I can’t sleep. I can’t get out of bed, I can’t eat, I can’t create. The shocking discovery that Sofi is Ava’s daughter has totally devastated me. I’m a train wreck. But what is destroying me more is that Sofi has left me. She’s the air I breathe. The water I need to grow. My sustenance. Without her, I can’t exist.
God bless Madame DuBois. With all her maternal goodness, she takes care of me. Bringing meals to my room I barely touch. Making me take an occasional shower. Not questioning what happened between Sofi and me. Though she has the right to know. After all, Ava was her daughter. And that makes Sofi her granddaughter.
The only light in my life is the green crystal paperweight Sofi bought me, which sits on my nightstand. The Luna. My connection to her. My constant reminder that all beautiful things are fragile and breakable. As I lie cocooned in my sheets, shrouded in what remains of her scent, my body aches with yearning and sorrow. In the darkness that engulfs me, I think about the passage of time. How so much can happen in twenty-four hours . . . in one hour . . . in a single minute. That’s all it takes for your whole world to turn upside down. In the blink of an eye, everything can change and your life will never be the same. I’ve been there before and now I’m there again.
Finally breaking down, I make the decision to tell Madame DuBois what has happened and stagger down the stairs in my black silk pajamas, the DNA report and Sofi’s heart-wrenching letter in my hand. The one she mailed to Vincent and asked to hand-deliver to me. I’ve read it so many times I know it by heart.
I find my chief of staff alone in the atelier painstakingly hand-sewing sparkling scarlet rhinestones onto one of Sofi’s stunning butterflies. It’s six a.m. Her staff won’t be here for another two hours.
At the sound of my footsteps, she looks up and a faint smile curls her lips.
“Monsieur Hurst, it is good to see you. Can I get you some coffee or tea?”
“An espresso would be good.” Setting the butterfly down, she rises, and as she pads to the kitchen, I sit down at the head of the drafting table. I place the envelopes I’m holding next to me and carefully pick up the glittering winged appliqué. I recognize the species immediately. It’s a Nigerian Red-Spotted Monarch . . . the very butterfly that landed on my hand that day Sofi took me to the Butterfly Conservatory. The one she said would bring me good luck. The vivid memory dancing in my head, I pinch its wings together and perch it on the back of my hand. Hoping it’ll magically bring my butterfly back to me.
My head of staff returns quickly with my coffee and sets the demitasse in front of me. Placing the butterfly back down on the table, I take a fortifying sip of the strong, inky brew. And then another. The caffeine awakens me. Strengthens me.
I finish the espresso and set the dainty cup on its saucer while Madame DuBois takes a seat next to me. She cups her warm hands on mine. Something she’s not done since Ava’s death. I glance down and notice how veiny her hands are. Feel how calloused they’ve become through years of hard work. Stitching. Pinning. Cutting. Yet, her hands are exquisite. The shape of them just like Ava’s. And Sofi’s. Their long, slender fingers almost identical. Why didn’t I notice this before?
I look up and she meets my gaze. The caffeine may have awakened me, but it’s not lifted the blanket of sadness that’s suffocating me. Madame DuBois’s compassionate eyes stay on me, their moss-green color the same as Ava’s and Sofi’s. Passed on from generation to generation. I’m losing the courage to tell her the devastating truth, but she doesn’t let me.
“Roman,” she begins, uncharacteristically calling me by my first name, “why did Sofi leave?”
“She can never work here for reasons you will never understand.”
“You need her. For your heart and your soul. You love her and she loves you.”
“She can’t love me. Nor can I love her. It’s all wrong.”
“Roman, please tell me what you are talking about.”
The time has come. My chest aching, I hand her the envelope with the DNA report. “Read this.” She slips it out. Her brows knit together as she silently reads it, her expression growing more shocked, more incensed with each passing second. She scans the second page and slams the report on the metal table. Her eyes darken.
“This cannot be!”
Her reaction stuns me. “What do you mean? It’s official.”
