Trust: Betrayed

by Cristiane Serruya

  He brushed a lock of her raven hair behind her ear just to touch her. If he could, he would have pulled out all that grief from her soul.

  Sophia leaned her face on his hand for a moment, closing her eyes and letting his warmth seep into her. “It was hard. It was a pain that went on and on and it never ended. It’s perverse to lose both parents at the same time,” she bit her lip and shook her head. A tear fell down her cheek when she whispered, “It was too soon to say good-bye. And what is even worse... Time dulls the pain, but then it also bleaches the good memories...” her words trailed away with a helpless gesture with her hand.

  Instinct overcame him and he brought her onto his lap, nestling her back on his arm. Her pain unveiled his own. He couldn’t imagine Nathalie’s memories fading away. “I’m sorry, mo gràdh.”

  Sophia sank on his chest. Solid. Warm. So real. When she looked up into his eyes, she saw her own heartache mirrored there, as if he felt her ache as his. Oh, Alistair Connor. You had it even worse than I did, didn’t you? She regarded him with love, as his pain-filled eyes reminded her he had lost a child. Nothing more perverse than that.

  “That’s why I want Gabriela to have at least another sibling. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if I were an only child. Yeah, my grandparents were there. They were supportive and loving. But... my sisters and my brother... We shared the same pain and we bore it together. In that year in Lausanne, I was always with Carol. Joined by grief, by need, by love. We helped each other the best way we could. We dealt with our, quote unquote, acceptable anger, by doing things like fencing and skiing and all sorts of mad things, the worst young girls that ever passed by that school. We won every fencing competition. And every horse race, giving the horses rein as if we were chasing their killer. We punched our dough in the Cordon Bleu class, instead of kneading it delicately for hours, like it was responsible for their death. After a while, every girl in the class was passing us their dough behind the teacher’s back for us to knead it.” She smiled sadly at him. “The teacher, he knew, of course. But he closed his eyes to that. Those were acceptable things. The only time we were punished was when we fought over something ridiculous with a schoolmate and we had a flour war in Monsieur Putton’s kitchen. He had a fit and called the head-teacher.” Her smile was sad and his fingers combed her hair, bringing solace to the dull ache that was always waiting to resurface.

  “What was the punishment?” His voice was intense as if he would take revenge on the teacher who dared punish her.

  Her eyes turned wistful. “It was not that bad. Monsieur Putton had a very gentle heart. He was fun and talented. We lost our weekend outings for three months in a row. He said he was going to teach us to respect our elders, other people’s opinion and food.” Her lips curled up softly. “We learned to respect the kitchen. Oh, we did. For a few weekends, we were in the kitchen from ten in the morning to four in the afternoon. We peeled vegetables, we polished the pans and cooking utensils. We cleaned the kitchen until it shined. And we cooked. So many different recipes that we were never the same again. Carol cooks even better than I do. She’s always wanted to be a chef.” Her smile grew. “The sacrifice was rewarding. A lesson taught with love and sweets. That is the way lessons should be taught. With love.” She licked her lips and took an apple from the fruit plate. “I promise I’ll bake cookies and my decadent chocolate and fresh wild berries tartlet for you next week.”

  Before she bit the apple he snatched it from her hand and bit it himself and offered it back to her.

  The sinful look he gave her made her mind reel.

  She was unable to make sense of the changes that came over him without explanation. One minute he has profoundly sad and the other, extremely aroused. She’d never experienced anything like it.

  “You are scandalously debauched, Lord Mercurial,” she whispered to him.

  He brushed her hair away and kissed her neck, nibbling the soft skin under her ear and sucking her earlobe lightly, before he confessed, “I’ve become so many different men since I met you that sometimes I don’t even recognize myself,” he said inhaling her vanilla scent deeply.

  “And that’s a good thing? Becoming Lord Multiple Personality?”

