He chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, standing next to him.
“Your display order. Work on one side; leisure on the other; every book in alphabetic order by the author’s last name. It looks like a library.”
“You’re the first one to decipher my organizational code without an explanation.” She stared at him, flabbergasted.
He raised a black eyebrow at her. “The first one?” He returned his attention to her books.
“Well, I don’t have many guests. You like to read?” As he nodded, she continued, “I devour books. I can’t live without them. I read anything that falls in my hands. Classic literature, novels, anything.”
“In any language, it seems,” he murmured, perusing the books. He took Inferno by Dante Alighieri, in Italian, off the shelf. He skimmed through it and stopped at a page. He turned to her, his eyes questioning.
“You know, Dante was wrong. Hell is here. We live in a place of woes, of eternal pain, and loss,” Sophia said, feeling desolate. “We should abandon all hope when we are born. Happiness is a mere sparkle in the darkness.”
“‘A mighty flame followeth a tiny spark,’” he quoted in Italian as he studied her notes in the margins.
Her laughter sounded like a rasp, betraying how crestfallen she remained from her earlier encounter. “Good, Alistair, very good. Dante would be proud.”
“You were feeling desperate when you read Inferno,” he stated. “What was your sin at the time, Sophia?” Lust?
“If hell exists, like he said, I shall go to the seventh circle of hell.”
He stroked his chin, his brows creased in thought. “Violence? It is violence, right?”
She nodded.
No submissive is violent. Hmm…you’re difficult to unveil, Sophia. He returned the book to its place and went on with his exploration. “I haven’t read this.” He paused when he reached The Name of the Rose and pulled it out. “Not as many notes,” he said absently, his mind still puzzled by the woman next to him.
She shrugged.
“Ah.” He halted at the last phrase, which she had highlighted. His brows knitted. He angled the book down. “What does this mean?” he asked, pointing.
“It’s Latin; a quotation by Thomas à Kempis, a German medieval monk and writer. It means ‘Everywhere I have searched for peace and nowhere found it, except in a corner with a book.’ One of the most truthful sentences in the world.” Her finger traced the lines.
“Whoever you saw turned your mood to a despondent one,” Alistair uttered quietly.
She remained silent, stoically enduring his scrutiny.
“May I borrow it?” Say yes. I need a reason to see you again.
“If you—” She swallowed and lifted her face to his, “Alistair, I’m seeing someone.” She blushed and murmured, “Best to keep this as a business relationship.”
She can really read my mind. Dumbfounded and endeared by her embarrassment, he smiled wickedly at her. “My dear, if this man knew how to satisfy you, you wouldn’t have responded to me like you did in the car,” he whispered sensuously. “Aren’t you curious to know how I could make you feel?”
She licked her lips nervously.
He cupped her jaw between his hands.
“Ah-ah. Don’t!” His thumb caressed her full lips.
She freed herself from his grip, suddenly hot from his touch. She walked to the balcony doors and he followed.
He dropped his head until his hair tickled her cheek. “You haven’t answered my question.” He put his arms around her and slightly pressed his hips on her back.
“You can borrow it,” she answered quickly.
His throaty, low laughter fanned her neck and he could feel the ripples of desire careening up her spine. “Smart, Sophia. Smart.” He laughed, moving back to his position in front of the shelf. “I like it.”
Chapter 12
Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse
Saturday, January 23, 2010
11:58 p.m.
“I’m not moving in with you, you know?” Sophia said to Ethan, rising from his bed.
“Sophia, baby, tomorrow is Sunday.” He sighed and stretched. “I missed you yesterday.”
“I had a terrible headache.” She looked at him from the bathroom doorway and bit her lip. “Ethan, we have been seeing each other almost every day and I have slept in your apartment at least six times…I have a private life.”
“You do? One that doesn’t include me?” His expression turned dark.
She returned to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed and looked intently at him. “I have to tell you something.”
He sat up and leaned toward her. A dreadful feeling permeated his body. “What is it?”
