Untamed Passion_Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  9:35 a.m.

  Alistair raised his eyebrows at Sophia’s and Gabriela’s small suitcases, which the bellboy was taking to their waiting car. “Is this it?”

  She shrugged. “It was just a few days and I left my other clothes in Rio.”

  “You’re a piece of work,” he whispered, shaking his head, amazed. “I have never seen a woman travel with so little. Are you sure you don’t have OCD?”

  “As if you weren’t organized too.” She jutted her chin to his small luggage.

  “I’m a man,” he said dismissively, as an explanation.

  She sighed dramatically, “You’re incorrigible.”

  He chuckled. “That’s why I’m marrying you.”

  Right. I know. “Indeed,” she mocked.

  Gabriela came down to meet them, bouncing lightly between Edward and Felipe. She was wearing a lovely pink wool dress with a white sash. Her long blonde hair was tied in pigtails and held by white silk ribbons. She threw herself in Alistair’s open arms.

  “Good morning, Alistair.” She kissed and hugged him. “Are you looking forward to going to the beach?”

  He smiled at her and put her back on the ground. “Only if you take me, Fairy.”

  “I will. Promise.” She jogged to the car where Maria and Zareb were waiting.

  “Ready for the jungle?” Edward asked Alistair.

  “Good Lord, Edward. You’re going to scare him like that.” Felipe smacked his hand on his forehand. “Don’t listen to Edward. He—”

  “Yes, don’t listen to him,” interrupted Sophia, her gaze distant. “In the jungle, you know the rules. In Brazil, you don’t.”

  Rio de Janeiro, Ipanema, Fasano Hotel

  Fitness Club

  12:00 p.m.

  “WHAT!” Ethan lost his composure for a split second.

  He smiled apologetically at the surprised woman on the other treadmill and pushed the stop button, getting off.

  He accepted a towel from the personal trainer, drying his face and grabbed a bottle of water.

  He exited the fitness center, emerging by the rooftop infinity pool, and dropped into one of the comfortable reclining chairs. He lowered his tone, “Are you sure, Scott? When?”

  He looked at Christ the Redeemer, the huge statue atop the Corcovado Mountain, and a sharp pain made his eyes tear. The view was lost on Ethan as he felt nauseated by Sophia’s betrayal.

  She’s going to marry MacCraig. MacCraig. The thought turned his stomach and he drew in a gulp of air.

  He ended the call after giving Scott some instructions and headed for his room with angry and firm steps.

  London, Chiswick

  The Ashford’s Mansion

  Friday, April 13, 1979

  11:27 a.m.

  Calista’s eyes popped open and she wriggled her perfect small nose in disgust, when the childish giggles mingled with the zen music her brawny masseur had put on before he started.

  “Relax.” Adam, her therapist, kneaded her shoulders more firmly.

  She sighed and closed her azure eyes just to open them angrily when, five minutes later, Ethan’s piercing shriek followed his happy laughter.

  “That’s it,” she said, sitting up, her lilting accent pronounced. “Adamos, call that horrible brat here. Now,” she ordered as she got down from the massage bed and put on her silk robe. “He can’t give me a moment’s peace.”

  “Calista, honey—”

  “NOW!”

  Adam turned to obey, with a grimace on his lips. He hated to see the way that selfish, pampered, and promiscuous woman treated her sweet, gentle son.

  Calista paused in front of the full-length mirror of her private rooms and tied the sash around her slim waist, observing her stunning figure. She turned her face from side to side and ran her hand over her neck and breasts. She smiled, satisfied with what she saw.

  “Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” she mocked her own image, picking a brush up from the vanity table and brushing her long black hair with vigorous strokes, thinking about her son. Her smile disappeared and she thinned her full lips.

  “You called me, Mum?” Ethan’s innocent and eager voice made her turn from her own mesmerizing image.

  In front of her was a lovely blond boy with her own azure eyes, perfect nose, and strong features.

  “For you, Mum.” Ethan was holding a bunch of red roses from the garden in his hands. At six, his still childish face already showed the signs of the handsome man he would become.

