“What do you think the odds are that two sisters get pregnant at the same time?” Claire asked in an obvious attempt at lightness.
Sophie smiled. “I don’t know. It’ll sort of be like having twins.”
“You’re right. I didn’t think of that.” Claire’s eyes widened. “How will we do it, Soph? How will we make it?”
The doors to the elevator popped open with a cheerful ding and they stepped inside. Sophie pressed the third-floor button, all the while turning Claire’s question over in her mind. It would not be easy to be single mothers, that much she knew. But would Claire break the news to Logan? Would Sophie break the news to Trevor? That was supposing, of course, there was any news to break.
Grateful they were the only two occupants of the elevator, Sophie turned to Claire. “I never thought I’d have another child after Elizabeth died. I swore I’d never go through that again. Losing her was terrible. But now—”
“Now you’re wondering if you were wrong,” Claire finished for her.
Ding. They reached the third floor and the elevator doors slid open to reveal yet another lobby. Claire and Sophie stepped off the elevator.
“Aren’t you wondering the same thing?”
Claire flashed her a wistful smile. “I didn’t think I was ready for children. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready. But now even though it scares me to death, it feels right somehow.”
“Right,” Sophie echoed. “Yes, it does feel that way, doesn’t it?”
And maybe, just maybe, everything in her life would turn out to be all right after all. Buoyed, she went to give the receptionist her name.
A little over an hour later, Sophie’s suspicions were confirmed. She stepped back into the waiting room to greet an expectant-looking Claire with a smile. Claire jumped out of the seat she’d been occupying like someone lit a fire beneath her backside. The magazine she’d been poring over fluttered, forgotten, to the floor.
“Well?” She gripped Sophie’s hands. “Are you?”
“I am,” Sophie confirmed.
“Oh, Soph. Are you happy?”
“Ecstatic,” she confessed. “It’s the strangest thing. For three months, I’ve been convincing myself I couldn’t possibly be pregnant, that having a baby is the last thing in the world that I need right now. But now that I found out it’s real, I couldn’t be happier. I think maybe this is the second chance I’ve been waiting for all along.”
Claire pressed a kiss to Sophie’s cheek. “Should we go home and celebrate, then?”
“You go on ahead of me,” Sophie said. “I have something I have to do first.”
Claire nodded, not really needing to ask what sort of unfinished business Sophie might have. “I’ll see you at home then, Soph.”
Sophie had made up her mind that this would be her last weekly trip to the cemetery. In her hand, she carried a single white rose she’d picked up in a floral shop near the doctor’s office. Today was Wednesday, not Sunday, not her appointed day for visitation, but it didn’t matter. Today, she wasn’t here to visit but to say goodbye.
Not to Peter and Elizabeth. Their memories would always be close to her heart, as cherished as could be. No, she was saying goodbye to the past. Trevor had taught her life was worth living and that likewise, time didn’t stand still. Living life again meant loving again, laughing again, being happy again. The advent of the baby made her realize that more than anything. She was embarking on a new chapter in her life, like the rebirth in spring after winter’s desolation. It didn’t mean she would love Peter and Elizabeth any less. She knew without a doubt in her heart she would always, always love them.
Her feet found their way to the familiar plot. Kneeling at the base of the headstone, Sophie replaced last week’s shriveled flowers with the rose. The white rose was symbolic. To Sophie, it signified peace, peace that had been a long time in coming.
“It’s been a long road,” she whispered aloud. “A long, hard road.”
The only sound was the gentle rustle of the wind through the trees that bordered the cemetery walls. It was so serene here, so quiet she could almost forget where she was, she could almost lose herself in the tranquility of the moment. But the pang of loss that followed her around like a relentless shadow reminded her she had come here for a different reason.
Sophie gathered the words she needed to say aloud, to her husband and her daughter. Maybe they couldn’t hear her. She didn’t know for certain. But she did know she wanted to believe they could. More importantly, she wanted to get this right. She owed it to them.
