“I’m sorry about what happened.”
“That was some stupid shit you pulled last night, Sarah. Don’t even get me started on Cassie. Jesus.”
“I am really, really sorry. It was the drinks.”
“You think?” Sophie doesn’t want to fight, even though Sarah is reckless and seems to do everything just to provoke her. Her head feels like it is inflamed beyond the size of her skull and her stomach gurgles with acid, so she decides to deal with her later.
“Oliver will come around. He has to. You are perfect for each other.”
SOPHIE IS KICKING back on a hammock, trying to read what someone else wrote about her life story. God, she sounds terrible in her memoir.
“Sophie! Quick! Oliver has gone mad!”
She jerks upright. The hammock sways and twists, her toes getting caught in the rope netting. “What’s going on?”
Sarah shrieks, “He’s dishing out on Cassie for last night!”
They make a dash through the villa, up the stairs, and toward the double queen suite.
“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! You’re not my father!”
Oliver kicks a table. “I don’t see anyone else claiming the title! I’m the closet thing you have to a father! I won’t have you become some floozy, no good tart out for a fucking sugar daddy! Not on my watch!”
Sophie walks in holding up her sundress’s long hemline. “You told him?”
Cassie turns to Sophie looking so scared she nearly pees her pants.
“Tell me what?” Oliver asks, in a tone that suggests urgent impatience. He looks back and forth at the two. “Tell me what?”
That she kissed a guy twice her age? Doubtful. “Nothing. Just that it wasn’t her fault.”
Cassie takes a deep breath and smudges her tears away. “Man up and take responsibility for your own actions, you drunk jerk! That’s the kind of fatherly example I need.” She leaves the room in a huff.
Oliver sways on his feet, then sits on the bed with an exhausted sigh. “You look like you want to say something.”
“I can’t believe you’re drunk, Oliver. It’s eleven in the morning.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t believe you’re pregnant,” he blurts out, rolling his neck from side to side. He woke up with a throbbing soreness. Nothing is right and now he feels sick.
“What?” She walks to him and puts her hands on his cheeks. “Oliver, look at me. What did you say?”
He nuzzles into her hand and brushes his lips on her wrist. “You smell delicious.”
“I’m not pregnant, Oliver. Why do you think that?”
He leans all the way back, closing his eyes. He sings “come lie with me” as if he were Frank Sinatra singing “Come Fly With Me.” A sleepy smile appears on his face.
Sophie shakes her head in both impatience and amusement. “Oliver, answer me.”
“Edmundo. He said you were pregnant.”
“Who?”
He’s dozing off.
“Oliver!”
His eyes barely open. “The guy from the pearl shop. He said, ‘felicidades, amigos. Su esposa tendrá gemelos.’”
“I don’t know what that means!”
“Don’t shout, Amelia Soph-ee-ya.”
“I’m sorry.”
He tucks his hand behind his head to cradle the beginnings of a headache creeping back there. “I love you. Don’t be mad at me.”
“Oliver, I love you too. But please answer me.”
He yawns, which in turn makes her yawn.
“Edmundo. He said congratulations. Your wife will have twins.”
“What? No. No. No. A million times no. I’m not your wife. And I’m not pregnant!”
His response is turning to present his back. “I feel like you want to rub my back.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Oliver, I’m not pregnant just because I chose an oyster with two frickin’ pearls! Edmundo is not a pearl psychic. Forget him. I am not pregnant.”
“You said that twice already.”
“Because I am not pregnant with two babies!”
“It’s okay if you’re pregnant, Soph. You can tell me. I’ll support you and the babies.”
“Jesus Christ. Oliver, I’m not pregnant. You’re my boyfriend. I would tell you.” She looks down at his priceless confused face.
“I don’t understand. You don’t want to give me a massage?”
Sighing loudly, she says, “God, you’re so drunk.”
He catches her grin.
“There’s the eighth wonder of the world.”
“Just go to sleep.”
Sophie draws the curtain, then leaves the room.
