble without anyone or anything interrupting.
“It’s the Olympics, Soph,” he replies. “That’s practically war given it’s a competition between nations.”
“Oh, please,” she grabs a pillow and hits him over the head attempting to stop the onslaught. “Stop tickling me, you brute, I need to sneak out before someone sees me.”
“I think there are more important things going on than you and me getting it on,” he teases. “All I ask is one more kiss and then I’ll let you go, I promise.”
“Yeah but one kiss always ends up being much more than that,” she says knowingly, taking her chance to flip over on her stomach now he’s stopped with the tickling.
“I’ll be good, I swear,” he holds up his hands in defeat.
Sophie places her hand on his bare chest and draws invisible circles with her thumb. She’ll never tire of this view.
“What’s going on in that super smart brain of yours, Sophie?” He asks, playing with her hair affectionately.
“I’m thinking that I love you, very much.”
“What a coincidence, I love you very much too.”
She places a kiss on his lips, her hand cupping his cheek as she does. He pulls her closer, his hands wound tightly around her hair now. She’s losing herself and any last shreds of willpower she still has. Maybe one more time won’t hurt?
As it turns out, having sex before competition days became one of Sophie’s traditions along with carrying her brooch after she won gold again in France.
And Sophie and her Prince lived happily ever after.