Shades of Trust

by Cristiane Serruya

  “Ah-ah. Nae, Marchioness,” he contradicted her, settling himself between her thighs. “I have to disagree with that. Your body is mine. You’re mine. End of story.”

  She grinned at him. “Thanks for reminding me of this, Lord Possessive.”

  Chapter 12

  Leibowitz Oil Building, Edward Davidoff’s Office

  Wednesday, May 11, 2011

  5:03 p.m.

  “Who am I supposed to do all my daily bantering with now, love?” Edward teasingly pouted at Sophia.

  She smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I’m still Head-teaser, boss. Just not the head of the legal department. For a couple of days per week, you’ll find me in my same office across the hall; I’ll still be on the board but I’ll just be more focused on the Foundation’s work.”

  “Only two days’ work and with the same income? That’s not right,” he teased.

  “After my maternity leave, you’ll be seeing more of me.”

  “I will take this into consideration.” Then not being able to avoid it, Edward pulled her into his embrace, something he had been wanting to do since he had visited her last time at Craigdale and seen with his own eyes how she was recovering. With a hoarse, moved voice, he said, “Oh, Sophia. I couldn’t believe when MacCraig called me…I think I never prayed so much in my life. More than anything, love, you know that you’re my dear, dear friend.”

  Alistair knew Edward had also greatly felt Sophia’s kidnapping but hadn’t imagined how much. The blond man had always kept himself in check during all his visits to the hospital and Craigdale. He had always been cheerful and never said a word about what had happened.

  “I know, Edward. You are a great friend too,” she hugged him back, with her eyes full of tears.

  “Davidoff!” Alistair exclaimed. “You’re going to make my wife cry.”

  “God forbid,” Edward stepped back, his hands still on Sophia’s shoulders and she could see his lashes were wet.

  She laughed, tearfully. “I guess I made him cry, Husband.”

  “Well, love, so far, you and my mother are the only women who can do it,” he smiled at her. Clearing his throat, he turned to Alistair, and ordered, “You, MacCraig, take care of her.”

  Alistair, leaning against the window, just crossed his arms over his chest, with a smile. “I will.”

  “I know,” Edward smiled back and sat on the sofa, crossing his legs. He patted the place beside him for Sophia. “So, would you like to tell me the real reason behind this visit?”

  “Well, Edward, you know better than I do, that you English have strange traditions.” Sophia perched on the edge of the sofa, looking at her old friend with a curl on her lips.

  He rolled his eyes at her but said nothing.

  “I have never heard of three godparents for just one baby.” Sophia’s lips opened up in a grin when Edward’s eyes widened; first with incredulity, then with joy. She flicked her wrist in the air, motioning to Alistair and back to herself. “We would like you to be one of the godfathers of this little warrior.”

  “You’re christening him in the English church?!” It didn’t make sense to Edward.

  “No, my dear,” she laughed at his confusion. “In fact, this baby boy is going to have four god-parents. We are having an ecumenical Christening. Tavish Uilleam and Valentina are going to be the godparents for the Scottish Church. For the brit-milah, I chose Gabriela and as you are Jewish, if you accept, of course, I’d like to pair you with her.”

  “If I accept?!” He pulled her into a tender embrace and looked over his shoulder to Alistair. “Sophia, MacCraig, thank you. I’ll be more than honored.”

  Cambridge, Faculty of Law, In one of the auditoriums

  Wednesday, June 15, 2011

  1:34 p.m.

  Sophia still blushed while talking with Alistair about sex, but she was in her comfort zone in the auditorium, talking about pedophilia, sadism, masochism, rape, and verbal, physical, and psychological violence against women and children.

  She explained the possible modern approaches to identifying the victims, curbing the occurrence of these crimes and the re-insertion of offenders back into society. Her gestures and the richness of her voice showed her enthusiasm and passion on the subject of her dissertation. What could have been a gruesome topic, breathed and glowed with hope.

  Watching Sophia, Alistair felt proud and aghast in equal measure. He glanced around. The auditorium was full of her students, teachers, colleagues, friends, and even journalists.