“Please, don’t be mad. I haven’t said this before because…” She waved her hand on the air.
“Say it, then!” he almost yelled, his eyes feverish.
“I have a three year old daughter.”
Ethan felt as if someone had kicked him in his gut. My Sophia is not mine. Pure shock showed on his face. “That is why you never spend the whole weekend with me. She is the reason behind the excuses not to sleep with me.”
“Ethan, she is not an excuse. She is my daughter. I’d like for you to meet her. I mean…if you want.”
Goddammit! Ethan closed his eyes, cursing inwardly. This is a royal mess.
His mother had done him this huge favor. He would never make a good father. He was too insecure, too jealous, too controlling. Too frightened. He had no clue where children were concerned.
I’ll lose Sophia if I don’t agree to meet the brat. Jesus!
“Ethan…” Sophia’s soft palm rested on his arm, her fingers curling around it, and he opened his eyes. She almost jumped from the bed. She saw such agony in his eyes. “You don’t have to—”
“Sleep here. Tomorrow, we’ll have lunch together. At her favorite place.” He cupped her face. “I want you to be happy, Sophia. I want to make you the happiest woman in the world.”
Sophia contemplated his words for a moment and acquiesced. “All right. As you wish. I’m sure you will like Gabriela. She is a sweet child.”
He opened his arms and she let him embrace her.
Sophia raised her head to look at him. “Thank you, Ethan.”
Ethan hugged Sophia tightly, but didn’t utter a word. A sudden anxiety burgeoned inside him. I’m going to lose her. How she had become so vital to him in such little time he did not know, but he didn’t really care.
All he wanted was her, at his side.
Forever.
Leibowitz Oil Building
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
2:00 p.m.
Edward knocked and entered Sophia’s office. “I’ve just arrived from lunch, love. Sarah said you were looking for me.”
“Ah…yes, yes, Edward. I wish to review the environmental requests that were made last week for the new oil rig in Rio.” She distractedly motioned to two huge envelopes at the corner of her desk. “Can you go through them with me, please?”
“Yes, of course.” He eyed her carefully and put a hand on the envelopes before she took the first pile of paper. “Sophia, what’s going on?”
She shook her head, not looking in his eyes. “It’s nothing. I’m just worried about these requirements.”
“Could you do me a big favor, dear?” he asked.
She lifted her face to look at him. “Yes, of course. What do you need?”
“Never play poker.”
“Pardon?”
“You don’t know how to lie to friends, Sophia. Don’t start now.” He grabbed her hand and took her to the sofa on the other side of the room, sitting beside her. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
“I don’t understand exactly what it is, Edward. It’s—”
“Ethan.”
“Yes. It’s Ethan. He’s possessive, controlling and…extremely jealous. He should be named Cronus. I know we have been together for only a short time, but he demands to
o much. We see each other practically every day. He wants me to sleep at his place every time we go out at night, every weekend.” She looked at him, her hands moving as if asking for an explanation, some help. “But what has been nagging me is that although he wants me at his side in a permanent way, he shuns Gabriela…he doesn’t say it, but…he finds the most ridiculous excuses. And I don’t want her to miss me. Never. Well, I always knew it would be difficult…that some men…anyway, she comes first.”
Edward sighed and held her hand. “Sophia, Ethan is…he isn’t for you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“A feeling. Seems that this instinct thing of yours is infectious.” He smiled at her and tucked a strand of her raven hair behind her ear. “But, listen…if you do wish to stay in this relationship, you have to look at it with his eyes. Gabriela is not his daughter. Give him a little more time. He’ll come around. Your daughter is too kind and beautiful. She’ll win him over.”
She looked at her hands. “Would you believe me, Edward, if I said he is even jealous of Gabriel?”
“He knows who Gabriel was?”
She shook her head.
“And you are not telling him,” he stated the fact. “Sophia, you’re in England. There is no reason to hide from everything and everyone anymore. It has been almost two years…you can’t go on living like this. What if someone remembers you in front of one of your new friends?”