T W E N T Y - T H R E E
* * *
In the Family Way
“OLIVER, WAKE UP. It’s time to go.”
He groans and stretches. “It’s time for you to come sleep with me.”
“Everyone is packed and ready to go.” She shakes his shoulder gently. “Come on, wake up. You can sleep on the plane.”
Yanking the bedspread off, he plants his bare feet on the floor and rubs his face. “What is even the point of owning a jet if I can’t leave when I want?”
“I have news for you. The jet is here because you wanted to leave at this hour.”
“Well, I changed my mind.” He observes the popping vein on her forehead. “You’re angry.”
“You noticed?”
“About last night?”
She rolls her eyes and walks painfully affronted toward the door. Women test, that’s the reality of the situation.
“Hey, hey. Don’t stonewall me. Where are you going?”
“To tell the pilot we are clearly not leaving right now.”
“Okay, let’s talk about this.”
“Talk about what?”
“You know passive-aggressive doesn’t work with me.”
She keeps her tone cool. “Why do I have to tell you I’m upset? You’re supposed to know that you did something so tremendously obviously wrong.”
“Just say it, Sophie. You’re angry. Talk to me like an adult.”
“If you cared to put any thought into it, you would know that you acted like a jerk last night.”
“Okay, I’m sorry I was an asshole. I wasn’t mad at you, Sophie. I was mad at myself.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I’m the strict one, right? Bossy Oliver. Possessive Oliver. I’m not the fun one, I get it. But I don’t always want to be the bad guy, all right?”
“And who am I in this equation?”
“You keep me in check.”
“So…I’m the softie?”
“No, you are my balance. You remind me that I don’t want to be this overbearing control freak. You make me want to be better. That’s what you do for me, Sophie. So last night, I thought, maybe, I can be lenient too. I can be fun too.”
She briefly has a memory of him dancing, letting go.
“Cassie and Sarah were enjoying themselves. You seemed happy. I didn’t want to ruin it.” He sighs and shakes his head, exasperated. “I said trust her. It’ll be all right. She can handle her own. But Sophie, if anything had happened to you or the girls, it would’ve been on me. I don’t think I can go through something like that again.”
Sophie hears the unspoken part of that. He was afraid. Oliver felt the same burning terror as the last time she was taken away. Not only did he lose her, he nearly lost himself.
“Oliver,” she says in a soft whisper. “We’ve talked about this. The kidnapping wasn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not. But things could’ve gone down differently. If I had told you the truth sooner about John—”
“Don’t! Don’t say his name.”
“You mean John? I can say his name. He’s not Voldemort.”
“Oliver, stop it. Don’t make this about him, too.” She absolutely hates that everything has to trace back to him.
“I had a very strict and controlling father, Sophie. Respect is imp
ortant, but I don’t want to rear my children someday the same way I was brought up.”
What the devil is he saying? Sophie thinks about this for a second. Her hands fly to her hips. “Ah, I get it. This is because you think I’m pregnant, isn’t it? That’s why you wanted to be the fun one last night and why you’re so worried now about what kind of dad you’ll be.”
“I don’t know what to think. You cried during a soap commercial.”
Laugh or slap him? That’s Sophie’s question. “That means absolutely nothing. It was playing True Colors in the background.”
“You need to see a doctor to make sure.”
“I’m not pregnant. I can’t be.”
“It’s theoretically and physically possible.”
“Okay, you know what? I’m going to go talk to the pilot now.”
His brow knits, confused. “So you’re not mad at me anymore?”
“Get me some flowers,” she jokes. “And throw a ding dong in there.”
He laughs. “You got it, chief.”
She fiddles with her fingertips. “For what it’s worth, I’m very sorry too. I realize I wasn’t exactly smart about the situation. You’re right, something could’ve happened. I tried to get them to leave. I asked nicely, then not so nicely. I even did this thing like I was going to get security.”
He smiles thinly. “You bluffed?”