  However, he was also a constant reminder of what Calista hated most in her life.

  She had never wanted a child. She had never wished for married life. She wanted freedom, and Ethan had chained her from the moment he had been conceived. To make things worse, he always looked at her with adoring and beguiling eyes.

  She put the brush back on the table with a thud and he flinched.

  She looked at the flowers with a rictus on her lips, and snatching them from his hands, threw the roses in the waste bin, saying, “Are you stupid? I’m allergic to flowers. Bring me diamonds next time.”

  Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Ethan lowered his head, hiding the tears that invaded his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he whispered through the huge lump that blocked his throat, wringing his hands. “I’ll remember.”

  “What were you doing screaming like that? You are disturb me.”

  “Disturbing,” he corrected, unconsciously.

  The sound of a slap rang in the room.

  “Shut up!” she hissed at her son in Greek. “SHUT. UP. You’re no better than me, you undeserving brat.”

  “Calista.” Adam moved from his position in the doorway, shocked at the gratuitous violence. “He’s a child—”

  She raised her perfect eyebrows at him, and ice coated her voice when she stated, “Child or no, he have to learn that this is not a fairy tale world.”

  Child or not. He has to learn that this is not—

  “Look at me, Aethon,” she spoke again in English, with her strong Greek accent.

  My name is Ethan. Not Aethon. I’m your son. Not your horse. He blinked his eyes at the beautiful woman that looked at him from such an enormous height. Too far for him to reach. The distance too great to find a way into her heart. “I’m sorry, Mum. I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry is not enough! On the corner. At your knees. ‘Til I say so.”

  In the corner. On your knees. In his mind, Ethan kept correcting the mistakes his mother made to stop the tears from falling as he walked to the corner of the room and knelt there, facing the wall. Why you never smile at me, Mum? Hug me, Mum. A kiss. Stroke my hair. What have I done so wrong?

  Calista took off her robe and lay naked on the massage bed. “I’m ready for you, Adamos.”

  The masseur masked his disgust and controlled his anger as he put the small towels back in place over Calista’s breasts and hips. He eyed the little boy’s back with his head lowered. The slight trembling of his formal white shirt revealed how much he had been hurt.

  Before she closed her eyes, Calista told Adam with a sneer in her voice, “He’ll never get a woman. Flowers! Imagine!”

  Ethan counted the white stripes on the colored wallpaper of his mother’s room. I’m not going to cry. I am not.

  But he would.

  Later. Alone.

  Fasano Hotel, Deluxe Suite

  Saturday, April 10, 2010

  12:07 p.m.

  Ethan yanked off his sweaty clothes and got in the cold water, not caring about the temperature of the shower.

  The noise that burst agonizingly from his throat surprised him.

  He had not cried—much less sobbed—since that fateful day he discovered Eve’s betrayal. He had promised himself he would never let a woman hurt him again.

  But it was uncontrollable.

  He dropped to his knees under the water and cried as if he were a child with his face in his hands.

  He had been used all his life and then thrown away like spoiled goo
ds, without a thought from the ones that were supposed to care for him.

  He couldn’t believe Sophia was doing the same thing.

  I am the one who brought you back to life, Sophia. I am the one who made you happy. You said so yourself. And you’re turning your back on me. Like all the others. Like all the others.

  In his mind, Ethan concluded she didn’t care for the deep feelings he had for her.

  He shouted out in pain and banged his fists on his thighs as he sobbed.

  Alistair MacCraig is not trustworthy, Sophia. He’s a creep with unusual sexual preferences. He’ll make you suffer. You’re too innocent for the likes of him. I am the one for you. I am the only one you should love, Sophia.

  What was left of his rational personality had been divided into two separate beings. Ethan felt torn apart, as two different sides coexisted inside his soul and fought for control, two parts of himself that he didn’t usually acknowledge.

  His gentle side, which had survived the lies and abuse of his parents and grandfather, wanted Sophia to be happy with whomever she wished.

  His confused and frustrated side, molded by the constant bullying and lack of love, selfishly wanted Sophia all to himself.

