Trust: Betrayed

by Cristiane Serruya

  She spurred her feet on his buttocks, flexing her hips up, biting his neck as she spasmed around him, throwing him over the edge.

  A lustful groan came through his clenched teeth as he pushed inside her, again and again, not wishing it to finish, not wanting to let go, holding onto her as if she were his lifeline.

  “Again. Don’t stop,” he heaved, desperate, “again.”

  His primal cry crashed through her last locked door and filled her with a savage need. She breathed in his masculine scent and raking her nails on his back, feeling his throbbing desire rippling through his muscles. She bit his earlobe, struggling to keep another orgasm at bay as she felt herself becoming hotter.

  Waiting for him, she tightened and loosened in a rapid crescendo around his arousal, pulsing and sending raw energy through his spine, before bucking her hips up as her fingers pushed his buttocks down, forcing him even deeper, “Come. For me.”

  His hoarse shout filled the night as he let his desire consumed him in a blazing fire and burst radiantly through her in a dizzying climax, an unrivaled force that robbed her of all senses and intelligible thoughts.

  The warm water and a large hand roaming over her waist and hip, brought Sophia back to earth. Alistair was holding her in his arms inside the black marble pool. When her eyes fluttered open, she saw Alistair’s smiling eyes gazing at her with so much love inside them that she sighed aloud.

  “You are certifiable,” she murmured, putting her head on his shoulder.

  “Aye,” he whispered to her, tightening his arms around her. “Since you said you love me the last of the sanity I had flew away.”

  “You’re debauching me. I have never done anything so, uh-”

  His smile darkened and a proprietary glint shone inside his eyes. His mouth trailed a warm path on her neck, making her moan.

  “Exposed? Dangerous? Fulfilling?” he said in between nibbles from her neck to her ear, ending on her bottom lip as the hand behind her knees moved to caress her intimately. “Want to do it again?” he demanded as he swirled in the water and pressed her against the pool wall, wolfishly smiling down at her and surveying her naked body.

  Her breath vanished when hot desire pooled between her thighs, “You are going to kill me.”

  “With love, I hope,” he breathed as he started the sweet torture all over.

  Chapter 28

  Ashford Steel Industries.

  Tuesday, April 13th, 2010.

  7.45 p.m.

  The intercom double buzz informed Scott that his boss was ready to receive him. He gathered all his clippings, arranged them neatly in his black leather folder, straightened his dark-gray tie and headed to Ethan’s office. He pushed the door open after a fortifying breath.

  Ethan looked up from his computer screen and motioned for Scott to sit, “A minute, Scott.”

  “Would you like water and coffee, sir?” Scott asked.

  Barely suppressing an amused smile at the predicable behavior of his assistant, Ethan answered, “Yes, please.”

  He finished his work and leaned on his Aeron chair to watch Scott’s profile, his glazed watery blue gaze and long thin pale hands caressing the red and gold designs on the navy background of the delicate Imari porcelain.

  Ethan grinned thinking of what would happen if he shouted at Scott right now. He shook his head at the silly thought and waited patiently as his assistant served his coffee and Bling water and sat down in front of him.

  Scott opened the folder and fished out his white handkerchief and Montblanc pen from his suit breast pocket. Beads of nervous sweat appeared at his forehead which he immediately mopped. He cleared his throat. “Sir, I have good and bad news. What do you want first?”

  Ethan smiled. He was in an exceptional mood after signing the contract to supply steel to the Brazilian government. Sophia really was his lucky charm. He couldn’t have imagined that a personal trip would bring such immense profits. It had to be really bad news to dampen his mood. “The bad first.”

  “All right,” Scott mumbled, breathed and launched into it, “Leibowitz’s computer security system is almost unbreakable. Ghost is still working on it. He’s been exchanging ideas with other hackers, but Leibowitz’s technicians noticed the first attempts and reinforced their firewalls and cryptography. However,” he raised a finger to emphasize, “we were already inside her personal email account, iPhone and home computer and they didn’t discover it. Her security impressed Ghost, but it was nothing one of the best hackers in the world could not surpass,” Scott boasted the hacker’s qualities as if they were his. “You can access her schedules and all her data from your computer.” Scott rounded Ethan’s desk with a sheet of paper in his hand, squinting at the instructions on the sheet and typed in a long sequence of commands as he kept explaining, “Ms. Leibowitz backs everything up to a cloud. Oh. I’ve secured an ally inside her house. Acting under Ghost’s directions, he bugged her phone lines and tapped her TV and internet lines.” Gabriela’s face appeared on Ethan’s screen with Sophia’s desktop icons at the bottom. Scott rightened his posture and puffed out his chest, proud of his achievement. With a stylishly wave of his hand, he presented the mirror of Sophia’s computer. “Here you are, sir. She is all yours.”

