Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Indeed, Carolina.” Sophia’s sarcasm was evident. “You will all move to England and Scotland to help me. The same way you did when—” she interrupted what she was saying, but the meaning was clear.

  “Sophia.” Felipe didn’t raise his voice, but the criticism was there. “Circumstances are different. We couldn’t help then.”

  “The circumstances will always be different—” she interrupted herself again and breathed deep. “The least people are going to say is that I’m pregnant.” Oh, damn. You and your big mouth, Sophia. She checked Alistair’s face. No harm done.

  “Who is going to deal with the Royal Family?” She raised her brows at Alistair. “You can’t invite them with such short notice.”

  “Royal Family?” Drake muttered under his breath. “This gets more interesting by the minute.”

  “It is not like that, Beauty.” Alistair curled his finger under Sophia’s chin, his green eyes burrowing into hers. “They are not just the Royal Family. Well, they are. But they are my friends. And you already know most of them.”

  “Right. Next, you’ll tell me you are inviting the Queen. That she’s—” Her voice disappeared when he lifted his broad shoulders and looked at her sheepishly. “No way, Alistair Connor. No way.”

  “Yes way, Mama!” Gabriela exclaimed. “I’ve always dreamed of meeting the Queen!”

  “You and Gabriel decided to marry in less than three months and everything was perfect, and you had a thousand guests.”

  “Leave Gabriel out of this, Felipe,” Sophia lowered her tone, angered. “Anyway, I can’t be traveling to Scotland every week. Airgead is not exactly around the corner, you know?”

  Alistair felt a sudden uneasiness. He drank some wine to ease the feeling, but it tasted like acid on his tongue. He could hardly swallow it and put the glass down.

  “We can help. Before you leave, I can design the main theme for the stationary with you.” Carolina put her chin on her steepled fingers, a dreamy look on her face. “I can draw Airgead Caisteal with your initials entwined over it. And for the riding tournament, we can use a photo of you two riding and I’ll make a watercolor of it. Valentina can do some of the others so they don’t look too similar. And you can have them printed in Italy in a few days. I know an exceptional printer there.”

  “That’s a fantastic idea,” exclaimed Angelica. “And I can help with the catering.”

  Alistair was following the exchange, his turn now to be at a loss for words with the look of panic on Sophia’s face.

  “Victoria can make your dress and Gabriela’s,” Carolina prompted. “And I’m sure Alistair’s sister and her sister-in-law will be delighted to help you with the seating charts and all the protocol.”

  “My dear, do as we do in Hollywood: hire. Hire the best wedding planner, cake designer and so on. The best in the United Kingdom, at least,” Drake finished. “With this I can help, I have the best contacts all around the world.”

  Sophia looked from one to another, open-mouthed. “You’ve got my life all planned, haven’t you?” She whipped her head to stare at Alistair as she refilled her wine glass. “So it’s settled. August the seventh, at Airgead Caisteal. Starting with a small formal reception at my house to announce our engagement as soon as we arrive back in London.” She swirled the wine in her glass and drank some. “In August, Airgead will be our meeting point. All the parties you want. Four hundred people give or take. We are going to be the talk of the town.”

  “Sophia—” he tried to stop her but Sophia was angry.

  “To the widow and the widower. The new love birds,” she sneered, raising a toast to him with her glass. She set it back on the table with a thump and wine spilled from it. Pushing her chair back, she got up, flinging her napkin on the table with rage. “Just don’t expect me to wear white. I might wear black. Excuse me.”

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What got in to her? Alistair rose also, but was too astonished to move as she marched to the door.

  “The future Marchioness has teeth,” Drake smirked.

  Felipe stood, surprised at her outburst and ordered, “Sophia, come back. You’re being rude!”

  At the door, Sophia tossed her hair back and looked at him over her shoulder. “Screw you, Felipe.”

  She banged the door closed, but they heard her exclaiming, “Screw all of you!”

  Alistair winced. Sophia didn’t yell often, and when she did, it was jarring.

  “She doesn’t want to marry you anymore, Alistair?” Gabriela’s small voice broke the silence.

