She let it go. “I didn’t plan anything,” she answered. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“I can think of a few things I’d like to do,” he said with a positively decadent grin.

She smiled at him and taunted, “Promises, promises.” And her grin faded and she looked down at her fingers.

“What’s nagging you?” His fingers curled under her chin, raising her face to his intense green gaze.

She stared at him for a long time, musing. “Why did you want me to condemn you last night?” She bit her lip, chewing it.

He tsked and his thumb pulled her lip from her teeth, “Because I have a black heart. Or no heart at all,” he sighed. “I’m guilty, Sophia.”

“No heart?” she whispered and shook her head. “And what are you so guilty of?”

“Of everything I told you.”

“Well, I can’t understand if you don’t want to explain. It seems to me that you need to feel guilt. You were very angry when I absolved you.” She narrowed her eyes studying him.

“I was. Very angry,” he confirmed, quietly. “I won’t lie to you. I’m guilty of those sins. It wasn’t right to accept absolution.”

She rose from the chair, thoughtfully, and strolled to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, “Do you want one?” He shook his head. She uncapped the lid and drank, her brow creased, her eyes never leaving his face. So controlled, Alistair. So detached. Such a bad liar. “Don’t you want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

All right. All right. “It’s your right to remain silent,” she shrugged. “But, you didn’t need to corner me like that. I had already answered your question,” she inhaled deeply, “in my own way. Such labels as innocent or guilty are,” she waved her hand elegantly in the air, “just labels. They don’t really matter to me. I’ve seen criminals acquitted and innocent people condemned. We all have a bit of evil inside us. We’re not perfect.” Her eyes darkened and she lowered her eyelids, hissing, “Some less than others.”

He tilted his head trying to understand the cryptic remark. What do you mean by that, Sophia? “No, we are not perfect. But we’re responsible for our acts.”

She fisted her hand and a strange expression masked her beautiful face. She straightened up to her full height and crossed her arms over her chest. A dark smile spread on her lips and she whispered to him, “Only if we get caught.”

What the fuck? He raised his brows, astonished at another cryptic remark and her weird stance.

She drank the rest of her water and turned her back to him, shaking her head as if scolding herself. She threw the bottle with rage into the rubbish bin in the far corner of the kitchen and stared in that direction.

Alistair strolled to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and digging his fingers into her skin, massaging her tense muscles. She relaxed onto his chest, whispering, “Mmm, I like that.”

He bent his head and kissed her hair, murmuring, “I like you.”

“Promise me something?” she breathed.

“What, Beauty?”

She turned in his arms, placed her palms on his chest, and fixed him with her hazel, troubled gaze. “Never again mistrust me. Don’t turn your anger unfairly toward me. Trust isn’t something I bestow easily. It’s something precious. You have it or you don’t. Like faith, like love. It’s blind. It has to be. If I trust, if I love, I’ll always believe you, no matter the circumstances.” Her eyes were open windows to a scared and hurt soul. Alistair drowned in them as they showed him all her feelings. “Don’t doubt my word. It’s the most valuable thing I could ever give you.”


4.30 p.m.

Leaning on the doorjamb of the kitchen, Sophia stared at Alistair. She had seen him wearing formal and informal clothes. And no clothes at all. Now, though, resting on the kitchen counter eating leftovers from their lunch, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist, he had never been sexier. Totally eatable.

His hair was still wet from the shower and small rivulets of water ran down his neck, bare chest, and back.

“Hungry?” He asked as he saw her.

Pushing from the threshold, Sophia sauntered in his direction. “No,” she smiled and shook her head at the plate of food he held. She picked up a glass from the cupboard and poured herself a glass of the fresh passion fruit juice she had made for them at breakfast. “Seems you are. But then I can’t think of many people that eat as much as you do.”

“I have to keep strong. You consume all my calories.” He stabbed a steamed broccoli and waved it at her. “Besides, this cooking of yours, it’s too light. Too many vegetables. That is why you’re so thin.”

She laughed. “No, it’s not true. I eat everything. I just prefer to eat healthy food at home.” She knew how good her food was and she could tell how much he liked it. She had prepared a green salad with buffalo mozzarella, grilled salmon with honey mustard sauce, and steamed vegetables.