  She was not authoritative or professorial, but convincing and engaging. In a sea of men and women wearing somber, tailored suits, Sophia was pure youth and vibration in a silk orange blouse with cap sleeves and black flowing trousers that softened her professional attitude. Her belly was already showing but the loose clothes were elegant and classy. She had found her place in the Cambridge Socio-Legal Group after Leonard and Professor Holbrook introduced her to the Chair.

  When Sophia finished her presentation, there was a stunned silence before the room exploded into applause.

  In the next hour a lively debate ensued, which reflected on different areas from law, psychology, and sociology, to health studies.

  Her colleagues, students, and other guests slowly vacated the auditorium until only Alistair, Lachlann, and Leonard remained.

  “Sophia’s approach is so captivating that I’m sure she has gained a few volunteers to her foundation today,” said Lachlann to Alistair as they climbed up to the stage where she had just closed her folder.

  “And many fans,” Leonard provoked.

  But Alistair surprised him with a big smile as he put his arms around her from behind, kissing the top of her head. “That goes without saying, Leo.”

  It was then that he felt a little thump against his hands. When Sophia’s belly softly and noticeably undulated under his hands, his heart stopped beating for a second to rush to a galloping pace in his chest and he gasped out loud.

  Sophia craned her head back with a huge smile on her face as he splayed both hands over her belly continuing to feel the little movements, puzzled with how it was even possible to be filled with such a marvelous wonder.

  “Sophia.” He couldn’t do more than whisper her name in fascination as the baby moved again demanding his attention.

  She put her hands over his and breathed, “Our little warrior is saying hello to his Highland Daddy.”

  Atwood House, In the Family Room

  Thursday, November 17, 2011

  2:57 p.m.

  “This baby is as stubborn as his mom,” Alistair told Tavish as he watched Sophia rubbing her belly and putting another cushion behind her back, looking for a more comfortable position as she chatted with Carolina and Alice. “The scan last Monday showed he simply refuses to take position. And, God, he is so…so…”

  “Big?” Tavish smiled when his brother bobbed his head without taking his eyes off her. “Are you worried?”

  “Maybe a little concerned,” he replied, noncommittally, pushing off a lock of his ink-black hair from his forehead.

  When Tavish’s rich laughter sounded in the room, calling the women’s attention, Alistair shot him an annoyed look.

  “John has everything ready for the C-section on Monday if nothing happens until then. I’ve come to terms with the fact that this tiny wee baby is part of her, and me, of course—”

  “You should,” Tavish interrupted. “Considering the not so tiny wee baby is—”

  But Alistair continued from where he was interrupted, not even realizing he didn’t sound like a sane man at all. “And that he’ll do whatever suits his fancy and won’t budge whatever I do or how much I beg. But I will convince him.”

  “Oh, man.” Tavish slapped his thigh. “You’re afraid.”

  Afraid? “I’m scared,” he hissed to his brother. “To death. To make it worse she has never been so calm. Or should I say careless? I found her playing ball with the twins and Gabriela in the back garden yesterday. Last Wednesday, out of the
blue, she realized she had a hundred million things she still had to do and disappeared the whole day with Manuela, the baby’s nanny, and Steven. Without taking Zareb. Then, on the weekend, she decided to dedicate herself to some redistribution of the furniture. After almost a million disagreements, all of which she won, of course, Steven, Zareb, and I finally managed to rearrange the reception room according to her whims. She even asked us to move the grand piano to the other side of the room and then thought it was better where it was before.”

  “The house looks wonderful. This room is great,” Tavish said, looking around.

  The renamed Family Room had been refurbished by Carolina and Valentina in rich tones of brown and caramel, with bright-red and mat dark-gold silk cushions. They extended it a bit more and created a full separate office for Alistair and Sophia and had kept the French desks. Everything else had been replaced.

  “Everything set for the christening?” Tavish asked.

  “Oh, man.” Alistair sighed. “A mixed christening is such a mess.”

  “Why?”