  He raised his head and looked at her very seriously. “Sophia, in hindsight, I know that my relationship with Heather was... the worst kind that could have happened to me. However, I can understand why I entered it. I, as any healthy man, have sexual fantasies, but she... She was obsessed with sex in the most perverted way.” His lips curled in a half grimace. “I’m still asking myself why. Have I told you I started seeing a therapist?”

  “No,” she breathed, surprised. “Do you like it?”

  “Aye,” he smiled amused. I was surprised myself, sweetheart. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? I wonder, mo chridhe, if you realize how much you’ve changed me. It’s miraculous.”

  Stop. I’m not responsible. You are. “Why did you start going?”

  “First, you said I should. Then Tavish Uilleam. He said that I was poisoned. That Heather had awoken my dark side. He convinced me to at least try. Andrew, my therapist, made me see things in a different light.”

  “Like what?” She shifted on his lap to sit up straighter.

  He looked away from her face and sighed. “I told him about my- Heather’s sexual preferences, which I gladly indulged. Just like a drug addiction, it started with small experiences, and I had an illusion of self control. That I could control myself, her and all the, uh, partners we had. At first, it was only linked to the idea of physical and psychological gratification, that we were learning and being rewarded, and... I think this idea created a dependence.”

  “Yes,” she nodded her head, “this dependence was created by the psychological abuse she inflicted on you. She demanded more from you that you are willing to give. And, every time you indulged her, you violated yourself. Saying no to a person you love is very difficult, but it’s much more important than one can imagine. To stand your ground requires more determination and an understanding of how both partners feel and how they can help themselves by deepening their intimacy. It’s not about control or dominance, it is about communication and real closeness. Trust.”

  “Exactly what was lost between me and her. We had no intimacy, communication or trust between us anymore. In a BDSM relationship those are absolutely essential-”

  “Alistair Connor,” Sophia gently cut in. “I would say those are essential in any relationship.”

  A ghost of a smile touched his lips. Right, my love.

  “Alistair, you know that I’m not prudish. Many women would have accepted anything to please you, even if they didn’t enjoy it. So, when I stand my ground and you accept it, this makes our relationship so much stronger. We trust each other, we respect our desires, we are developing a new path together, growing together and finding mutually desirable ways of exploring our needs and still being true to ourselves. This is what makes our relationship a success. It’s quite different.”

  She’s mature beyond her age. Alistair remained silent for a long time thinking about what Sophia had said. Or, when did I start to hear her so clearly?

  She laid her cheek against his, silently encouraging him to continue with his story.

  “So, when Nathalie died...” he closed his eyes and breathed deep. “It just made my anger worse. I started to have serious relationship issues. I numbed myself. I felt totally empty and I didn’t care anymore about forming a relationship. And, if I follow your line of thinking, I became an abuser too. I told Andrew, my therapist, about your slow-down. How you conducted things slowly only giving yourself to me when you thought you could trust me. How you brought me to your house. Your home.” His voice lowered to a whisper, “I told him about what I did in Berkshire.” His gaze returned to her face in time to see her flinch. “How you forgave me. How you stood your ground when I suggested the crop. How you showed me time and time again I could feel a greater pleasure with gentle and tender caresses. And finally, how yo
u gave me my world back to me when you told me that you didn’t care if I was sterile or not. That you cared more about me.”

  Oh, God. She searched his taut face for a clue, “You are important, Alistair Connor. Just you. In here.” She tapped his chest.

  “He said I was in a healing process. That you’d started it and that I was letting you guide me through it because I wasn’t like that anymore. That it wasn’t what I was looking for.”

  “And what were you looking for?”

  He gazed into her eyes and it was his turn to smile sadly, “Love.”

  5 p.m.

  “Are you sure this is what you want, Sophia?” Victoria asked, surprised at the drawing of the wedding gown Sophia was showing her and her choice of colors.

  Sophia nodded. “I’m a widow, Victoria. I know Alistair would like me to wear white, but...” She shrugged to show her discomfort with the color.

