by Caro LaFever
In bed and out.
The Perfect Man would appear every time: the charming smile, the smooth moves, the bland gaze.
Then, because she had to, she’d poke and prod.
And right before her eyes, Mr. Perfect would disappear and in his place would be the surly, angry, growling man with the ugliness in his eyes and the dangerous trouble bubbling in his soul.
Sophie snagged a black-and-white photo held within a simple wooden frame. The man looking back at her had a smile much like Alex’s, yet his wide dark eyes and black hair reminded her of Ceci.
Alex’s father. Had to be.
He appeared confident, happy, alive.
He died of a heart attack.
The words had been smooth that night, delivered in Mr. Perfect’s usual even tone, but underneath, she’d heard and felt the pain and the ache in the real Alex.
You loved him.
Yeah.
That wasn’t a big deal. She loved her dad too. Most people loved their fathers. Still, there was something here beyond that. During the last few days, she’d watched him come back to this photograph over and over again. She’d watched his back grow taut, his hands fist, and when he’d turned away, every time, she’d seen the ugly in his eyes.
“Oh, Alex.” She slid her finger across the photo tracing the dark eyebrows that arched exactly like his son’s. “What is going on with you?”
He’d hiked to the main house this morning to get some supplies. She’d decided not to go with him because she wanted some time to dig. If she couldn’t dig it out of him, maybe this hut would yield some clues.
Putting the photo down, she grabbed an old pair of spurs. Three days ago, she wouldn’t have had a clue what they were, but she’d learned.
They were small, too small even for her.
A child’s spurs.
The iron had oxidized long before, leaving a reddish tinge. The color contrasted nicely with the silver plating.
Sophie turned the spurs in her hands.
There was a brass decoration on the sides with a tiny horse head inlaid at each end. Why did he have these spurs on his mantel?
That was important to him. To get ahead. To make his mark.
Alex wouldn’t talk about anything of consequence, yet she’d noticed the few times she’d mentioned his father again, he would become even more agitated than usual.
Had his dad given him these spurs? Had there been some silent prod in the gift?
Laying down the spurs, she plucked up the next photo. This one was of Henry and Alex. They were very young, probably still in college. Both were lanky and a bit gawky, with wide grins and casual clothes. Surprisingly, Henry had longer hair than Alex; a thick, straight fall to his shoulders.
For all the trouble lying between the two men, it was clear to her they had a long and loving history binding them together.
Why didn’t Henry see his partner didn’t want to build the emir’s dick skyscraper? He was Alex’s best friend, and yet blind to what seemed so obvious to her. Alex needed to be designing and building lovely family homes, not big, black dick skyscrapers.
Had he never shown his best friend his secret sketches?
From the way he’d reacted to her looking at them, she’d bet he hadn’t.
Why not?
The next picture was of Alex’s mom and sisters. His maman sat in royal elegance on the straight-backed chair while her daughters circled, some standing behind her, others leaning on the arms. Ceci smiled brightly from her perch at her mother’s feet.
Alex’s love for his family was real and deep. He’d been willing to talk about his sisters and their husbands, his nieces and nephews, and his beloved maman. But she’d detected something else within the love. A thread of guilt, a whisper of angry remorse.
He also did too much for them. Or at least he did, in Sophie’s opinion. He managed his mother’s estate, he counseled his sisters on their finances, he appeared to think of himself as Ceci’s quasi-father.
Yesterday, she’d suggested it might be time for his sisters to stop depending on him so much.
The subject of his relatives had immediately plopped into the out of bounds box.
Why didn’t his sisters and mother see they demanded too much from the perfect son? Why couldn’t they tell there were too many demands for one guy to handle?
Slapping the family photo down, she turned and paced into the kitchen. She couldn’t heal his relationship with Henry and he didn’t want to hear her opinions about his relatives. And since Alex’s father was no longer around to quiz, the only thing she could think of to do was cook. It seemed to be all she could do to make her love happy. Even sex with her appeared to be too fraught with trouble for Mr. Perfect.
She’d bake something today. Perhaps a delicious pomme tatin with pecans and apples. Or a tarte vanilla or mille-feuille. She didn’t have many ingredients, not like at her bakery, yet she could improvise.
Her hand stilled on the wooden counter.
Her bakery.
This was the busiest time of year for her business. Her dad and her assistants were great and she was sure they were doing a good job, but the bakery was her place, her responsibility.
She loved Alex. He needed her here, even though he growled and groused at her endless questions. However, she had a business and she really, really needed to be there.
“Fantastic,” she snarled to herself as she lifted the flour container down from the ledge. “Another wonderful conversation topic sure to cheer Mr. Stravoudas.”
The front door slammed open.
Jerking around, she saw Alex’s tall silhouette standing in the doorway, tense and taut. He held no bags of supplies in his big, brute hands. The air around him fizzed with tension.
“Alex?” She took a step toward him in an immediate, instinctive drive to help. “What’s wrong?”
* * *
“We’re going back to New York.”