  “The rabbi and Father Bruce both agree that since Sophia is Jewish so would be the baby. They also agree there is no harm in having the brit-milah, and after Father Bruce gives him a blessing, but the rabbi disagreed with the Catholic christening. She pushed until Father Bruce prepared a light blessing which was approved by the rabbi. Father Bruce is rather accommodating, you know. She wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

  “Of course everyone, including you, said aye,” stated Tavish. When Alistair raised his eyebrows at Tavish, he explained, with a smile, “It’s all you have been doing.”

  “If that’s what it takes to give her happiness, that’s what I’ll give her. She’s asked for so little. We’ll just have to teach him to respect our family’s tradition as Gabriela does. And it will give the baby a chance to choose in the future.”

  “You’re right, Brother,” Tavish nodded. “I guess that it’s what Sophia has always said: ‘Toleration’. It’s what society is missing; understanding the spirit of welcoming God’s love and practicing His way is what is important. Then it would be a traditional Jewish circumcision?”

  Fuck. The circumcision. Alistair grimaced and his brother laughed again. I don’t even want to think about it. Not answering the question, Alistair said, “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt. Dr. Ben said if it’s done after the baby is a few months old or later, he’ll need general anesthesia, it will take longer to heal and is much more painful. He says I shouldn’t worry, that it’s just a small snip and when he did mine I didn’t even cry. Ugh! How can you doctors be so…cold?”

  “We are no’ cold. It’s a good, healthy procedure. It is a small snip for newborns. It barely takes five minutes. But it hurts. I’ve seen it done without any anesthetic and babies do cry at the top of their lungs. I don’t know who cries more: the mother or the baby. Just for your information, I’m no’ partial to pain. On the other hand, I think that if it can be curbed, it should.”

  Christ. Alistair raked his hand in his long hair, nervously. “The rabbi that blessed our marriage is an MD and a mohel and he’s agreed to do it as she wants.”

  “As she wants?” Tavish’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He shook his head, smiling even more. “Only Sophia. Do tell me her…procedure.”

  “He’s considered a modernist. So, he uses an anesthetic cream and a sterile sponge to draw the blood.” Alistair sighed and looked at his brother. “But she also demanded local anesthesia. And said you and John are supervising everything before she lets the rabbi touch our son; that she won’t stay in the other room; that no one is going to be performing long honorary roles with the baby, that she will give our son to Davidoff and Gabriela and take him back as soon as the milah is done. After Father Bruce blesses the baby, she’ll be taking him immediately back into the nursery to be breastfed and to sleep.”

  Tavish’s smile grew into a grin. “It’s when I’ll give my godson a heathen Scottish christening.”

  “And what is that?” Alistair asked, between curious and concerned.

  “A pacifier dipped in whisky,” he joked and winked at his brother. “Don’t be so concerned, Alistair Connor. I’ll help with the first diapers. And I’ll teach you how to change the bandage.”

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. “Don’t talk about it.”

  “Have you decided on a name?”

  “Aye and nae. It’s going to be Peter something.” He shook his head at Tavish’s laughter. “This is the only thing I know. Peter was her father’s name, Pedro in Portuguese. And she asked if she could surprise me with the second one, from the five we have finally chosen.”

  With a big smile on his face, Tavish looked at Sophia, as her hand rubbed her big round belly again. “She looks peaceful and happy.”

  “We spent the morning lounging in the pool. She wasn’t hungry and slept from lunch hour until you arrived. Uncharacteristically of her behavior lately, but she said she was tired.” Alistair shrugged and said secretly to his brother, “I even called John. But as she was not feeling any pain, he said it was okay. Has she dragged you to see the nursery?”

  “Not yet,” Tavish answered, fully amused when Alistair sprang excitedly to his feet, intending to take him upstairs.

  “Husband,” Sophia called. “Where do you think you are going with my son’s godfather?”

  “Upstairs.” Alistair’s eyes gleamed. “I was going to show him the nursery.”

  She stretched her hands to him and wiggled her fingers. “I’m going too. I’m tired of sitting here. Alice, after more than a week of continuous monitoring of your brother’s misdemeanors, I am exhausted.”