  “I see,” Victoria murmured. And examined her sister’s face, with a mischievous smile, “But if that hunk looked at me the way he looks at you and asked me to marry him naked I would.”

  “You’re impossible, Victoria,” Sophia giggled. “Gabriela will choose her own dress, of course, so please help her with that. I think the main color should be pale pink, but she can choose whatever she wants.” She fixed Victoria with a serious stare, “Remember, you’ve promised me no one will see my gown or know about it. Not a word.”

  “Hm-hmm. Scout’s honor.” She mused as she chewed on the end of her pencil. “Let’s see...” Victoria looked at the design Sophia had drawn and at the fabric samples lying on the table. “We can order some bespoke lace at one of the best manufacturers of Chantilly silk.”

  Sophia looked at the drawing and tapped her nails on the table.

  “What about a more modern idea? Something like...” Victoria pursed her lips thinking about the dress. “Yeah, this. What do you think?” She turned her pad for Sophia, a light in her eyes. “Can you picture it, Sophia?” She picked up a tiny length of tulle and bunched it up forming a small skirt. Then she swirled the cloth, draped it asymmetrically and with a scissor tattered it. “Here.”

  “That’s it! That’s exactly what I want,” Sophia exclaimed.

  “And here I thought you wanted just me, mo gràdh.” Alistair’s deep voice sounded from behind her.

  Hastily, Victoria opened her bag and crammed samples and sheets of paper inside, winking conspiratorially at Sophia.

  “Wow, Sophia, you and Victoria are still discussing the gown?” Valentina asked. “You’ve been in here for at least two hours! Have you decided? Let me see your ideas.”

  Sophia didn’t answer and stood to kiss Alistair lightly on the lips. “We have to design the rest of the stationary and decide on the best men and the maids of honor together, Alistair.” She shook a white envelope in her hand. “And my guest list is ready.” She turned to Gabriela, “I missed you, my angel.”

  “Mama, Alistair took me to see the Eiffel Tower. It’s so tall. And we had ice creams.” Gabriela was hopping around Sophia.

  “That’s great, my love.” Sophia knelt to kiss and hug Gabriela. “Why don’t you sit with aunt Victoria and decide on your dress while I work with aunt Valentina?”

  “Yes, yes!” She jumped on the sofa and picked one of the magazines on the center table, leafing through it.

  “Christ! Colors, flowers, dresses. Too much information. And too many women.” Alistair bowed, mocking, “I’m bid you good-bye, miladies.”

  “Ah-ah! Come back here, Lord I’m-scared-of-women,” Sophia grabbed Alistair’s sleeve. “You have to work, too. You can ring our butler and ask for a light snack. I’m hungry. Then you can call the concierge and make us reservations at... say... Lassere, eight o’clock? A table with the vue plein ciel. Gabriela will love it. After that you are going to sit here beside me,” she patted the chair next to her, “and finish your guest list. Carol has finished all her stationary and emailed it to me,” she lightly tapped her Mac with the pencil, “I’ve approved it all and she’s already sent them to the printers. They will be ready for the final approval tomorrow morning.”

  “Any other order, Marchioness?” He quirked a black eyebrow at her.

  “Besides another kiss, my lord?” She giggled and lifted her lips to him. “Not that I can think of,” she smiled naughtily at him and whispered in his ear, “for the moment.”

  “You’ll pay for this, dominatrix,” he murmured back, winding his arms around her and hauling her up for a kiss.

  Sophia threw her arm around his neck, slanting his head to deepen the kiss.

  “Hey! You two!” Victoria yelled and Valentina ended, “Get a room.”

  Alistair stopped the kiss and Sophia turned in his arms, grinning, “You’re jealous. Get a boyfriend.”

  Gabriela, sat between the twins, sighed rapturously, calling everyone’s attention. “Don’t they look like Beauty and the Beast?” she asked her aunts.