Sophie’s eyes widened at his harsh tone and Alex cursed himself for taking his anger out on her. He’d been doing it off and on for the entire time they’d been here and she didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of his confused fury.
“Well.” She edged around the sofa and walked to him with a tentative smile. “I was just thinking I need to get back to the bakery.”
Another slug of guilt slammed into him. Again, he’d only been thinking of himself, his needs, his problems. When all along, he’d stolen Sophie away from her business. A business that meant everything to her.
Not everything, his heart whispered and hoped.
“I’m sorry.” He stepped into the hut and closed the door behind him with a hard jam. “I’ve taken you away for too long.”
“Not too long.” She looked at him, her cocoa eyes warm and kind. “My dad knows how to run a bakery. And anyway, you needed me.”
You needed me.
The truth in her words froze a piece of his heart because they were true and he didn’t know how to handle that. He had too many other things in his life to straighten out right now. He didn’t have the time or the energy or even the will to figure out why he needed Sophie. “I had no right to bring you here. It wasn’t in the contract.”
Her warm gaze went cold. She took a step back. “The contract?”
Hell. Why had he mentioned the contract? Frustration and guilt roiled around the anger until Alex thought his insides might shatter. Instead of being his usual self—the self that knew how to smooth things along, the self that knew where he was going, the self that never lost a grasp on what was important—for the last few days, for the last few weeks and months, he’d been all over the place.
Time to stop that for good.
“Let’s get packed and on the road.” He ignored her cool silence. “The plane is waiting and we’ll be back in New York City by this evening.”
Not knowing what else to say or what else to do, he sprinted into the loft and started stuffing his clothes into his suitcase. She didn’t follow him; he still felt the deadly sil
ence emanating from below. “Come on, Sophie. We need to get going.”
“Why are we going back now?” Her voice echoed from the kitchen, a touch of asperity riding the question.
“Because I need to get back to finish the deal.”
“Finish the deal?”
“With the emir.” His hands tightened around a sweater before he slammed it into the suitcase.
“You’re going to build the dick skyscraper?” Her second question was laced with disbelief.
“Yes.” He yanked the suitcase zipper closed. “Obviously.”
“I thought you told Henry no.” Her little, round face appeared at the head of the staircase. “You said you didn’t want to spend four years—”
“I was confused.” Alex turned to look at her. He forced a smile. “But I’m not anymore.”
“Really.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “I’d say the exact opposite.”
Immediate anger flooded through his tense body. He didn’t need this. He didn’t need sharp, wise Sophia poking him, questioning his decision. He knew what was right. He knew the promises he’d made. Sure, he’d had a few days here where he’d questioned everything about his life, but that was over and done with. He’d walked into the big house and it was as if his father’s ghost had come from the past to confront him. To make him realize, once more, what he’d momentarily forgotten.
There were expectations he couldn’t walk away from.
And there were promises he couldn’t break.
“Pack.” Wrenching his suitcase off the bed, he passed her tense body. “I’ll be waiting by the car.”
He had to wait a good half hour before Sophie appeared, dragging her luggage behind her. “I should say good-bye to Nella and Petros.”
“I already did for both of us.” He grabbed her suitcase and threw it in the back, slamming the car door behind. “Time to get going.”
In the entirety of their strange relationship, there’d been all kinds of silences between them. There’d been the silences filled with tension, silences filled with questions, even silences filled with peace. Still, this silence he’d never experienced with her. The silence filling the car now was one of disappointment, disillusion…
Disenchantment.
Something inside his heart wrenched and tore. Alex ignored it, focusing on the winding road before him. Sophie might be his lover, and yes, his friend, but she didn’t know everything about him. She didn’t understand what drove him.
Because you won’t tell her.
His hands tightened on the wheel. How could he? How could he confide his darkest, ugliest secret, when all he wanted was for her to respect him? When all he wanted was the warmth of her cocoa eyes smiling at him with affection and lust and…love.
The little frozen piece of his heart cracked.
He didn’t have time for this. He didn’t have the energy to take on someone else’s needs and hopes and love. And who even knew if Sophie felt the same? Knowing his firecracker, if she felt anything for him at all other than desire, she’d have said so.
Alex forced himself to glance over.
She met his gaze, her brown eyes muddy and dark.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“No, you’re not.” Her bow mouth turned down.
The words burned like boiling water, yet he couldn’t go further for her. He couldn’t.
She did for you.
The memory of her confession of the tragic story, how brave she’d been, how open and vulnerable, hit him right in the center of his chest. The gift had been priceless, far and away the best present he’d ever received. He’d known then that losing Sophie would be the worst moment of his life.
But he didn’t have room inside himself to take her on.
“Alex, listen to me.”
He couldn’t give her what she wanted. He couldn’t betray himself and his father and all the myriad decisions he’d made in his life to get to this point. “I don’t want to talk.”
She sighed. “You never want to. Not about what’s truly important.”
The tight knot of indecision he’d been dealing with for days, weeks, months billowed inside once more. However, he wouldn’t go down that path again. It led to him being something he was not. Angry, selfish, a traitor to his word.