Her eyes blaze with rage. “Ava never donated her eggs. She was way too young and I forbade it.” She pauses for a heated beat. “I did! It must be some kind of mistake!”
A dizzying cocktail of shock and confusion courses through me. It takes several long moments for her words to sink in.
“Are you saying you’re Sofi’s biological mother?”
“Oui! And I can prove it!”
“How?” I’m still in a state of disbelief and shock.
Without blinking, my one eye stays on her as she unpins her chignon, and her graying chestnut hair cascades over her shoulders. Hastily, she grabs the scissors that are on the table and snips off a lock.
She sets both the three-inch snippet and scissors on the table. “I still have a lock of Ava’s hair from her first haircut.” She slides her hand down under her smock and pulls out a gold pendant that’s suspended from a chain. “It’s in this locket.” She snaps it open to show me.
“Roman, please go upstairs and retrieve Sofi’s hairbrush. It’s still in her bathroom.”
My heart racing, I tear back upstairs and return quickly with the brush. Madame DuBois takes it from me and pulls out a clump of hair from the bristles. “I will FedEx all the hair samples to this genetics lab and have them tested. I will ask them to expedite the process.”
Five very long, anxiety-filled days later, a FedEx from Heritage arrives to the attention of Abra DuBois. My heart palpitating, every nerve buzzing with anticipation, I’m by her side when she rips open the cardboard envelope. My pulse thuds in my ears as she slips out a business envelope with the lab’s address in the upper left-hand corner. With a letter opener, she slashes it open and reads the report out loud. With each word, my heart beats louder, faster. The breath I’ve been holding crashes out of me like a gust of wind as she reads the conclusion. Abra is a hundred times more likely to be Sofi’s biological mother. The probability: 99.9999%!
With tears in her eyes, Madame DuBois clasps my hands, her voice unwavering.
“I love Sofi like a daughter.” She gives a squeeze. “Now, Roman, claim her and love her like a man.”
It only takes one eye to see the world clearly. To see what matters most.
A half hour later, I’m en route to New Jersey.
CHAPTER 50
Roman
There must be some kind of power outage. Not a light is on anywhere. A chilling, early fall wind slaps my face as I ring the bell. Not a sound. It must not be working, so I knock on the wood door. My heart hammers like a jackrabbit’s as I await someone to open it. My emotions are in turmoil, dread and desire at war. I don’t know how I’ll react, what I’ll say if Sofi comes to the door. Nor how she’ll react when she sees me. It’s been over three long weeks. Almost a month. She said goodbye to me once. Will she say goodbye to me again? I rap on the door again, so hard my knuckles hurt. Nada. The power outage must be some kind of sign. Maybe I should just turn around and go back to the city. As I’m about to pivot on my heel, the door swings open. It’s Sofi’s father, Paul. Wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe, he’s holding a flashlight and beams it at me.
“Roman, what are you doing here?” His tone is icy cold.
“I’ve come to deliver Sofi’s paycheck.”
His eyes narrowing, he sees right through me. “That’s not really why you’re here.”
I suck in a steeling breath. “I’ve come to see her. How is she?”
“She’s been depressed. But she won’t talk about what happened to either me or her mother.”
“It’s complicated.” That’s the understatement of the century. Our entwined lives are more twisted than the most twisted soap ope
ra.
“I don’t think she wants to see you.”
My heavy heart sinks.
“Roman, did you hurt her?”
“No, sir. Fate got in the way. I can explain.”
Her father’s brows arch with curiosity while he ponders my words. Then, his face relaxes. “It’s chilly outside. Come on in if you don’t mind sitting in the dark. The power went out about an hour ago from the high winds, but it should be back on shortly.”
A few minutes later we’re seated in the candlelit living room. Facing me, Paul looks paler and thinner than when I saw him last. Maybe Sofi’s depression has eaten away at him. He listens quietly as I tell him about what I’ve learned. He admits to having used an egg donor and the reasons, and I explain the error in the genetic testing. If he’s shocked by the bizarre, bittersweet twist of fate, he doesn’t show it.