“I love you both,” she began, her eyes remaining closed, “and I know that as long as I live, I’ll miss you. But I’ve also come to realize nothing I do can bring you back. I’ve accepted life without you, as difficult as that has been.”
Sophie released a deep, cleansing breath. “I don’t know why I was the one left behind. I know that for a long time I didn’t think I was strong enough to make it on my own, but now I realize I can. I also realize that part of making it on my own means letting go of something I can never change.”
Gaining her feet, she walked away from the cemetery, leaving the painful past behind her. She would never, she vowed, never stop loving them. But neither could she go on pretending they would walk back into her life at any moment. It was a long, quiet ride home.
“You did what, you son of a bitch?”
Several clients who had been eagerly inspecting the latest arrivals at the gallery paused in their perusal to eye Trevor and Marcus with alarm. Trevor clenched his jaw and shoved his hand through his hair. He hadn’t intended for the words to be quite so loud, but he’d been totally unprepared for Marcus’ bombshell.
He leveled a glare at Marcus. “Follow me.”
Moments later, Trevor slammed his office door closed and turned to face his friend. “Explain to me why the hell you went behind my back to organize a debut for Sophie Olsen.”
Marcus sauntered around Trevor’s desk and dropped into the chair behind it. Propping his feet on the glass-topped desk, Marcus took his time responding.
“I didn’t go behind your back, Trev. I just forgot to tell you. No need to overreact.”
An unholy rage was building up within him. Satisfying fantasies of him planting Marcus a facer flashed across his mind.
“I’m not overreacting, damn it,” he bit out. “And you didn’t forget to tell me, Marcus. You deliberately went behind my back to organize the whole damn thing. Would you even have told me about it if you hadn’t let it slip just now?”
Marcus raised a brow at him. “Of course I would have told you. I was getting to it actually, but I didn’t know how to go about it because I was afraid you’d be a bastard. Turns out I was right.”
It struck Trevor then, Marcus’ constant championing of Sophie, how he personally picked up her paintings each week. His eyes narrowed. “You’re after her, aren’t you? I don’t know why I didn’t see it sooner. I swear to God, if you touch her, I’ll tear you apart. Piece by goddamn piece.”
“Last time I checked, you didn’t own her. Hell, you won’t even talk to her. What do you care who she sees?”
Fury pumped through Trevor’s blood, making his fists curl at his sides, making him desperately want to remove the smug expression from Marcus’ face. With his fist. He counted to ten. When that failed to work, he continued on to twenty and thirty. Kicking the ass of his partner in the middle of the day with clients below would not be a good idea. Reminding himself of that, he proceeded to forty, then fifty.
“If you were anyone else, you’d have a broken nose right now,” he told Marcus at last, his voice shaking with tightly leashed anger.
Marcus feigned a sigh. “There you go again, overestimating your own abilities. I could take you any day Trev, and win too. Without a broken nose.”
“Keep talking and we’ll find out soon enough,” Trevor returned.
“Seriously, though, Trevor, we give all our biggest artists formal debuts. With Sophie’s populari
ty, it’s a given. You know it and I know it. The only thing stopping us from giving her one was you, so I left you out of the loop.”
“I’m half of this gallery, Marcus. There is no leaving me out of the loop. We make decisions together and damn it, we always have.”
Marcus pulled his feet from the desk and leaned forward. “I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t think it absolutely necessary.”
“I think we should cancel it,” Trevor decided. “Send out emails or something. It’s not too late for that.”
“There’s no way I’m canceling. You don’t know what I went through to get Sophie to agree to it. Besides, Adele Pierson-Hill was just about drooling when I told her she’d have a chance to meet Sophie. I don’t need to tell you that I saw dollar signs written all over it.”
“I don’t give a damn. We’re canceling and you don’t need to worry about telling Sophie. I’ll tell her. In fact, I’ll handle all business with her again from now on.”
There. That should keep Sophie out of Marcus’ clutches.