  “Good,” Ethan drawled, approaching the screen, “very good, Scott. Don’t bother anymore with Leibowitz Oil. I’m only interested in her personal life. Is she back?”

  “Not yet.” Scott clicked on an icon and Sophia’s mail box appeared on the screen. “George V in Paris. Tomorrow.”

  “That’s interesting.” Ethan rested his chin on his hand and leaned back in his chair. “What else can I do from here?”

  8.21 p.m.

  When the door closed softly behind Scott, Ethan walked to his bookshelf and stopped in front of his grandfather’s photo. His lips curled and he raised his eyebrow.

  See, Niarchos? Do you see, old man? I’ve surpassed you. I’ve learned.

  No one betrays me anymore.

  No one fools me anymore.

  No one!

  France, Paris, VIII Arrondissement. Hotel George V.

  Wednesday, April 14th, 2010.

  6 p.m.

  Alistair settled a sleeping Gabriela higher on his shoulder and turned to look at the grand lobby with its immaculate marble columns and floors, highlighted by pink, lilac and purple orchids that glowed with beauty.

  “This is the type of place that you imagine just can’t get any better, but it continually surpasses our expectations.”

  “I always stay here because of Gabriela. There are few hotels in Paris that receive children like George V.” She looked around as well and her eyes sparkled. She licked her lips as if she could taste the scented lobby.

  “I don’t know if I like this expression of yours,” Alistair cocked his head. “What are you planning now?”

  Sophia wasn’t listening. She was intently examining the orchids that appeared to be floating in air. That’s it. “Mmm,” she moaned and purred, “I want him. I want Jeff.”

  “What?!” Alistair was aghast. He blinked at his future wife. “You want... Jeff?” Who the hell is Jeff?

  She startled and looked up at his face. “Yes, I want Jeff. Jeff Leatham. He’s the artistic director of the hotel. The amazing flower designer responsible for this,” she raised her arms showing the superb floral arrangements. “For our wedding. I have to call him. Now. He’s very sought after.”

  “Madame Leibowitz. Lord Ells. What a pleasure!” Christopher Norton, the general manager was waiting to accompany them to the Penthouse Suite Sophia had booked for them. “Your luggage has arrived and I’ve already sent the Rolls for your sisters. Their flight is supposed to land in half an hour.”

  “Superb, Chris.” She linked her fingers with Alistair’s and smiled at the manager. “Could you get me an appointment with Jeff Leatham? We are getting married in August and I’ll have no one but Jeff for the flowers and of course, for all his creative ideas.”

  “Congratulations
to you both! I’m sure Jeff will be thrilled, Madame.” He exited the lift and opened the doors for them.

  Designed to resemble an elegant European residence, the Presidential Suite was two thousand square feet, and its six terraces offered a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of Paris. Jeff Leatham’s beautiful floral arrangements, along with French paintings, Blue de Chine pottery and the floral damask fabrics in golden-yellows and dark-blues created the sense of a luxury home.

  Their personal maid and butler were already unpacking their luggage in the main bedroom.

  Alistair let Sophia organize things and ask for refreshments as he went directly to put Gabriela in bed in her room on the other side of the suite. She stirred and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up.

  “She’ll wake up only for dinner now,” Maria said as she took off the little girl’s shoes. “I’ll take care of her, Mr. McCraig.”

  “Perfect, Maria. Thanks.” He stopped to look once more at the blonde girl sleeping like an angel before he exited the room, softly closing the door behind him. How could I have been so lucky? Two angels gift-wrapped in one cloud is better than I deserve.

  He slowly made his way back to the living room where Sophia was talking excitedly with a thin, tall, dark-haired man dressed in a black T-shirt and black washed jeans.

