He grabbed her small hands in his, fixing her with a soft gaze. “It’s just a visit. Your grandparents miss you.”
“I don’t miss them, Daddy. I hate them.” Her mouth transformed in a lovely pout.
“Now, now, my angel,” Sophia said firmly. “This is not what we have agreed to. Maria will be with you and they will behave because she understands Portuguese and English.”
“And if they talk French? She won’t understand.”
Sophia sighed. “They won’t speak French in front of her and you don’t know French enough to keep a steady conversation.”
Gabriela had been concocting all possible excuses not to see her grandparents. From a stomach ache to feeling feverish; from not remembering them anymore to feigning sleep.
Sophia almost gave up the whole thing when her daughter started crying and sobbing under the shower, gripping her neck and babbling that they would take her away again.
“Gabriela, you don’t need to be afraid. Maria, Zareb, and Devon will be at the garden, your mother will be in the kitchen baking our favorite chocolate cake,” Alistair raised his eyebrows playfully at her, “and I’ll be just inside the home office, by the glass window. Anything at all, you just signal to any of us, all right?”
But not even the mention of the chocolate cake made a smile appear on her face. She stretched her arms to Sophia and hugged her neck fiercely. “I don’t understand. Why can’t Mama be with me?”
Sophia sighed for the umpteenth time that long morning, rising from the floor with Gabriela in her arms. Because they don’t like me and I don’t like them.
“Because they want to have all their time only with you,” Alistair answered.
“My angel, they are your father’s parents. Gabriela…do it for him. He’ll be happy.”
The little girl looked at her mother with confusion in her eyes. “Do you think Father will know? That he will be happy?”
“I’m sure,” Sophia nodded. “Your father will be very happy if you like his mother, Grandma Rose.”
Alistair cleared his throat and discreetly shook his head at his wife.
Sophia unwillingly completed, “And your grandfather, Alberto.”
2:42 p.m.
“I don’t like manipulating her,” Sophia said as she watched Gabriela through the window of the home office.
Christ, Sophia! “Manipulating?! You didn’t manipulate her.”
“I told her Gabriel would be glad to see her with his parents. Do you have another name for it?”
“I call it love.” His hand squeezed her shoulder with so much affection that she leaned on him and wound her arm around his waist. “You smoothed what was hard for her and kept Gabriel’s memory alive. She’ll be okay. She’s an intelligent girl. And Alberto, he’s more like a tree that falls.”
What? She looked up at him quizzically.
“A tree that falls makes a lot of noise. But a woodland that grows and spreads its roots, does it quietly.” He slowly turned his face to look into her eyes. “He is the tree, Sophia. You are the woodland.”
A faint breath came out of her mouth as she turned fully and embraced him. As she put her head on his chest she could hear the steady and strong beat of his heart. “It’s a beautiful and powerful image, Alistair Connor. I wish I believed you.”
“This is what my mother taught me. Anyone making too much noise has no strength and is trying only to mask one’s fear.” I had forgotten this lesson for such a long time.
His arms went around her as he eyed Gabriela and Rose playing with her dolls in the garden as Alberto just sat and watched from a bench. “I have learned to read your signs. Your strength and your love are quiet but they are inside you. Don’t doubt it. Gabriela has the same resilience; the same easy, loving manner. Every time you need your strength, look inside your heart. It’s there you are going to find the will to keep going.”
She didn’t say anything, but she wondered, when Alberto fell, how many would he take with him.
Chapter 9
France, Saint Symphorien le Chateau
Chateau d’Esclimont
2:33 p.m.
Ethan jumped down from his helicopter and then helped Barbara out. He turned to the pilot. “Thank you, Meredith. As always, a perfect flight.”
“Thank you, sir. Will you be returning on Sunday?”
“No. We are going to Paris by car on Sunday morning. Have a safe trip home.”
A bellboy arrived to pick up their luggage. Ethan offered his arm to Barbara and smiled charmingly at her as he directed her around the castle to reach the reception door at the back.
They didn’t notice an older couple having lunch under an umbrella, squinting their eyes at them, and whispering maliciously under their breath.
In spite of being the replacement for another woman in Ethan’s bed, Barbara had never had so much fun in her whole life than in those months with him.
She knew she was walking disastrously near the edge, but she didn’t care anymore, especially when Ethan was in such a good mood.
She stopped in the middle of the room, awestruck, and looked around while Ethan tipped the young man who brought their luggage.
The Junior Suite had a full view of the pond and the park. Ethan closed the door and stepped behind her. Putting his arms around her waist, he pulled her to his body.
She leaned fully into him. She thought they made a beautiful pair together as she caught their reflection in the window. She was taller than Sophia but he was a very tall and broad man, still towering over her.
When Scott had showed her Sophia’s wedding photographs, she said Sophia had looked ridiculously short and fragile next to her giant hunk of a husband. Deep inside though she knew it was all envy.
“Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Versailles and the day after to Chartres. I have a full weekend planned for us.”
With a joyful sigh, she turned her head, offering her lips for a kiss, her eyes half-closed. She rubbed her ass on his crotch and felt a bit ashamed at how eagerly she offered herself to him but she couldn’t avoid it.