  Once again, Ethan had lost control of his life. He had failed himself.

  After a long time, he rose and finished his shower, drying himself without looking in the mirror. He wrapped a towel around his lean waist and picked up the telephone, gazing at it absentmindedly for a moment before calling the concierge and turning to the mirror.

  A cold smiling face with a raised eyebrow stared at him from inside the mirror.

  “Good morning. Do you have round the clock CCTV surveillance?”

  Chapter 11

  Rio de Janeiro, São Conrado

  São Conrado Fashion Mall

  3:30 p.m.

  Alistair immediately felt something was off when Sophia stopped and stiffened beside him. The hand he was holding became suddenly cold. When he gazed at her she was pale and staring straight ahead at a couple that was coming in their direction.

  “What is it?” he asked concerned.

  Sophia was rooted to the ground and looked like she would faint. The bags with her new bikinis fell to the floor. Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Sophia?” He stepped in front of her and grabbed her right arm, shaking it. “Who are they?”

  “Get me out of here, please,” she whispered.

  “Sophia!” A polite and cultured female voice, called, “É você, Sophia querida?”

  Yes, it’s me. Sophia moaned and closed her eyes. Just the sight of the couple made her senses raw. Too late.

  A blonde middle-aged woman, tastefully dressed, with startling beautiful blue eyes had stopped by their side.

  Alistair looked over his shoulder. The man had halted a few feet away. He let go of Sophia’s arm, moved aside and brought her closer to him with an arm around her waist. She had turned even paler.

  “Rose.” Sophia acknowledged the woman with a taut nod. “How are you?”

  Alistair felt her shudder when she spoke the woman’s name.

  Raising her chin and setting her shoulders back, Sophia made an elegant gesture in Alistair’s way. “May I present you the Marquis of Ells, Lord Alistair Connor Davenport MacCraig, my fiancé.”

  Marquis? Lord? What the fuck? Who is this woman?

  Looking at Alistair, she motioned to Rose with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Lord Ells, this is Rose Leibowitz.”

  Oh, fuck!

  “Fiancé?” The woman stuttered in a squeak.

  Without a smile, he nodded briefly. “How do you do, Mrs. Leibowitz?” It’s a displeasure to meet you.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she replied in perfect English and didn’t extend her hand, as Alistair did not. “Sophia, querida—”

  Dear? Dear, my ass. “In English please, dear,” Sophia sneered.

  “Of course, I’m sorry.” Rose looked at the old man who was waiting for her, uncertain. “Did Gabriela come with you? I would love to—”

  “Rose.” The way Sophia growled the woman’s name sent chills down Alistair’s spine. “Gabriela is none of your business.”

  “Sophia, my dear, there is no need to be discourteous,” Rose spoke in a low and trembling voice, and her eyes darted again to the man, as if she were afraid of him. “I just wished to see my granddaughter.”

  The old man approached them with a contemptuous look on his face and hate in his blue eyes that he didn’t try to hide. He had a handsome face, a fit body, an arrogant stance. The hair that once might have been a striking blond mane was now white, combed back from his forehead.

  He didn’t greet Sophia or Alistair, saying, “Então—”

  Rose’s hand on his arm prevented him from continuing. “In English, my dear, Lord Ells probably doesn’t speak Portuguese.”

  The man completely ignored his wife and carried on in Portuguese, although he spoke English quite well. “So, you came back. I knew you wouldn’t succeed.” He inspected Sophia, taking in her Valentino dress and Chanel purse and sandals and paused at her Rolex watch and engagement ring. At this last stunning piece, he raised his brows. “Have you already managed to irresponsibly destroy my son’s fortune?”

  “Irresponsibly like the way you got him killed?” Sophia answered him in English. There was such wrath in her voice that it cracked like a whip.

  Alistair’s hand tightened on Sophia’s waist.

  The old man’s face turned ashen and his mouth thinned, but he didn’t defend himself as had Alistair expected.

  “No, Alberto,” Sophia spit out his name and smiled darkly at the man. “You have always underestimated me, haven’t you? I’m wealthier now, no thanks to you. Seems I have a knack for the oil business.” Her eyes narrowed and she glowered at him through slits. “In fact, you never liked me, did you?”