“Yeah. And all you had to do was send a miserable text. I guess I was furious about that. I felt stupid and powerless. The whole time I kept thinking, what would Oliver do if he were here? How would he get them to leave? To be honest, I could’ve called you before my phone died, but…”
“You were too proud.” He blows out a sigh. “What else is new?”
“I told myself, you know what? You got this, Sophie. I didn’t want to say save me, Oliver. Rescue me, Oliver. But you were right. We’re not in New York. I don’t even know Spanish. We should’ve left with you. I was in over my head. I just didn’t want to hear the big I-told-you-so speech from you.”
Oliver says “ouch” and puts his hand on his heart like he is wounded. “Sophie, I’m not a dick. If you screw up or I screw up, we fix it.” He gets up, walks to her, and wraps her in a hug. “If you need something, just tell me. That’s what I’m here for. Don’t waste your energy next time, all right? Only say things once, and definitely follow through.”
Sophie drops her head to his chest. His heartbeat, his warmth keeps her comfortable.
BY THE TIME Oliver is ready to return to New York, he has apologized to Cassie and everyone is hungry, so they decide to have lunch at Alexander’s Restaurant before boarding the jet. It is an eclectic restaurant at the Cabos San Luca’s marina, specializing in European cuisine.
“This ceviche is scrumdiddlyumptious,” Cassie says between bites. Sarah, as always, eats with her hands and gets it everywhere. Half her meal finds its way to the floor.
The waiter approaches the table and displays a bottle. “Our very own Sofia, Señor.”
The four turn their heads.
“Wine from the Liceaga winery at San Antonio de las Minas in Baja California. It’s a fine wine, Señor. A clean, light, sweet taste.”
“Yes,” says Oliver. “I’ll have a drink of that.”
“Very well,” Luis says, then pours him a glass and scurries off to another table.
Sophie pokes at her choice of succulent lobster.
“Is something wrong?” Sarah asks.
“No, I’m fine. I’m just a little hungover.”
Oliver sips a drink of wine and drapes his arm on Sophie’s chair. “Or she might be in the family way.”
Forks drop. Faces drop.
“Oh, my God! You’re pregnant?” Cassie yells.
“Shh! Cassie. Keep your voice down. Very smooth, Oliver,” Sophie says, irritated.
“Wait! What?” Sarah says, not exactly excited. “You’re pregnant?”
Cassie asks, “We’re going to be…aunts? Oh, my God! Best news ever!”
Near the end of her patience, Sophie takes a deep breath. “No one is pregnant. Can we all return to our food?”
THEY LEAVE THE restaurant deciding to explore the city a bit longer before departing. Cassie and Sarah check out Luxury Avenue, renowned home to Cabo’s designer boutique mall. Sophie and Oliver treat themselves to Mexican ice cream, relaxing street-side under a sunshade umbrella.
“If I keep this up, I’m going to be a whale by the time we reach New York. End of rant.”
Oliver smiles and lip snatches a taste of her melon ice cream cone.
A jolly kid flower vendor appears carrying two buckets and a backpack full of vivacious red long-stemmed roses. He says to Oliver, “Roses for your pretty girlfriend, Señor?”
Oliver sits forward in his metal chair. “What’s your name?”
“Jesús, Señor.”
“How many roses you got there, Jesús?”
He makes a face like he doesn’t understand.
“¿Cuántas rosas?”
“Eh, no sé. ¿Como cien?”
“I’ll tell you what…I’ll take them all. Todas, ¿sí?”
Jesús’s reaction is shock and happiness. “¿Todas?”
“Oliver. I was just kidding when I said I wanted roses,” Sophie whispers, leaning into him.
“Babe, the kid is carrying around a hundred roses and it’s ninety degrees out. I mean, come on.” He tells Jesús, “Sí. Todas.”
As Oliver is reaching for his wallet, he asks the boy how old he is. “¿Cuantos años tienes, Jesús?”
He holds up his hands, showing five fingers with one and three with the other.
“That’s awesome, buddy,” he says, handing him a bill.