“I will deal with it when the time comes.” She wrung her hands. “It’s not easy, Edward.”
He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I know it isn’t, but you’ve come a long way. Are you going to keep hiding because of what happened to Gabriel?”
She rose, angered. “You don’t know anything. It happened to me. Have you been shot before? Have you?” She heaved and paced the office. “I still have nightmares. Horrible nightmares. I wake up screaming almost every night. I can’t sleep near my daughter. Don’t tell me you know—”
“Hey, easy.” He put his hands up. “I’m just trying to help.”
She stared at him for a second and dropped on the sofa, her face in her hands. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I shouldn’t—”
“Hush, love. Hush.” His fingers pried her hands apart and he took his handkerchief from his suit. “Here. Don’t cry.”
“I’m so confused, Edward.” She put her forehead on his chest, her tears falling silently. “I don’t know if I should…if I even want to stay with Ethan. And I don’t feel safe. At all. Alberto has been sniffing around too close for comfort.”
“I understand. I swear I do. Don’t worry too much about Alberto. What could he do to you? You’re not in Brazil anymore.” His hand caressed her hair. “No doctor here will fall for his bribery. And you are stable now.”
“He could get me arrested, Edward,” she whispered. “I would lose Gabriela.”
“He has no proof. No one has.” He paused for a moment and thought about his next words. “Sophia, you and I, we know what you did was wrong. But it’s done. And all that was left…was just ashes…they can’t speak against you. Ever. And the umm, guys won’t either. They are guiltier than you are. They are the criminals. Their word won’t hold up. Can’t you understand that?”
The faces of eleven evil men floated in Sophia’s mind and she shook her head hard, sending the images away. She raised her tear-streaked face to him. “Rationally, I can. But here…” She touched her chest. “Deep inside, I can’t. What was I thinking, Edward? Sooner or later, one way or another, I’m going to pay for it.”
“Sophia, love. Please, stop this.” He hugged her in his arms, heavyhearted. “But this isn’t the eye of the storm, is it? I know what is making you so confused.” He curled his fingers under her chin. He lifted her face to his, took the handkerchief from her hand, and dried her tears. “It’s him, isn’t it? You don’t know what to do with him.”
“Who?” she asked, disconcerted. “Ethan?”
“No.” His knowing blue gaze pierced her. “MacCraig. Alistair Connor.” He stared at her and jutted his chin toward the beautiful fresh white roses in a crystal vase on her shelf. “That big hunk has been stalking you every other day. He has stirred your feelings back to life, hasn’t he? He is the one for you, Sophia. Trust me.”
“He’s dangerous,” she sighed. “Trouble.”
“Oh, love…what is life without a bit of danger, of risk? What are you afraid of, Sophia? Afraid of loving again? Is that why you’re wasting your time with Ethan?”
Italy, Venice, Marco Polo Airport
Friday, February 5, 2010
2:10 p.m.
The Hotel Cipriani’s assistant greeted Ethan and Sophia at the airport to escort them to the pier and transport them in the hotel’s private boat.
Set on the water, the timeless beauty of Venice awakened all of Sophia’s senses. She returned to Venice time and again, and it always brought new and different experiences.
Sophia sighed as she watched the breathtaking sight of opulent palazzi, majestic churches, and atmospheric canals passing by as the boat sped toward the hotel.
They arrived at the private garden and dock of the Palladio suite. With a flourish, Ethan opened the door of the suite for her and she felt as if she was suspended above the lagoon. The sumptuously decorated living room had panoramic views of the magical Venetian lagoon through huge windows. And there were red roses everywhere she looked. She felt transported to the eighteenth century.
“Ethan! You crazy man!” She smiled at him.
“All for you, baby.” He smiled back. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ethan asked, as he opened a Krug Rosé that had been chilling in a silver cooler.
Sophia walked up to the window, enchanted by the view.
