Almost the same excuse she used on Monday and yesterday. “Not even a quick dinner?”

“Hmm. Maybe later.” She put the call on speaker, opened the file she was working on and started to type. “And somewhere casual, I don’t feel like dressing up tonight.”

He breathed relieved at the other end of the line. “Anywhere would be great.”

She frowned and deleted an incoherent sentence she had just typed, absentmindedly agreeing, “Mm-hmm.”

Alistair looked at his watch in the dim light of his car. “In let’s say... Fifteen minutes?”

“Alistair Connor, I...” Giving up her work, she swiveled her chair. “Why don’t you have dinner here with me instead? In two and a half hours. It would give me time to finish the pro bono case and a quick shower.”

“Only if you wait for me to take your shower. I want to wash your back.”

“My back. Right,” she laughed. “While I would love to shower with you, I can’t spare the time, Handsome.”

You can’t spare me time... He frowned, worried and aggravated. “I’ll be there in two hours then.” He crossed his fingers before he asked, “Do you want to sleep with me tonight? Here?”

“I can’t. I had to cancel my fencing class today and I moved it to tomorrow morning. Why don’t you sleep here? I’ll make up for the lost shower. When you come for dinner, bring your clothes for tomorrow.”

He blew out an irritated breath. “See you later, then.”

Alistair felt a strange and cold sensation fill him as he hung up the phone. He was sure Sophia wasn’t behaving normally. Fuck, Alistair Connor. You have just began this relationship. Don’t rush things. You know what happens when you lose your mind over a woman.

He didn’t know why he was trying to fool himself. He was already head over heels with Sophia.

Kensington, Palace Gardens Terrace.


Alistair MacCraig’s Apartment.


7.44 p.m.

Alistair opened his apartment door and entered it with a heavy heart. He wanted to hear Sophia’s greeting and Gabriela’s laugh as he walked into the living room. He wanted them to live with him. He didn’t want to come back from work to a place devoid of warmth and love.

He was seeing his home with new eyes. It felt so cold and empty after Sophia’s cozy and colorful house. Where are the flowers? Where are the books forgotten on the floor for Sophia to pick up, flaunting that delicious butt in the air? Where’s the laughter?

He pushed his bedroom door and his eyes searched for Nathalie’s plush pink elephant seated on the shelf beside her photo. Sophia would have been a great stepmother, Nathalie. You would have liked her.

He took a warm shower and dressed in loose gray jeans and a red and charcoal striped sweater.

Alistair stopped in the middle of his dressing room, studying his reflection in the full length mirror for a moment, then abruptly walked out.

In his kitchen, he grabbed a large rubbish bag and walked back resolutely, opening the door on the left of his dressing room door. He looked at his collection for a second and then started shoving most of it into the bag, knotting it closed. He opened his apartment door and walked down the corridor opening the garbage room and threw the plastic bag inside. He closed it with finality.

He returned to his apartment, washed his hands as relief flooded his heart. He looked at his watch. He had plenty of time.

He poured himself a shot of whisky and settled in his armchair with the wireless phone in his hand, dialing his father’s mobile number.

“Father? How are you? Can you spare me a few minutes?” He paused as he listened to his father’s greeting.

Alistair talked about banalities while he put his thoughts in order. Then, he gently probed his father for his impressions on Sophia. He exhaled as his father’s voice became lighter and happier as he told Alistair that he was enchanted with his girlfriend.

Alistair closed his eyes for a brief moment and hoped he was doing the right thing. He interrupted his father’s praises of Sophia and said, “Father, the thing is... It’s Alice’s birthday in two weeks and I’d like the whole family at Ells Hall. Not a party, really, more of a double celebration.”

He listened as his father asked what else there was to celebrate. “Well, since it’s a long weekend...” He cleared his throat, but his voice came out hoarse anyway, when he explained, “I’m going to propose to Sophia.”

Atwood House.


9.57 p.m.

“May I offer you anything to drink, Mr. MacCraig?” Lucy, Sophia’s housekeeper, asked as she ushered him into the formal living room.

“No, thanks, Lucy, I’m fine.” Alistair entered the room and walked toward one of superb paintings hanging on the wall to distract himself from his rapidly beating heart.

“Mrs. Leibowitz will be down in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” he said again, nodding in confirmation, without taking his eyes of the red and pink Rothko.