  Fuck! He gazed into Gabriela’s eyes. “Nae. It’s no’ this. She’s a wee nervous, dearling. Brides aft get nervous afore a mairiage. Don’t you ken that?”

  She smiled, “You’re talking funny. Are you nervous, too?”

  “You bricht wee lass.” Get a grip, for Christ’s sake, Alistair Connor. He cleared his throat and said, “Feudaidh e a bhith, tha beagan.” Immediately translating, “Maybe I am a little.”

  Gabriela’s laughter tickled him and he smiled, relieved.

  “What kind of heathen language is that?” Drake asked. “So masculine.”

  “Scottish Gaelic.” Alistair didn’t even look in his direction. Standing up, he gazed at Angelica. “I’m so sorry. I guess this is entirely my fault. I should have talked with her first.”

  “Still, my son, that doesn’t excuse her behavior.” Angelica’s face was serious and pale. “I apologize for her.”

  “Don’t, please. She’s had a bad day…” he trailed off. “Could you show me where she is?”

  “Come with me.” Felipe strolled to the door. “I know where she’ll be.”

  Before leaving, Alistair turned and kissed Gabriela’s head. “I’ll be back with your mother, Fairy. And I’m sure she will let you choose your flower girl dress, okay?”

  “And my bouquet,” she demanded.

  “Anything you want, Fairy.”

  9:45 p.m.

  Felipe closed the dining room door behind them and paused, watching Alistair closely. “What happened today?”

  Alistair shut his eyes for a second. A pounding headache was forming behind his eyelids. “She ran into her in-laws.”

  “Fuck!” The expletive came out as a hurled knife from Felipe’s mouth.

  “Exactly.” He thinned his lips and shook his head. “It was not pretty.”

  “It never is where Alberto is concerned. He’s a son of a bitch!” There was so much anger in Felipe’s voice that the air resonated with it. “Fucking bad luck! Still, she’s completely wrong to take it out on you.”

  “It’s my fault. I’m sorry. I ought to have talked to her first. Besides, she was really making an effort to be here tonight. She was very distressed by the argument she had with the Leibowitzes. Alberto almost slapped her.”

  “What?” The slow and controlled way the word left Sophia’s brother’s lips told Alistair that Felipe’s anger had reached its peak and that the man had a formidable control over it.

  Alistair rubbed his temples. “He would have, if I hadn’t been there.”

  There was murder in Felipe’s blazing hazel eyes. “I’ll kill the bastard. Tell me what happened.”

  While they walked downstairs to Sophia’s bedroom, Alistair told him what happened at the shopping center.

  Chapter 14

  Felipe knocked on the white wooden door and opened it. Sophia was curled up on a queen size bed, surrounded by a mountain of light yellow, orange, and pink silk cushions, holding one to her chest, softly crying.

  “Go away,” she sobbed, not even turning to see who was at the door. “Leave me alone.”

  “Hey, Sis,” Felipe murmured and approached the bed. “There is no need for this.”

  “There is no need for this,” she parroted, angry.

  The men stopped in the middle of the beautiful and feminine room when she spun to look at them.

  “No. There never is, is there?” She sat crossed legged on the flower-printed silk cover and wiped her tears away, he
aving. “I’m so tired of this crap, Felipe. Everyday someone wants to redirect my life without asking me how I feel about it. Do you think it’s easy to live in a different country all alone with a small daughter? Do you?” she asked both men. “I had everything a woman could want. I was loved, pampered, had a blooming career and a beautiful, perfect family. In less than three months, I lost everything. Even my memories. My in-laws killed my husband, drugged me, declared me insane, stole my daughter and who knows what else. I lost everything that was dear to me. I had to reinvent myself and start anew, had to fight to protect Gabriela. She was barely two years old, for God’s sake. A baby.” The tears began to fall again as she whispered, “A fatherless baby. Do you think my wealth makes up for anything? It doesn’t!” She slashed her hand in the air. Her brown troubled eyes searched Alistair’s gaze. “You should have talked to me first. Asked my opinion. Don’t try to use Gabriela against me. I know what’s best for me, for both of us.”