Jesús screams with joy and carries out the symbolic sign of the cross. “Me ayuda mucho para mi escuela, Señor. ¡Gracias! Thank you!” He hugs Oliver in a sweet embrace. Sophie gets a hug too before the little guy runs off to his papá to tell him the good news.
“What did he say?”
“Oh, he said the money helps him with school.”
She can’t deal.
“Babe, are you crying?”
Sophie wipes a tear with her paper napkin. “No. Something got in my eye. What are we going to do with all these beautiful flowers?”
“Take them to New York, of course.”
T W E N T Y - F O U R
* * *
Picture Not Perfect
IT’S LIKE A soap opera in New York. The gossip, the criticism, the photographs of Sophie and Oliver at the beach circle the net before they even return. How did they get those photos? How did they know about their little Mexican getaway?
Talking heads are calling bull on Sophie. The mob mentality seems to suggest that if a woman is assaulted, abused, or kidnapped—she must forever more be fearful of everyone and everything. If she’s ever caught smiling at the beach with her boyfriend, then there is no way it could have happened. “How a victim acts after a crime is relevant to credibility,” says Fox News anchor on TV. “You’re on vacation at the beach after being held hostage and terrorized for a week? I find that very inappropriate. The public is catching on and frankly, the optics don’t look good.”
“And how the hell is a victim required to act?” Oliver bickers with the TV. Listening to the commentator blabber on about Sophie is giving him brain tumors. “Are you supposed to cry all the time? Be a hermit for the rest of your life?”
“Don’t pay them any attention, Oliver.”
He says “fuck them,” which is even more surprising to hear than the load of hogwash being served up by the media.
Sophie hits her racetrack—the treadmill—to chill out, showing off her perfectly toned curves in black gym leggings and a tight yellow training hoodie. She doesn’t stop for anything. Not when her right calf begins to feel stiff. Not when her stomach starts to hurt. Not when she needs to pee. She’s faster than she’s ever been. The acceleration electrifies her. With each step, she leaves everything behind. But mostly, it feels g
ood to fly. Until it doesn’t. You can’t outrun your bodily functions. She sinks to the floor, clings to the trashcan as if it’s a life raft, and a river of yellow tumbles past her lips.
Still out of sorts, Sophie comes up the elevator from the gym. Thea gasps at the sight of her red cheeks, clothes soaked in perspiration, and hair plastered to her scalp underneath her hoodie.
“I know. I know.” Sophie waves a hand in the air. “I look like I just went swimming in the sewer.”
“Good workout?” Thea hands her a tall tumbler of blended bananas.
“Let’s just say I’m glad we have an elevator.” She sucks on the cup straw and begins to sort through her mail on the foyer table. The red roses are gorgeously situated in a crystal vase.
“You’re glowing today, Miss Sophie.”
Sophie tosses away the letter saying she’s won a large amount of money in a sweepstakes.
“Plankton glows, Thea.”
“Well, you look very beautiful.”
She gives a light smile. “That’s nice of you to say. At least I know you love me.”
Thea offers breakfast, pancakes, waffles, oatmeal, anything she likes. Thea is remarkably attuned with what she does, as if it pleases her beyond measure to whip up a meal. Sophie declines, saying her stomach feels wonky as she rubs her tummy.
“Oh, no. Maybe some Pepto-Bismol? I find it helpful in this type of situation.”
Sophie retrieves her beeping phone from her armband.
ALERT MESSAGE
Golden Locomotive is on the move.
“It’s probably just something I ate in Mexico. I’ll be fine. Thea, where’s Sarah?”
“You just missed her. She said she was going to the mall.”
She chuckles at that. “God, I almost forgot for a second.”
“Forgot what?”
“Who I am.”
“I don’t understand. Is there a problem, Miss Sophie?”
“People like me…we always have to be on the lookout.”
Sophie grabs her sunglasses and crossbody bag, and moves toward the elevator, which Oliver is coming out of.
“Oliver.”
Black Diamond Page 21