  “Ungrateful wife,” Alistair pouted, stretching out his arms and gripping her elbows, without pulling her.

  “I carry this warrior for more than nine months, and I’m the ungrateful one.” Sophia grabbed his forearms and slowly made her way to a standing position. “Remind me of this, Tavish Uilleam, when he starts asking for another baby.”

  “I will,” said Tavish.

  Alistair bent his arm and offered it to her, replying, “Not another. Twins.”

  “Alistair Co—” Sophia halted and gasped, surprised, her arms crossing around her belly.

  As she inhaled deeply, she felt Alistair’s arms snaking around her back and his hands flattening over her belly, supporting her. When she looked up, there were a pair of brown eyes and three pairs of green eyes watching her closely.

  “Sophia?” Alistair asked when she didn’t say anything.

  She flashed him a crooked smile. “I guess we’d better deliver this one into the world before we think about the twins.”

  Chapter 13

  Atwood House

  Saturday, November 19, 2011

  5:00 p.m.

  “I had always been so sure I would never use this lift,” Alistair said, holding the door open for Sophia.

  She smiled placidly at him, exiting with their son cradled in her arms. “Never say never, Husband.”

  I can fairly say I would never tire of hearing you say this word in such a loving tone. He placed his arm over her shoulders, the overwhelming awe that had come over him with the birthing of his son still circling in his veins. “Do you think she’ll be jealous?”

  “No, because it depends on us to make her jealous.” Sophia looked up at her bewitched husband. “And we won’t let her feel less loved.”

  “Aren’t you wise, Wife?”

  “No,” she shook her head at him. “I’m just trying to be. We’ll make this journey together.”

  Walking next to each other, they entered Gabriela’s room.

  An impossibly huge smile opened on Sophia’s face when she saw Valentina painted and dressed as Harlequin, Victoria as Pierrot, and Gabriela as Columbine. “Hello, girls.”

  Immediately, her daughter slid down from the small sofa and approached them, her blue eyes brimming with impatience and curiosity. “Oh…my baby brother! What’s his name, Mama? Tell me, tell me.”

&nbs
p; Alistair took the baby in his arms and knelt on the floor to show him to their daughter. “Gabriela, this is your baby brother, Peter Liam.”

  Gabriela peered down at the big and beautiful baby. He was wrapped in a long silk and wool marine blanket, sleeping, with his small fists framing his chubby rosy cheeks, his head downy with just a fluff of ink-black hair. She tilted her head to one side and then to the other.

  Alistair saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “So? What do you think?”

  “Your trip took more than one day.” Gabriela looked up at Sophia who was caressing her blonde hair, and then to Alistair. “He…um…he looks like you, Daddy. He’s cute.”

  “Well, thank you,” he said to Gabriela. I guess. When Valentina stepped to pick up her nephew in her arms, he frowned, protectively tightening his arms around Peter. He scowled at her, “You have to properly wash your hands first, you crazy Harlequin.”

  Sophia chuckled and bit back a painful groan, putting her hand on her stomach as Valentina and Victoria rushed to wash their hands in Gabriela’s bathroom.

  “So, Fairy, do you want to hold your brother?” She is jealous.

  Her eyes lit up and widened. “Can I?”

  “Of course,” Sophia answered. “You just have to wash your hands. Ask Victoria to help you.”

  “Harlequin, Pierrot, and Columbine.” I hope they weren’t teaching Gabriela the story. “Aren’t your sisters crazy?”

  Yeah, they are. She chuckled again and groaned this time. She gingerly sat on the small pink sofa under the window and held out her arms to pick up her son. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

  Alistair bit back a smile when Gabriela returned to the room with her hands stretched out in front of her, reeking of alcohol, followed by her aunts. Gabriela sat next to them on the sofa and Alistair placed a cloth on her shoulder.

  Sophia put Peter in her arms, arranging pillows under Gabriela’s arms and waited for her reaction.

  “He is heavy. And so, so cute. Much cuter than my dolls.” She sighed longingly. Then, incapable of holding back her childish curiosity, Gabriela asked, “But, Mama, will it take too long for him to grow to play with me?”