  Christ! “I didn’t—” Alistair started to say.

  She interrupted brusquely. “I thought we were building a new life. Together,” she stressed the word. “I need some space to re-adapt. Don’t push me off a cliff. I need roots again. I have Gabriela to think of. She is my daughter, my responsibility which I cannot overlook. How dare you talk with her first?”

  Alistair opened his mouth to speak again and she lifted a finger, stopping him.

  “She is my daughter. Mine. I will not lose her again,” she flung at Alistair, who paled, and whipped her head to stare hard at Felipe. “Having a child is bigger than anything you can imagine. I can’t afford to be carefree again and to do things hastily. Never again.” She rubbed her eyes, forlornly. “And what if anything happens this time round? It is so hard to want something when I’ve learned that fate can take away what I value most, like that,” she snapped her fingers. Rising from the bed, she stood in front of the window, looking at her reflection, her back to the men. “Sometimes I feel so ancient. And to think I’m only twenty-five.” She touched her scarred arm and sobbed; her head dropped and shoulders hunched inward. “I envied Carol today, you know? An ugly feeling. I wish I could be sixteen again.” She hugged her middle and sagged. “Sometimes…I wish I were dead.”

  The tears that were threatening to fall from Felipe’s eyes spilled and he left the room silently.

  In two strides, Alistair was at Sophia’s back, winding her to his chest and folding her in his arms. “Don’t. Don’t,” he breathed on her hair. Shaking his head at her, as if she were an insolent child, he commanded, “You should not say such things, even in jest.”

  She rested her head on his chest and let out a shuddering sigh.

  “I love you so much I cannot imagine my life without you, mo gràdh.” He heard Felipe shut the door quietly. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to waste time away from you. If you want a small wedding, I won’t fight over it. But I can’t wait.”

  Sophia breathed in his scent. Sublimely Alistair Connor. “It’ll be as you wish.” Her voice came out muffled by his cotton shirt. “Don’t do that again. I am a private person, I don’t discuss my life in public.”

  “We were not in public, Sophia. They are your family.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You should have talked to me first. Alone. Just the two of us.” She lifted her eyes to look at him. Her long lashes were spiked from her tears. “It was not your decision to make, it’s ours. Don’t mistake indulgence for weakness. I won’t be a puppet in anyone’s hands. I won’t be tamed.”

  “I got carried away in the excitement.” He held her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Please, forgive me.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry too. I’m a little finicky today.”

  Mo chridhe, mo gràdh, mo bheatha. He rested his forehead on hers, “You’re my heart, my love, my life. Tha gaol agam ort.”

  “I love you too.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him and hugged him for a few minutes.

  “Let me wash my face, so we can return to our dinner.” She pushed aside a mirrored pane and the bathroom was revealed. “Grandma won’t let me have dessert if I don’t eat properly.”

  “No dessert? Nae, nae. That can’t happen,” he protested and winked at her.

  “Alistair Connor,” she grinned at him, “you’re impossible.” And walked into the bathroom.

  And you’re the most beautiful, mercurial woman I’ve ever known. He followed, incapable of staying away from her.

  He watched as she washed her face and brushed her long black hair.

  The mere thought that he could lose her made him step behind her and put his hands on her waist.

  Her soft body leaned onto his and she looked at him in the mirror.

  He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her closer. He buried his face in her hair and drank in the fresh scent of her, “I love you so much.”

  She tipped her head sideways and up, inviting him, and instantly Alistair’s mouth was devouring her lips. Hard, hot and fraught with memories: the first time they met, their first kiss, their first night together. He flexed his hips on her buttocks, his hold on her tightening.

  “Ah-ahem,” a voice came from behind them.

  Alistair and Sophia hastily sprang apart.

  “God, Felipe!” she exclaimed, blushing.

  “I knocked. You didn’t answer since you were…otherwise occupied,” retorted Felipe, amused. “Come on, Sophia. Grandma’s waiting.”