He couldn’t be that man.
Not even for Sophie.
Chapter 23
Sophie stood in the middle of Alex’s penthouse, surrounded by a boisterous pack of revelers. They laughed and grinned and chatted and cheered.
New Year’s Eve did that to a crowd.
She shouldn’t be grumpy at them.
But she was. Because there couldn’t be another girl in New York City who had less desire to celebrate and dance and drink than yours truly, Sophia Feuer. All this chatting and cheering only made her more aware of her predicament.
After New Year’s Eve came New Year’s Day. And after the day came the New Year.
The year where Alex would proceed to ruin his life.
“Sophie.” Henry appeared at her side, a big grin on his face, his hazel eyes dancing with tipsy glee. “Smile.”
She tried.
“No, no.” He wrapped his arm around her and squeezed her to his side. “This won’t do, Soph. You need to be happy on New Year’s Eve.”
How could she be happy when Alex was so clearly not?
Why couldn’t Henry see this?
True, she hadn’t seen much of Alex during the last two weeks they’d been home. She’d been at the bakery for eighteen hours every day trying to fill the holiday orders that had poured in. Even more orders than last year due to the big splash her Paris trip had made on TV. Alex had made himself scarce, too. Whether it was because of his own work or whether he didn't want to hear what she had to say, he’d barely been at this penthouse.
They’d made love precisely zero times since getting back to New York.
Yet she knew, right down to the bottom of her soul, that what Henry wanted was not what Alex wanted. Being his best friend and his partner, he should know that.
“Come on, Sophie.” The dumb lug peered into her face. “What’s wrong?”
Everything. Sure, Pure Pastry was going gangbusters and Freddie’s prediction about her becoming a national star appeared like a strong possibility, but everything else? Everything else was wrong.
“Henry.” She’d try. Try and make everything right. “Alex isn’t happy.”
He frowned and swung his head around looking through the crowd until he spotted his partner across the room by the fireplace. “He looks fine to me.”
“He’s not.” She sucked in her breath and made her pitch. “Have you seen any of his sketches of family homes?”
“Family homes?” The man’s eyebrows rose in astonishment.
“Obviously not.” How could she explain the brilliance of those ideas if she didn’t have anything to show him? Damn. She should have socked some examples into her suitcase before they’d left Greece. She would have if Alex hadn’t surprised her by demanding to leave within a half hour.
“You have to understand.” Tugging her to the side of the room and out of the crowd, Henry leaned in, his face filled with seriousness and condescension. “My partner might blow off steam doodling around, yet his gift is designing big and brilliant.”
A tight, hot anger zinged through her. “No, it’s not.”
“I know you’re his fiancée and I know you love him.”
Sophie blushed, the love so new and fresh, it still startled her. The fact that it was so obvious even clueless Henry could see it disconcerted her.
“I’ve known him for years and years, though. He’s always wanted to be the biggest and the best.” Henry squeezed her shoulder, his smile growing wider. “He and our company are on the cusp of becoming just that.”
“You are the one who doesn’t—”
“Granted, we had a small hiccup in Paris with the emir—”
“That wasn’t a hiccup,” she stated, a tang of fur
y in her voice. “That was your friend trying to break free—”
“But that’s been smoothed over since we got back to New York.” He beamed, continuing with his clueless recitation of the facts as he saw them. “Once we get the signed deal for the skyscraper next week, we’ll be right on track to go public by the end of the month. What my partner and I have dreamed of for years is coming true.”
She looked at his face and knew it was hopeless. He wouldn’t listen exactly like Alex wouldn’t listen.
“Cheer up.” He flicked his finger under her chin. “Soon your fiancé is going to be the talk of the town again.”
Deep inside, a sudden chord of understanding rang. The man she’d met—the Perfect Man, a part of the Perfect Couple—had been a mirage. A caricature of the real man; the man she’d spotted in Paris and found in Greece. Alex, along with a big help from Henry and everyone else around him other than her, was trying to slip back into that suit he thought defined him. A suit of needing to be perfect and needing to make everyone happy. A suit that was going to stifle him and make him terribly unhappy. However, no one would listen to her, not even the Perfect Man himself. So what was a girl to do?
Drink.
Giving Henry a tight smile, she edged away. “Time I got some champagne.”
He gave her a last cheerful wave and disappeared into the crowd.
Her depression deepened.
With a weary sigh, she trudged into the cold, lifeless kitchen, filled with another happy group of revelers, and glanced around for some champagne.
Or maybe some whiskey. Or perhaps she’d go right to pure alcohol.
“Sophie.” Freddie bopped to her side, her smile as wide as Henry’s and as damaging to her latest chemical peel as sitting in the burning sun for an hour or two. “You look amazing.”
Looking down at the red dress and gold shoes her fake fiancé had bought her, she felt a pointed pang of bittersweet emotion run through her. She’d picked this dress for tonight to send a signal to him. To show him he’d healed her and she was whole now. She’d hoped he would understand that he could heal too and he could be whole.