  “Sophia, please, my dear, that’s not true,” Rose’s voice was a whisper.

  “Where are you hiding our granddaughter?” Alberto raised his voice. “We have the right to see her.”

  Sophia’s lenience had run out. When Gabriel was kidnapped and murdered, she was too desperate to think straight.

  Not now. Not anymore.

  She stood taller and stepped away from Alistair’s embrace and flung her hair back.

  Seething, she poked a finger on Alberto’s chest. “Let me tell you something, Al-ber-to. You don’t deserve my respect anymore. You killed your own son. What you did to Gabriela, and also to me, was heinous. You are a horrible person. You taint Gabriel’s memory.”

  Alberto Leibowitz was speechless. Sophia had always been so sweet, polite, and respectful.

  “And, you.” She spun to face Rose, her eyes blazing, and hissed between clenched teeth, “You, Rose, how could you? Your only child. You could have paid the ransom and prevented your son’s death. You’re so pathetically weak! You let Alberto do whatever he wants. You are as guilty of Gabriel’s death as your bloody damned husband. I despise you.” She faced the couple so enraged, a taste of blood so strong in her mouth, that she charged on without thinking, unleashing all the pain and hatred that had been bottled up for years. “You want to see Gabriela? To take her away from me again? Do you think I’m stupid? You’re not going anywhere near her. Ever again. She’s afraid of you. She hates you.”

  Rose sobbed brokenly. That took Alberto Leibowitz out of his speechless state and he charged toward Sophia, “You filthy bitch.”

  As his hand moved to slap Sophia’s face, Alistair’s rose, catching and crushing the old man’s wrist. Despite Alberto speaking in Portuguese, Alistair was able to understand the feelings being spat out.

  “Enough!” he bit out, and wrung Alberto’s wrist, holding back on his desire to break it. “Don’t you dare speak to my future wife like that.” He released Alberto’s hand with a shove and bent down to pick up Sophia’s bags from the floor. “I’ve had enough of you for a lifetime.”

  Alberto staggered back
. “You’re going to pay for this, Sophia. Mark my words. I won’t rest until I destroy you and have Gabriela back where she belongs.”

  “A lost war before it even started, Alberto,” Sophia answered unfazed.

  “Let’s go, Sophia,” Alistair said.

  At the same time, Rose pleaded, in a hurtful sob, “Sophia, please, I need to see Gabriela. She is the only reminder I have of my son.”

  “You should have thought of that when you let Gabriel die.” Sophia looked at Rose with contempt and turned to go. “Good-bye, Rose. I hope one day you free yourself of your self-imposed enslavement. You are too young to wander around like the living-dead.”

  Alistair enfolded Sophia in his arms and walked away with her.

  Alberto shouted, “I will make you pay for this, Sophia. I’ll see to it.”

  Alistair didn’t stop, but looked back once. Rose was crying, her head hung and Alberto was glowering at Sophia with so much hate in his eyes that a bad feeling entered Alistair. Christ!

  Some feet away, he paused and looked down at Sophia’s white face, “You okay?”

  “No.” She breathed deep. “I’m sorry I made a scene. I wasn’t prepared…I never thought I’d meet them again. They don’t live here. In Rio, I mean.” She put a hand on her head. “Would you mind heading back to the hotel? I’m not feeling well.”

  “Of course no’.” There was a murderous look on his face. “I lost my appetite.”

  “I’m so sorry, Alistair. On your first day in Rio. It wasn’t supposed to—”

  “No more apologies. I should have taken that son of a bitch out.” He felt her melting against his chest, her arm snaking around his waist.

  Sophia raised her head to look at his eyes, a ghost of a smile on her face. “I might have liked that, my Highland warrior.”

  “Want me to go back?” he smiled down at her.

  “Don’t tempt me, I might say yes.” A strange light appeared on her face. “But, no thanks. He deserves worse.”

  Her eyes were burning with an emotion he could not identify at first.