  “Alistair, come here,” she grinned happily at him. “This is Jeff Leatham. Jeff, my fiancé, Alistair Connor.”

  The men shook hands and Alistair sat beside Sophia, who handed him a flute of Krug champagne. They toasted and he pulled her by the waist, snuggling her close to his body, as she talked of her ideas to the flower designer, who made a few notes. Alistair’s mind was only half engaged in their conversation until he heard Sophia stating that she wanted no white flowers.

  Fuck, Sophia. You’re a widow, but this is too much. It’s a wedding for Christ’s sake! “Why not?” he frowned down at her.

  “It’s too virginal,” she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not appropriate.”

  Jeff’s laughter filled the room. “My dear, if that were true no bride would wear white anymore.”

  “Sophia, this time I’m getting married in a church. Can’t we have white for the wedding ceremony, at least?”

  Church?! I’m Jewish. There’ll be no- She realized that they’d never talked about religion. She turned her head to face him, but he was eyeing Jeff.

  “I want white roses and orange blossoms in the chapel at Airgead. It’s all in dark wood and rock. White will be perfect. And I want the air scented with vanilla.”

  Damn. How am I going to solve this? She squeezed Alistair’s hand, saying, “We can decide on the flowers for the wedding ceremony later, can’t we, Jeff?”

  “Yes, of course. So, I’ll block off my schedule for that week. I’ll be waiting for the photos and the floor plans.” He closed his black leather moleskine.

  They raised and walked to the suite door. Jeff grinned at her, “Sophia, your wedding will be fun to do. I already have a million ideas for it. Black iron and green for one day, crystal glass, purple and orange for the other-”

  “And white for the ceremony,” Alistair reaffirmed.

  “White for the ceremony,” Jeff concurred as he shook hands with Alistair. He kissed Sophia on the cheeks. “White roses and orange blossoms, Sophia. And vanilla scented air. A romantic groom’s wish cannot be denied.”

  Sophia shook her head and sighed. “All right, then.” But there will be no chapel.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph! “We’ve been at it for at least ten minutes, but you haven’t convinced me at all. If you don’t believe or follow a specific religion, why not marry in mine?”

  You’re not listening. “Because I can’t change religions like I change clothes. One minute Catholic, the other Jewish, and then back to Catholic.” She made a face at him. “Then next year, I’ll be a Buddist. Can’t you see it’s ridiculous?”

  “You said yourself that God didn’t need a name. What’s the difference?” He raked a hand in his hair, pacing the living room. Why are you creating so many difficulties?

  “There’s Gabriela to consider, too. She’s also Jewish.” She shook her head. “What’s the problem with a civil marriage?” I can’t marry in the Catholic church anymore.

  An aggravated sigh left his lips and he looked away as he toyed with the champagne flute in his fingers. You did it for Gabriel. Why not for me?

  “I didn’t know you were so religious,” she murmured, walking to his side, touching his stiff back with light fingers. “You said you married... huh, her at a registry office.”

  “I did.” Slowly, he turned to watch her face, green eyes narrowing. “But you are not her. I’m not marrying you on a whim, because you’re pregnant. Nae,” he shook his head, impatiently. “You are the one. The one that I want to spend my life with. The one that makes me happy.”

  Oh. My. She looked in his eyes and capitulated. “Would you agree to an ecumenic wedding? We could build a place outside.”

  “Aye... Yes, I would,” his shoulders visibly relaxed. “The Church of Scotland is very flexible.”

  “I’ll find a rabbi and a priest that will agree to it.”

  “I’ll talk to Father Bruce. He baptized me. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige us.”

  “While we are talking about it, did you-”

  A knock sounded on the door, interrupting them. Sophia walked to the hall to open the suite door.

  She barely had time to steady herself when her twin sisters threw themselves at her, babbling in Portuguese at the same time.

  “Easy girls, easy.” Sophia backed away from the two lively girls.

  “What happened,” Victoria started and Valentina finished, “to your face?”

  “I fell.” Sophia was more than used to their strange way of finishing each other’s sentences. “The stitches come out next week. Come on in, girls.”

  They walked into the living room where Alistair was eating a piece of Bleu de Brèsse. His hand stopped in midair and his mouth dropped open when he peered at the petite girls, with their arms wrapped around Sophia’s waist. He had already seen photos of them, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.