“No canceling,” Marcus said in clipped tones, “and I’ve managed just fine in dealing with Sophie this far. I don’t see any reason to change.”
Trevor smashed his fist into the desk. “Stay away from her. I mean it.”
Marcus stood. “You’re an ass, Trevor. No wonder she dropped you like a hot potato.” He circled the desk until he stood toe-to-toe with Trevor. “We’re not canceling the debut. It’s too late for that. What’s more, you’re going to be there, like it or not. And you’ll be gracious and cheerful like you’re having the best damn time you’ve ever had.”
“No,” Trevor said, as though talking to a small child. “You’ll send out apologies and cancel the damn thing. Then you’ll forget Sophie exists and let me take care of business with her from now on.”
“Did I forget to mention how much publicity, not to mention revenue, this debut could bring us? Talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.”
Damn it.
Trevor walked past Marcus, stopping by the window to stare down at the street below. Marcus was right, as much as Trevor hated to admit it. Sophie’s debut could only be a good thing for the gallery, whether he wanted it or not.
“Do I hear the voice of reason talking inside that thick skull of yours?” Marcus kept his tone light.
Trevor cursed beneath his breath. He looked over his shoulder at his friend.
“I suppose you don’t have to cancel the debut,” he conceded. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be here for it.”
Marcus gave him a knowing smile. “Oh, I think you’ll be here. This Saturday at seven sharp, by the way.”
“I already have plans.”
Marcus shrugged. “Suit yourself. I don’t mind having to monopolize Sophie’s time. In fact, it will probably be better if you don’t come to the debut. You’d just distract her anyway.”
Direct hit.
Trevor stiffened. “I meant what I said, Marcus.”
“So did I, Trev,” Marcus returned. “Remember that.”
The gallery was in a flurry preparing for Sophie’s gala the following evening, but Trevor’s mood was grim. Still, he tried to maintain an outward sense of professionalism as he spoke with a referral client.
“If you’re looking for an eclectic style, then a Sophie Olsen is likely to suit your tastes best,” he told her, doing his best to promote their new gem even if it hurt his heart.
The woman was a thirty-something interior decorator who handpicked original artwork for her wealthy clientele.
“Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “Adele told me about Sophie Olsen’s art. She called it charming and impressionistic.”
“Right this way, then,” Trevor offered with a smile as he made his way toward the section reserved for Sophie’s paintings.
Adele Pierson-Hill had referred the gallery to Ms. Findley and Trevor was grateful. An interior designer could provide fantastic word of mouth. Adele had taken to throwing many of her fellow socialites their way lately and Trevor was beginning to suspect the woman had a soft spot for Marcus.
The Sophie Olsen Wall, as they were calling it, came into sight just then. Marcus was truly a genius when it came to spotlighting artwork. The various lights shining on the canvases made the paintings seem to come alive. The latest pieces were even more beautiful than the previous groupings. Highlighting the wall was an intriguing blend of style, color, and inspiration. There were her trademark landscapes, some modern color compositions, several still-life pieces of roses and antique books and some of what appeared to be Winstead Island.
They took his breath away with their simplistic magnificence, their vibrant colors, and appealing subject matters.
“These are exactly what I was looking for,” breathed an obviously enamored Ms. Findley.
“I’m pleased you like them,” Trevor said, smelling a sale—possibly even two.
Ms. Findley may have said something then but Trevor didn’t know since a flurry of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. He turned, his interest piqued.
His disloyal heart started beating double time. It was Sophie.
The first thought that came to mind was that she was even more exquisite than his mind remembered her being. Had she changed? Had she grown more beautiful?
She caught sight of him and his mouth went dry. Warm heat slid through his veins. She wore a simple, white dress that hugged her figure in a way that made him instantly rock hard just looking at her. On her feet were delicate, strappy-looking pink sandals with a thin heel. God, they were sexy as hell. His gaze traveled back up over her body, admiring the way the dress hugged her full breasts. She looked ethereal, like an angel that had just mistakenly popped into his corner of the world.