  When Sophia walked past Felipe, he looked over his shoulder to his future brother-in-law, and whispered in a conspiratorial way, “Dude, you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.”

  Copacabana Palace Hotel

  The Black Marble Private Pool

  Sunday, April 11, 2010

  1:11 a.m.

  Despite the cool weather, the water was warm. When Sophia surfaced after diving, she found Alistair perched on his haunches at the edge of the pool, rolling ice cubes in his glass, looking at it with an unreadable expression on his face.

  “What?”

  “I—” He stretched out his hand. “I want to talk to you.”

  You’re a piece of work. “Now? That I’m inside?” Sophia looked up and ordered, pointing down at the water, “You come down here.”

  Oh, Sophia. Giving me orders? “Or what?” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He stood up and gave his back to her, walking to a spacious reclining chair. He sat down and wiggled his fingers at her.

  “I’m all wet,” she pouted, but in the end got out of the pool, shivering from the contrast of the warm water and the cool night air.

  “Cold?” he asked, and moved so she could nestle against his body and cover herself with a terry cloth robe.

  “No. I like this cool weather. We usually only get it in July or August.” She put a leg over his and nestled comfortably on his chest.

  “You feel so good, Beauty.” He kissed her forehead and blurted out a question that had never left his mind, “Why did you forgive me when I assaulted you?”

  Oh, what! She closed her eyes briefly. She had avoided thinking about it since that fateful night. She breathed in loudly and straddled him. “What are you looking for? My personal reasons or my professional point of view, as a lawyer?”

  He blinked at the determination that shimmered in her eyes. He gently pushed back her wet hair from her face. “Both, I guess.”

  She bit her lip, uncertain of how to voice her feelings, but she knew he was right. They had to work it out. “This is the last time I’m talking about this issue, agreed?”

  “Agreed.”

  She rose and fetched the bottle of whisky, pouring a drink for herself as she arranged her thoughts. She sat on the edge of the reclining chair, facing him. “Very well. Let me start by outlining and analyzing the facts. Women that love and live with violent partners usually return to the relationship several times before they leave it,” she paused, but there was no possibility of making light of reality, “permanently damaged, physi
cally and psychologically. Or are killed.”

  Alistair winced, shocked, before he composed himself again.

  “That’s what happens if they remain in a violent relationship against all common sense. The woman, or the man, as they can also be the victims, remembers the good times and somehow dismisses the bad. And believes in the promises made after the violent event, like,” she made quotes in the air, “‘I’m sorry. I’ll never hurt you again’ or ‘I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry’. The offender is always sorry, until the next time. The pattern starts again, but often the victim doesn’t realize that they’re repeating the cycle of violence.”

  The soft-yellow light from the two wall lamps illuminated his rugged face, his sculpted chest and his lean, muscled abdomen. In spite of his nonchalant poise, she could feel his strained emotions. You asked, my dear.

  “How—”

  She raised her finger. “Let me finish, please,” or I won’t get this out. “So, this is—more or less—how a cycle of violence works: Normally, there is a period of build-up. Tension between partners increases, the abuser starts to get angry and communication is difficult. The victims-to-be find themselves walking on eggshells. Then comes the incident—or explosion as I like to call it—when the violence takes place. It can be psychological, verbal, physical or sexual. Next follows the making-up—or, as I prefer, the false-remorse phase—when the offender promises to never be violent again; that it wasn’t like that; that the victim provoked it, was to blame too, and so on. The victim feels relief, thinking that the violence has ended. Next is the honeymoon phase. The victim becomes meek and thinks about her actions and reactions around the partner. The abuser will shower the victim with gifts and tender demonstrations. The partners are in denial as to how bad the abuse and violence was. It’s then that the possibility that violence could occur again is totally ignored, because they don’t want their love to be tainted by it. They don’t want to lose respect and admiration for their partner.” Her lips curled in a grimace. “Unfortunately this never lasts, and the cycle begins again, escalating and becoming more frequent over time. Until a final, tragic break up or ultimately, the death of the victim.”