He looked around and his eyes stopped on the piano. He could still hear his mother playing. He walked up to it and sat down on the bench. Running his hands over the keyboard, a sad smile curved his lips and he lost himself playing Schubert’s Ave Maria as he remembered his mother’s lessons.

He was so caught up in the piece that he didn’t hear Sophia open the door. He didn’t see as her eyes teared and the effort it took for her to compose herself before walking up to him.

When he did look up at her face, the smile she gave him held so much love that he kept playing without saying a word. He scooted on the bench, making room for her.

The last notes sounded in the room and Sophia shifted on the bench to enlace his waist with her arms and put her head on his muscular back, murmuring, “So beautiful, Alistair Connor, it makes me want to cry.”

While he played, he forgot about all his worries and doubts about Sophia’s distancing herself from him. He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her head in the hollow of his neck and hugged her.

His voice was heavy with emotion when he spoke in her hair. “I don’t ever want to make you cry. I want to make you the happiest woman in the world.”

He was acutely aware of her breath on his neck, of her silky hair brushing his arm and of her supple body ensconced on his chest.

They stayed there in quiet communion until he dipped her a little and looked into her eyes, asking, “Are you sure about what you told me on Sunday?”

“We talked about so many- Ah.” She combed back the locks that had fallen over his left eye. “Yes, I’m sure, Alistair Connor. Once my word is given, I don’t go back on it.”

He hauled her back onto his chest and squeezed her fiercely. Lowering his guard, he whispered in her ear, “I thought you had changed your mind.”

She sighed and her eyes searched his. “Do you want to know what I thought during these days and nights we didn’t meet? The whole truth?”

I knew it. He steeled himself for the blow. “Always.”

“You have been poisoned. The poison is still inside you. You must look for the antidote.”

He was puzzled by how Sophia’s mind worked. He was waiting for her to say that yes, she had avoided him; that yes, she wanted kids and that he wasn’t good enough for her. “You, Sophia, you are the antidote.”

“You’ve been hurt too deep, Alistair Connor. And you need to rebuild your inner strength and your faith in yourself. You need to work out these feelings of hate and guilt.” She shook her head lightly and he halted her movement by gripping her chin, but Sophia wouldn’t be stopped. She transferred his hand to her cheek and leaning on it, she kissed his wrist, before saying, “Will you consider therapy?”

She is serious. “For you, I-”

“No. Not for me. For you. Do it for you, Alistair Connor. Please?”

He blinked as she made another crack in his already broken defense walls. The question hung in the room as they looked in each other’s eyes.

Alistair capitulated first, he dared not contradict such a simple request from the love of his life. “Very well. Tomorrow morning I’ll ask Tavish Uilleam for a referral.”

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Sophia hastily stood up and fixed her wrap dress, “Come in.”

“Mrs. Leibowitz, dinner is served.” Lucy informed as she pushed the door.

“Thanks, Lucy.” Sophia stretched her hand and took his. “Come. I’ve ordered a typical Brazilian dish for us.”

“Feijoada with caipirinha?” he asked, licking his lips.

“At this late hour?” she laughed. “Absolutely not.”

“Churrasco, then?”

“No, Alistair Connor. A moqueca bahiana. A very tasty stew made with fish, shrimp, lobsters and crab cooked in a traditional clay pot with coconut milk and palm oil. But I don’t usually put the palm oil when I serve it to foreigners.” She sneered at him, “It’s a bit strong for delicate stomachs.”

“Delicate!”

She shrieked happily when he bent down and lifted her onto his shoulder. “I’m a Highlander, woman. I’m going to ask the chef at Craigdale to prepare Haggis and black pudding for you next time.”

“You silly Highlander. Offal is a traditional dish in Brazil’s Northeast.”

He put her back on her feet in the dining room and inhaled the spicy aroma that wafted from the bubbling stew. “Hmm. This smells good.” He pulled her chair for her and bowed, “My lady.” That’s exactly what you will be, Sophia. My lady.

11.33 p.m.

She threw her head back and laughed. “I don’t believe it, Alistair Connor. You did what?”

He smiled. “Well, he was spying. Tavish Uilleam was at that age where his hormones were getting the best of him. So I tied him to the post in the farthest bay and closed the stable door. I forgot to untie him after I finished... Err...”