Sophia motioned to the juice, “Do you want some?”

“Not now, thanks.”

She took a seat at the table and gazed out the window at her beautiful garden outside.

“Sophia?”

Pulled from her thoughts by the soft sound of her name, she looked up and saw he watched her intently.

“Yes?”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded absentmindedly. “I was just wondering,” she drank the juice, her gaze unfocused. I was wondering if this is true. If it’s not another bad joke God is playing on me. She had meditated on these questions more and more since she’d starting going out with him.

He sat beside her and curled his fingers under her chin, making her face him, “What? What were you wondering?”

Needing reassurance, she voiced her thoughts, “Is this true? Is it real?”

He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear, “Yes, it is. It’s for real. As long as we want it to be.”

She tilted her head, a thoughtful frown creasing her forehead.

His finger smoothed out the lines on her brow, “Don’t you worry. I want this to work. And it seems to me that you do, too. Now,” a slow smile spread over his face, “I want to collect a promise.”

“What promise?” her brows lowered.

“Your promise to take me for a ride in your McLaren. I wish to see if you are really as good a driver as you claim you are. We can dine at The Waterside Inn in Berkshire. It’s,” he made quotes in the air, “a restaurant with rooms, as they like to call it. A very common concept in France. We can spend the night there. The accommodations are spectacular. It’s about an hour’s drive. What do you think?”

“I’m game,” she smiled.

“Great. Do you want to spend the night there?”

“Why not? We can take some wine,” she ogled him, “and, please,” she stressed the word, “you can choose from my cellar as if you were choosing from yours.”

He put his hands up, “I will, don’t worry. I don’t want to incur your wrath. Again.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She harrumphed and fisted his chest, playfully, “I’m going to pack, and then we can swing by your place to pick up your things.”


5.48 p.m.

“Sophia, slow down!” Alistair grabbed the door handle when she exited a sharp curve at eighty miles per hour.

Her laugh rang in the car, “Scared?” she asked without taking her eyes from the road and pressed down on the accelerator. In a second, the needle jumped to a hundred and sixty-five miles per hour.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed as the potent motor roared and they were pressed against the plush leather seats.

“Chicken!” Just before she entered another curve, she slowed down a bit, nevertheless turning at a hundred and ten miles per hour.

“You asked for it,” she said and glanced at Alistair, rigid on the seat and his face drawn taut, “I told you I was a good driver,” she smirked at him and let the car slow down to enjoy the drive.

“Are you trying to kill us both?” his voice dry.

She chuckled, “No, of course not. I’ve always driven well and last year I took a special defensive driving course offered by a former policeman in São Paulo.”

“And you call this defensive?” He started to relax on the seat, “I would say it’s aggressive driving.”

“Handsome,” she smiled amazed at his behavior, “it’s defensive driving against kidnapping or such. It’s all about speed, being in control of minute movements and having complete knowledge of what the car can do.”

“Indeed,” he exhaled loudly, still mad at her. “You do drive quite well.” I have to concede.

“Thanks. I’m used to this beauty,” she caressed the steering wheel and checked the route on her GPS. “We’ll get there in about fifteen minutes, I guess.”

“Sophia, this car is more of a beast than a beauty,” he snorted, “like your horses.”

“Well, then. They’re beautiful, gorgeous beasts,” she smirked at him. “I do love powerful things,” she glanced at him with a malicious gleam in her eyes and measured him with her eyes. “They make interesting toys.”

He fell into an astonished silence. How dare she? “Toys,” he repeated slowly, experiencing the word on his tongue, “toys.” Sophia, I’m not a man to trifle with. Her explicit bantering and debasement of him surprised and aroused him. Leaning over, an evil look on his face, he whispered in her ear, “One day, I’m going to introduce you to some of my toys.”

She smiled naïvely at him, totally unaware of his dark thoughts, “I think I’d like that.”

“Don’t be so certain, Sophia,” he murmured.

Why? She looked at him, a wary look coming over her face. “What do you mean?”