  Sophia laughed out loud and Alistair frowned at the little girl and growled, “Who is the Beast, little Fairy?”

  An innocent smile lighted Gabriela’s face, “You, of course. Who else?”

  Christ! Alistair slapped his hand on his forehead as the twins doubled over with laughter. I deserve that.

  Friday, April 16th, 2010.

  6.01 a.m.

  An incessant low ringing woke Alistair.

  Careful not to wake Sophia, he disengaged her from his body, rolled to the edge of the bed and fumbled on the bedside table for the phone. “MacCraig,” he answered quietly.

  “Wake up and move your ass, Alistair Connor.”

  He looked at the digital clock and frowned, “This better be good, Tavish Uilleam. It’s six in the morning.” He sat up on the bed and rolled his shoulders. Fuck. I’m tired. Too many women to dance with in only one night. He smiled remembering how much fun he’d had with Sophia and the twins at Castel, one of the most exclusive Parisian nightclubs, where a select clientèle of locals and celebrities danced, mingled and spent the night away. They left the club at three o’clock in the morning.

  “Are you listening?” Tavish barked through the line.

  Alistair raised, shaking his head to whisk away the remains of sleep. “Sorry. I’m still sleeping. What did you say?”

  Tavish huffed impatiently on the other side of the line. “Where are you, Alistair Connor? On Mars?”

  Alistair stretched and smiled remembering Sophia’s words, “On cloud nine.”

  “Jesus Christ, man. Turn on the TV. All the airports are closed and flights have been cancelled. That fucking volcano in Iceland has been spewing out fire and smoke for days and last night it got worse. It’s not safe to fly back in the G6. I sent you Munro an hour ago.”

  Alistair scratched his head as he walked to the bathroom, not at all worried. “Really?”

  “What happened to you these last few days?” Tavish was taken aback. It was a long time since he’d heard his brother so relaxed and content. “You didn’t even called to check how things are.”

  “I’ll tell you later. Call Father and Alice. I’m heading to Airgead and I want everyone there. Inform staff that we are going to celebrate.” He laid the phone on the sink and put it on speaker as he talked with his brother for a few more minutes.

  Alistair grinned at his image in the mirror. He had a whole new life in front of him and nothing, not even an erupting volcano hurling its anger at the world, would stop his happiness.

  Chapter 29

  Scotland, Highlands, Gairloch Bay. Airgead Caisteal.

  Friday, April 16th, 2010.

  1.42 p.m.

  “Welcome back, my dear.” Lachlann kissed both her cheeks and, unable to stop himself, hauled her into his arms and hugged Sophia fiercely. He released her, still keeping her in front of him, and put his big hands on her shoulders. Very seriously, he ordered, “Next time, Alistair Connor does something stupid, you call me. I’ll put him back on track.”

  Ah, now I know why Alistair and Tavish are s
o domineering. She smiled at him, “I promise, Lachlann.”

  One by one, Alistair’s relatives greeted Sophia and Gabriela as if they were long time friends. They had all come out to the steps of the fifteenth century castle, with its impressive Palladian and Gothic style, four high towers and cannon balls on display, standing on the shores of Gairloch bay.

  Gabriela turned to Lachlann and asked, “Can you take me to the towers?”

  “Of course, my dear,” he picked her up in his arms, silently thanking God that she and Sophia were back in their lives. “I’ve arranged lots of fun things for you: we’re going to pick shells on the beach, swim in the loch, walk in the woods and spy on the fairies in the evening, right?”

  “Right!” She clapped her hands and kissed him, before turning to Sophia who had tears in her eyes as she watched the scene. “Right, Mama?”

  “Right, my angel,” she rasped through her closed up throat, “anything you want.” She breathed and took in the castle again. “I couldn’t have imagined that Airgead would look so modern,” she mentioned to Alice, “it looks like Galewick Hall.”