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her to look back at Ms. Spindley, or Crindley, or whatever the hell her name was. Seeing Sophie muddled his brain somehow.
“If you’ll excuse me for one moment?” he asked of his client over his shoulder.
His mind barely had time to process the woman’s response before his feet were eating up the empty space between him and Sophie. He came to an abrupt halt before her, his gaze devouring her face. Her luxurious chocolate-brown hair had been swept back off her face and a few little curls had come free, framing her cheeks. God, no woman had a right to be that beautiful.
“Trevor,” she said into the silence between them, her voice hesitant.
Ruthlessly, he forced himself to tamp down all the wayward emotions flitting inside him at the sight of her. “Sophie.” He kept a cool undertone in his voice only by the utmost willpower. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”
She appeared crestfallen at his blunt, borderline-rude question. Trevor stifled the irksome nagging of his conscience. He hated the way she made him feel, lovesick, tied in knots, and furious all at the same time. Knowing how much of himself he’d given her was like pouring salt into his wounds.
“I’m here to talk to you, actually,” she said. Her gaze scanned the gallery before settling back on him. “Is there some place where we can talk in private?”
Ah, God. How could he be alone, in private with Sophie, and not touch her? Even now, he wanted to pull her to him, press his face against the side of her neck where she dabbed on her vanilla perfume. That mouthwatering scent of hers had been driving him crazy for three months, in dreams, on the street, everywhere. He could smell it now and Jesus Christ, nothing he had ever smelled in the world smelled better than vanilla on her soft skin.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” She sounded unsure of herself.
Hell, was he that transparent? He was probably looking at her like he wanted to devour her. Which, of course, he did and thoroughly, too.
“I was thinking.” He reasoned it wasn’t quite a lie and cleared his throat to dislodge the sudden tightness there. “I believe my office will be private enough. If you’ll follow me?”
“Wait.” She put a hand on his sleeve. He almost
jerked at the feel of her through his shirt.
“What is it?” He was thoroughly unnerved by her touch.
As if realizing the bent of his thoughts, Sophie snatched her hand back. “Don’t you have a client over there?”
“Yes. Right,” he mumbled. “Excuse me.”
Feeling more than just a little embarrassed for forgetting himself so completely, Trevor stalked over to Genevieve’s desk. She had been watching the entire exchange with rapt fascination, or so it appeared. She’d been so engrossed she failed to hide the romance novel she had open in her left hand.
“Genevieve, tell Marcus to get his ass down here to handle a client,” he ordered. “In the meantime, go over and stall the interior decorator for a minute until he comes down. Just don’t call her by name. I’ll be damned if I can remember what the hell it is. Don’t chew your gum too loudly and don’t talk about veganism and about how cows should never be used as furniture.”
Genevieve nodded. “Fine. How was I supposed to know Adele Pierson-Shrill would be offended just because I mentioned—”
“Not now,” Trevor interrupted. “Just get Marcus down here. And it’s Pierson-Hill, not Shrill.” He turned away to leave, then another thought occurred to him. “Oh and no more reading sappy love stories at work, Gen.”
He walked away before she could offer any protests.
“This way,” he tossed out at Sophie as he made his way up the steps.
Marcus passed them in the hallway between the two offices. He sent a questioning look at Trevor.
“Interior decorator,” he explained, “about to buy some paintings.”
Marcus nodded, his pace never faltering. “Good to see you, Sophie,” he said as he passed her.
“You too,” Sophie returned a little too warmly for Trevor.
A growl rose in his throat. To his credit, Marcus continued to the main floor.
“In here.” Trevor threw open his office door and waited for Sophie to enter first.
He closed the door at his back and watched her, thinking again that she looked beautiful, vivacious. She was completely at odds with the black-and-white color scheme of the room. She was soft, womanly, and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Christ, why did she have to be so perfect?
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