He smiled down at her, amused. “Already?”
She licked her lips and let herself get lost in the azure of his gaze. “No. Not already. Always.”
Ethan closed his eyes as the love in her voice scratched his soul. He was not devoid of compassion and feelings as he knew many thought. He bent his head and softly touched his lips to hers. His tongue traced the seam of her lips. For now, he would be gentle with her because he knew deep inside that soon he would break her apart.
For a brief instant, he analyzed how selfish he was acting, how much like his grandfather and his parents he was turning out to be, but the thoughts jumbled when Barbara turned inside his arms and dipped her fingers in his hair.
Taking control of the kiss, she cupped him with one hand, delighting when he went hard for her.
Ethan’s last coherent thought was that he wished he had never met Sophia.
Atwood House
439 p.m.
Alistair finished the conference call with a wide smile on his face. They were all set to buy one of Brazil’s largest banks with branches in all of South America.
His eyes scanned the garden for Gabriela, finding her sitting on her small wooden table serving tea to Rose and two of her favorite dolls. Alberto hadn’t moved from his place on the bench under a cherry blossom tree, having only switched his crossed legs. Alistair smiled devilishly at how uncomfortable the man looked in spite of the cozy and pleasant place he was sitting.
There was a delicious smell spreading through the house and he knew that Sophia must be baking Gabriela’s and his favorite chocolate cake.
His mouth watered as he walked to the kitchen.
“Soph—” Aghast, Alistair halted on the threshold. He had never seen their kitchen in such a mess.
There were pots and utensils waiting to be cleaned in the sinks. More than three covered pans were on the stove and Sophia was busy opening one of the ovens to load it with wh
at he supposed was the cake, while a delicious chocolate smell came from a small pan on the electric stove. Sophia’s hair was pinned in a tight low bun, covered with a skewed scarf and there was flour on her forehead.
Alistair looked at their cook, Aisha, who was sitting on a chair by the table. She just shrugged, as surprised as he was, and continued taking delicate tartlets out of very small pans and arranging them on a crystal tray. Lucy, their housekeeper, was filling them with a mouthwatering vanilla cream. Precisely chopped strawberries and all kinds of berries were waiting to decorate them.
It was not until he saw stern Steven, Sophia’s bodyguard and driver, put an apple pie in the refrigerator that he cleared his throat out loud. For Christ’s sake! What the fuck is happening here?
Everyone except Sophia froze and turned to look at him. Then their collective gaze swung to Sophia, waiting for her to acknowledge her husband.
Steven opened his mouth but Alistair raised a hand to stop him. He wanted to see how far she was lost in her frenzy and how serious the situation was. He texted Tavish, who already knew about the Leibowitzes, briefly explaining the situation and asking him to come over as soon as possible.
Sophia closed the oven and took off the oven mitts. She stirred the pot on the stove, completely unaware of the change of mood in the kitchen.
Only when she turned to look at her book recipe, she saw Alistair.
He almost gasped when he saw her wide eyes and the white contour around her blanched lips.
“Hi!” In her unnerved state, she wasn’t able to notice his astonishment or concern. “Do you want something? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Steady, Alistair Connor. He shook his head and calmly leaned a shoulder on the threshold, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, gaining time and trying not to scare her.
His gaze slowly wandered over her, the kitchen, and back to her, making a point of stopping on her hair and face. What should I do? Warm her up? A whisky? A shower? Both?
She looked around the kitchen as her hand moved to her hair. “Oh. This happens when I cook.”
I know it doesn’t. You’re on the edge of…something. He uncrossed his arms and cautiously made his way to the dining table, locking his eyes briefly with each one of the employees.
Then he fixed his gaze on Sophia. “This delicious smell came wafting into the office and my nose brought me here. Can I have one of these wee tartlets?”
In a second, she was at his side and her icy fingers slapped his warm ones. “No. They are not ready yet.”
I can see. “I don’t mind.” He placed a bunch of berries into one and threw it in his mouth.
Sophia sputtered, shocked, “You…you caveman. This is a Cordon Bleu recipe that took me an hour to make. It requires precision to be arranged.”
I know, I know. He licked his lips and his fingers like a petty child. “Not anymore. Anyway, it’s scrumptious.” It is.
“Thank you.” She cocked her head, squinting her eyes at him.
Easy and slow. You don’t want to scare her. He put a hand on his flat stomach with a smile on his face. “Can I have another?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Lucy is going to finish filling them and I’ll—”
Steven took Sophia’s place by the stove and signaled to Alistair that he was taking over.
If Alistair weren’t so worried about her state, he would have laughed at the sight of the big man in a black suit and mirrored glasses cooking delicate chocolate fudge.
She followed his eyes. “No. No one else can stir—”
Now! He picked up a sputtering Sophia in his arms.
“Put me down,” she demanded. “My chocolate—”
Fuck the chocolate. Heading directly up to their bedroom, he started talking so much nonsense about his own way of cooking that Sophia’s mouth fell open and she forgot her sauce.
Alistair gently closed Sophia’s bathroom door with a knock of his foot and put her on the sink. Softly, he ordered, “Call Dr. Kent and Dr. Colton.”