“I want you to enjoy the weekend.” He handed her a flute.
“Cheers. To you.” She touched her flute to his and drank. “I love this city.”
He breathed in her hair, wrapping his arms around her waist. “And I love you.”
She whirled around. “It’s—”
“Shhh. I know you’re still unsure. You don’t have to say anything.” His azure eyes were sparkling. “I’ve planned so many surprises for you.”
“It’s your birthday and you planned surprises for me?” She sipped her champagne.
“Yes, starting in…” He glanced at his watch. “Five minutes, max.”
Their personal butler knocked on the door and announced they had visitors.
“Starting now,” Ethan said, then bit her earlobe before turning to receive the group.
The butler announced signora Marconi and the petite woman suddenly flooded the airy living room along with four assistants. In their arms, the two women and two men carried heaps of velvet, silk, and plumes.
Sophia looked at Ethan, questioning him silently.
“Our costumes for the doge’s ball,” he explained. “Signora Marconi, I’m sure everything is perfect for tomorrow night.”
“Signore Ashford, this is my easiest and most pleasurable mission.” The woman answered as she measured Sophia. “Signora Ashford is belissima!”
Sophia giggled at the assumption.
Ethan kissed her soundly. “See you in a few minutes, signora Ashford.” He waved at Sophia with a wicked smile, leaving the room with the men to try on his ensemble.
The small woman unzipped a black garment bag and removed a black velvet mantua with a small train and matching shoes, with a curved heel and a squarish toe with a bow of the silver brocade.
“It’s magical,” Sophia breathed, delighted by the delicate pattern of flowers and swirls embroidered on the cloth.
Signora Marconi helped her into a silver-and-black silk brocade gown with a fitted bodice, flared petticoats and fitted the sparkling mantua on her waist, drawing it back over the hips. The sleeves narrowed at the elbows and then opened wide to show the lace-trimmed sleeves beneath, almost covering her wrists.
“It is perfect, signora.” Sophia marveled at the gown. “You had my measurements?�
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“Your husband knows your size exactly, signora.” The woman circled an amused and grinning Sophia. “Splendida. Come and see in the full length mirror.” She held Sophia’s hand and led her to the bedroom, knocking on the door and waiting for an answer.
Ethan’s breath caught when he opened the double doors having already changed into his normal clothes. “Magnificent.” He lifted a hand, stopping the women and stepped back to better enjoy the amazing vision in front of him. He tilted his head to the side admiring how the low, square neckline and bodice emphasized her collarbones and breasts. He crooked his finger at her, commanding her inside the master bedroom. “Come here.”
When Sophia saw her reflection in the mirror, she stood in awe. “It’s lovely. I’m feeling like a queen.”
He whispered in her ear, “My queen.”
“Now, for this glorious hair…” Signora Marconi advanced, taking Sophia’s hair and piling it up with some pins. “Definitivamente, no wig and no hat. You need something sparkling. Maybe the silver plumes.” She snapped her fingers, and an assistant hurried to pick out what she wanted, as she asked Ethan, “How were your clothes, signore?”
“Perfect. As for the hat, I prefer the one with the black plumes.”
She rearranged Sophia’s hair in a loose bun and set a sparkling diadem on her head and some plumes, leaving a cascade of locks at the back, dropping them to her left shoulder.
“No, no plumes.” The seamstress pursed her lips and then bobbed her head, saying, “Curls. Si, si, you should have curls. And the tiara.”
“May I?” Sophia asked, looking at the box with combs, pins, tiaras and a whole set of hair accessories. She took off the tiara and fitted a single Swarovski headband with small leaves over her hair. She looked at the mirror, liking the elegant effect. “What do you think, Ethan?”
Too simple. “No,” Ethan said. “Only true diamonds for my queen.”
“Bravo, signore Ashford!” the seamstress agreed. “Bucellatti has the—”
No way! “Grazie, Signora, ma non,” Sophia said, shaking her head. “Your elegant dress needs something less…”
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