  Victoria and Valentina were absolutely identical. They were short, five foot three, slender and delicate, with abundant light blonde hair that ended in large curls at the middle of their backs; their blue eyes sparkled on their peachy skin, complemented by heart shaped mouths. They were nothing like Sophia and Felipe or even Carolina. To make things worse they were wearing identical outfits, faded blue denim jackets over plain white T-shirts and shredded white capri jeans, pink flats and orange Hèrmes Birkin bags.

  “Where is Gabriela?” they asked at the same time.

  “Sleeping,” Sophia answered. “Let me introduce you to your future brother-in-law.”

  Victoria whispered in her right ear, “Oh, my. He is,” And Valentina added in her left ear, “a giant hunk.”

  “Behave, girls,” Sophia admonished in a murmur.

  Valentina let go of Sophia’s waist and approached Alistair, who was standing, “Hi there. Aren’t you big?” She put her hands on his shoulder and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m Victoria.”

  Victoria flanked an astonished Alistair on his other side and repeated the gesture, “And I’m Valentina.”

  “Alistair Connor. It’s a pleasure uh, Victoria” he looked at Valentina who nodded, and then to Victoria, “and you’re Valentina.”

  “Got it,” they answered him, smirking.

  Sophia looked from one to the other and put her hands on her hips. “Girls! Grow up, will you?”

  The twins giggled and turned to Alistair again, correcting themselves, and confusing him even more. “She’s Victoria,” Valentina pointed to her sister, while Victoria did the same, “and she’s Valentina.”

  Christ! Alistair eyed Sophia, shaking his head slightly, and asked, “Are they right in the head?”

  Sophia laughed. “No. They are not. Call them both V
ic, or Val. They’ll answer anyway.”

  Thursday, April 15th, 2010.

  9.51 a.m.

  Breakfast was served on the terrace overlooking the Madeleine, the Opera and the Pantheon.

  Sophia was distractedly drinking the freshly pressed orange and strawberry juice, enjoying the view, when Alistair asked, “How do you distinguish the twins?”

  Sophia smiled. “By their behavior. Valentina is the youngest by two minutes and she’s more impulsive. Victoria is sweeter, calmer. When they were small - well, even now - Val comes up with mischief and Vic eagerly follows. A hint for you, Victoria has a small scar on her chin,” Sophia tilted her head and pointed to the right underside of her own chin, “right here. She fell from her horse trying to jump a fence and got three stitches.”

  He grasped her hand, lacing his fingers with hers, drawing her attention back to his face. “Do you still miss your parents, Sophia?”

  She almost choked with the unexpected change of subject. She put the glass on the table, swallowed the juice and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, clearing her throat. “Yes. I do. Very much. It’s a... An eternal void. It’s been fifteen years. I only remember flashes; my father pushing me on a swing or my mother helping me with my homework. But mostly, what I remember are...” She sighed and raised her eyes to his. “The senses. Her smell and her caresses. Her soft bosom. His laughter and booming voice. The feeling of freedom when he would throw me up in the air and catch me.” Her lips trembled. “Cherished memories.”

  Whenever she looked at him with those sad, dark-brown, emotion-filled eyes, Alistair wanted to wrap his arms around her, shielding her from all harm and pain. To make love to her until she was laughing again, that tinkled sound that made his heartbeat accelerate to a thousand per minute. “How did you cope with it?”

  “Family love and a special friendship between me and my siblings. We were very close. My family was only us. No uncles, no aunts, no cousins. When they died, Felipe, Carolina and I, we... We became inseparable. We had all our meals together. We slept in their room all the time. And we spent all the time we could with the twins. The best thing my grandparents did was to send me away. Me and Carol. After a week in Lausanne, I missed my parents so much, I missed my brother and my little sisters so much, all I wanted was to go back. I went through a month of unparalleled anger.” She gazed up to the blue sky and the sparse soft clouds, seeing her parents’ fading faces on them, remembering those times. “I know anger is acceptable when you’re grieving, especially when you’re a ten year old girl. Carol was eight, but she grew ancient in just a few weeks. And Felipe, he carried the weight of it all on his shoulders. He closed himself off and, like Carol, became an adult instantly. Always worrying about the future that he forgot to live his present. He was only sixteen. I think he thought he had to fill my father’s shoes.”