“Is this why you’ve come here, Roman?”
“I’ve come here because I love your daughter.”
Darkness and silence. A lethal combination. Finally, Paul ends it. “Son, fate is God’s way of dealing cards. It’s meant to be that you and Sofi should be together.”
I’m stunned by his response. “You’re okay with that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“What about our age difference?” I remind him I’m fifteen years her senior.
“My lovely wife is ten years younger than I am. It’s never been an issue.” Then, he grimaces and grips his gut. “I just need to know Sofi will be taken care of. My daughter is special . . . a rare butterfly.”
A quiet nod. “She is.”
“I happen to know a thing or two about butterflies.” He loosens the belt of his bathrobe. “They cannot see their wings and therefore don’t know how fragile they are. Nor how beautiful they are.”
His words pull at my heartstrings. “That is why I love your daughter all the more. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is inside and out. But I can see her inner beauty and strength and the way it radiates. Defines her. My mother used to say: ‘Beauty is as beauty does.’”
“Your mother is a very wise woman.”
“Was. She died when I was eighteen. Way too young.”
Another stretch of silence. His expression grows solemn. “Roman, I need to know that my daughter will be happy and cherished.” Sadness seeps into his voice. “I may not be around to take care of her much longer.”
My brows furrow; he just turned sixty-five. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve been diagnosed with stage three colon cancer.”
What?
“Jesus. Does Sofi know?”
“No, not yet.”
Suddenly, at this dark moment, the lights flash on. Simultaneously, a sob explodes.
“Oh, Daddy!”
Sofi knows now.
CHAPTER 51
Sofi
I came downstairs for a glass of water. With the power outage, my father had no idea I was in the hallway eavesdropping on his conversation with Roman—from the moment he called me a rare butterfly. All the things he and Roman said about me brought happy tears to my eyes. Made my heart swell. And then he dropped the C-bomb.
Now, a torrent of tears floods my face as I run over to hug him. I sink down on the couch beside him.
“Oh, Daddy!” I sob out, my arms wrapping around him. How thin he is! I can feel his ribs. No wonder he’s not been eating much and losing so much weight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He strokes my hair. “I didn’t want to worry you. It seemed like you had enough to deal with.”
“You should have. Does Mom know?” I keep my eyes on his gaunt face.
“Yes, she knows.”
Rapid footsteps sound in my ears. Then, an alarmed voice.
My mom. “What’s going on? Why is Roman here?” She sees my tear-soaked face, then fires him a scathing look before looking at my dad. “Has he hurt Sofi again?”
“No, dear, far from it.” He looks my mother straight in the eye. “Sofi knows about my cancer.”
My mother clasps her hand to her mouth and her eyes begin to water. Her pain reels me in.
“Dad, are you going to need an operation?”
“Yes, one is scheduled for next week. Then, depending on how that goes, I’ll be doing a round of chemo.”
“Oh, Dad!” Fresh tears pour from my eyes. My mom starts to cry too.
The expression on my father’s face grows vexed. “My girls, please control yourselves. The only thing I can’t deal with is a cryfest. Or a pity party.”
My mother and I both swipe at our tears. It doesn’t stop them from falling. My father looks at us stoically.
“I’m strong. They’ve caught it in time and my doctors say there’s a good chance of survival.”
My honest-to-a-fault father is a terrible liar. I know he’s worried to death. I just heard him confess his concern about dying to Roman. A shuddering head-to-toe chill runs through me. Despair claims every cell of my body, every fiber of my being. Oh, God, please don’t let him die! Please! For both his sake and my mom’s, I put on a brave face.
“Dad, are you going to continue to work?”
“Yes. I’ve hired a good kid from your high school to help me out at the bookstore. A bookworm who wants to go to Yale. He’s going to be there when I can’t be. My doctors think it’s good for me to work as much as possible. It’ll keep my mind off things. Keep me strong.”