“What?” Her eyes were too big on her pale face.
He unbuttoned his shirt, hanging it near the towels, as he repeated evenly, “Call Dr. Kent. And Dr. Colton.”
“I heard you the first time. I want to know why I should call Mina or Dr. Colton?”
“Because you’re on the verge of something serious.” He took off her apron, her scarf and dress. Very gently he undid her bun. “I’m not a therapist and for sure I’m not a doctor.”
“I’m not panicking. Anyway, it’s very simple,” she explained slowly and calmly, seeming even more unbalanced to him. “Just tell me to breathe.”
Christ! Do you really believe that? “You’re cold and I need to warm you,” he informed her as he picked up the phone from its cradle. “Before the shower, please leave a message for them. I’ve already texted Tavish Uilleam.”
Sophia looked down at the handset and up to him. Tavish Uilleam? What for?
“Sophia, call them, please. For me. Just ask them to call back urgently.”
“Okay.”
He toed off his shoes, and still in his jeans, he opened the shower while Sophia left a very confused message for her doctors.
As if holding a newborn baby, he guided her into the shower and let the warm water soak her. He whispered in her ear, “Don’t shut me out. Please. We promised ourselves, remember?”
Shut you out? Promised what? Sophia’s thoughts weren’t making sense anymore. She felt Alistair’s hands roam softly and slowly over her hair and her back. So smooth, as if she were too precious for him to hold. So soothing, it didn’t seem he was touching her.
She felt cared for. She felt protected and loved.
He was ready when she snapped, with a great sob, her legs giving in.
He reached for her and guided her down to the floor as the water rained down on them. Cradling her in his arms, he murmured, “Oh, my love. Cry.”
When she put her hands on her face and let the tears come, he breathed, relieved, skimming his hand lightly over her back in wide circles.
He hadn’t foreseen this happening but he berated himself, thinking he should have stayed by her side.
She didn’t want to relive the same nightmare of letting her daughter be taken away so she had shut herself off.
He had felt her shudder when she handed a stiffened Gabriela into Rose’s arms and Alberto sneered down at her.
When she said she would bake the chocolate cake, he thought she was feeling better. He was so focused on his conference call that he had lost track of time. He couldn’t have imagined she would fall that far without anyone calling him. During one of his sessions, Dr. Volk had explained to him about an effective but painful therapy technique, which entailed safely facing the very thing that frightened the person with PTSD or any disorder, and that one of his clients had done it in a virtual reality program that allowed him to revisit the train crash, which killed his wife and son and experience the trauma all over again.
Sophia had not done it safely with monitoring. She had ceded control of her daughter to people she feared and hated. She had undergone the process under brutal pressure within a few hours.
Emotions welled in Alistair’s chest.
Anger at himself. Sympathy for her. Sadness at the whole situation. Protection. Love.
His powerful and perfect goddess was human after all, and as fragile as anyone else.
Everything masculine in him responded to her call, but he felt impotent.
She’s broken. She needs me and I cannot heal her. Rationally, he knew better. She needed support from him and he could help with the healing as much as she needed therapy. And yet, although his mind told him it was foolishness, he couldn’t help feeling powerless.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered mostly to herself, between shaking sobs. “I can’t believe I let her go. I can’t believe this is happening all over again.”
“It’s not happening again. She’s right outside in our garden. Playing by t
he pond.” He rocked her in his arms, his touch was full of kindness and gentleness. He wanted to soothe her. “It is all in the past, Sophia. She is fine now. It’s all in the past.”
At his fierce whisper, she glanced up at him, her face barely visible under the curtain of her wet hair.
“She is all right because you’re a generous mother.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers. He pushed her hair back to kiss her forehead. “A wonderful woman.”
She cupped his face and kissed him on the mouth as the warm water spilled over them.
It wasn’t a tender, soft kiss. It wasn’t a lusty kiss, either. It was not about sex. It was a kiss of fury, of needing to feel that she was alive and safe, of needing to connect with him.
Her mouth sought his like a cold person sought fire.
Light, comfort, warmth.
It was all she wanted.
He was all she wanted.
Alistair slightly tightened his grip around her, letting her take control of the kiss until she felt secure enough to let go.
Sophia slowly came back to her senses and broke the kiss but didn’t pull back. Her lips were softly resting against his, her uneven breathing mingling with his, her eyes closed, as were his.
He didn’t move. It was about making her feel loved.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so ridiculous and emotional.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. She still sounded tense and agitated.
He kissed her lips tenderly. A mere touch of skin. “Don’t shut me out again. I said I was here for you and that means that I’m here for everything. Even to help you cook.”
She smiled briefly at the image. She couldn’t imagine Alistair cooking one of her Cordon Bleu recipes. “I didn’t know what to do. And cooking distracts me. Mina told me I should do it.”
But it wasn’t. You were not just cooking. “Perhaps, if you had made one dish and one dessert.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Sophia, we are going to be buried under food and desserts for a week. You cooked three desserts and a three-course dinner for eight people, give or take.”
TRUST Series 1-8 Page 99