“That’s good, Dad.” My voice is tearful.
His gaze shifts from me to Roman. “And by the way, this is no way to entertain our guest.”
For the first time, I make eye contact with him. My beloved Roman. Much like me, he looks dissipated. Disheveled. He, too, has lost weight, and looks as though he hasn’t shaved in ages. His flame-blue eye burns into mine, and already I feel my chilled body heating. Melting under his gaze.
“Roman, why did you come here?” I need to hear him tell me.
“Sofi, I can’t live without you.” He pauses. “I told your father how much I love you.”
That is why I love your daughter all the more. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is inside and out.
The heartfelt words I overheard that made me want to run into his arms. Feel his lips on mine. The lips I’ve so missed but know I can never have. Another round of tears gathers in my eyes. “But, Roman, we can’t be together.”
“We can. I know the real truth.”
Did Kendra show him the genetic testing?
“I told your father everything.”
“He knows about Ava?”
My father answers. “Yes, and I know about Abra.”
“Abra?” I murmur.
“Your biological mother.”
“What?” I audibly gasp. So confused, I look to Roman for answers.
“Butterfly, I can explain . . . ”
My father interrupts him, gazing adoringly at my mother. “And I know something about love.”
Perplexed, my apron-clad mother’s eyes ping-pong between Roman and my dad. “Paul, darling, who are Ava and Abra? Did I miss something?”
“Sweetheart, I’ll fill you in later.” My father lifts up my chin. “Honey, Roman wants you to go back to the city with him.”
“But, Dad, I can’t. Not when you’re sick.”
“Let me rephrase: I want you to go back with him.”
Roman turns to me, compassion beaming in his good eye. “Butterfly, I understand if you want to stay. To be here for your father.”
A beat of silence before my dad ends it with a thunder. “No! I don’t need two nursemaids.” I shake, never having heard him raise his voice before. His eyes stay fierce on me. “I have someone to watch over me. The only one I need . . . your mother.” He looks at her tenderly. Lovingly.
Tears bleed from my mom’s eyes as he continues, his voice softening.
“When your mother and I got married, we took a vow . . . ”
I watch as he gets up from the couch and moves over to her. Facing each other, they join hands.
&nb
sp; “I take you, Janyce Lunden, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse . . . ”
My teary-eyed mother joins in. Together, their voices, full of emotion, resound: “For richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
Tears flow freely from my eyes. I glance over to Roman, and tears are falling not only from his good eye but also from the one behind his patch. Is his other eye not completely lost? Or not immune to emotion? Are these the very words he never got a chance to say to Ava?
My father’s melodic voice stops me in my thoughts. “Sofi, my dearest, one day you will say this vow too. But right now, you need to live your life and be with the man who needs you. And adores you.”
Roman’s good eye again connects with mine. “Come here, Butterfly.” He motions with his hand and then stands up.
I hesitate. Rising from the couch, I take a few small steps and then break into a sprint. The small space between us feels like a football field. Before he can haul me into his arms, I jump him, folding my arms and legs around his hard body like a pretzel. Eye level with me, he smashes his lips on mine and gives me the fiercest, most delicious kiss ever. Oh God, how I’ve missed him! The warmth of him. The feel of him. The taste of him. I don’t want to let him go.
He finally ends the all-consuming kiss and whispers, “I love you so much, Sofi. So, so, much.”
The same. “I need to go upstairs to get my backpack. And to change.” Since I didn’t bring a suitcase filled with clothes home, there’s nothing to pack.
Roman gently sets me down. “Don’t bother taking off your pajamas,” he calls out, his voice commanding as I mount the stairs to my room. “You look too cute in them.”
Mr. Bossy and Controlling. I glance down at my butterfly-print pj’s and can’t help a smile.
Five minutes later, I’m back downstairs. Now wearing some old fuzzy slippers and carrying my backpack. I’m still in my flannels.
“You’re a good man,” says my father to Roman, giving him a man pat on his back at the front door.
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