Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

Comical? The grip on her hair loosened as Alistair’s jaw dropped open. He was speechless. Not one coherent thought came to his mind to answer her provocation.

“Yeah, teenage perhaps,” she continued and shrugged, “but then, I’m entitled to be a little irresponsible. You’ll just have to come to terms with me,” she paid no heed to his stern regard, “and my behavior. Now, if you want my company for a quick lunch, move! I have to work and Gabriela demands my presence at home by five. Ah,” she rose on her tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on the lips, “by the way, thanks for the doll. She loved it.”

Alistair’s face split in a huge grin at the mention of Gabriela. “She already called me. What time am I supposed to be at your house tonight?”

“Six, if you want to play with Corolle,” she smirked at him. “Gabriela dines at six-thirty and goes to bed at seven-thirty.” She tugged him by the hand and he pulled her in the other direction. She paused and looked at him.

“This way. I’m going to take you to a new restaurant: Kitchen W8. Have you been there?”

“Not yet. I thought we could get some Chinese food.”

“I’ve already made reservations.”

More orders, Alistair Connor? “Oh. You did.” The sarcasm was not lost on him.

You really don’t take orders well, do you, Sophia? “The food is delicious. Traditional English food, but with a modern twist. You’ll like it.”

“Very well,” she complied.

They walked a few minutes, hand in hand, in companionable silence.

Sophia glanced at Alistair’s thoughtful face, “A penny for your thoughts.”

He looked down at her for a moment and then asked, “You don’t go out much, do you?”

“Not really. I don’t have many friends here and I don’t see the fun in going to the theatre or eating alone in a restaurant. I prefer staying in with Gabriela. Besides, I’m very exacting when it comes to food, in general. From its freshness to the final dish presented to me. I guess it comes from having been a Cordon Bleu student.”

“Hmm, I guess.” He put his arm around her back, dragging her close to him as they walked toward the restaurant. “But...”

“But?”

“That not it, is it, Sophia?”

No. It’s not. I need to remain hidden. “What else could it be?”

He stopped in front of the restaurant door and lifted her sunglasses to look into her eyes, “Why don’t you trust me with whatever secrets you are keeping?”

She looked away and murmured, “There are no secrets, Alistair.”

He gripped her chin in his hand and raised her face toward his, ordering, “Look at me.”

Alistair Connor, you don’t want to discover my dark secrets. And when she gazed into his eyes, her features were already composed.

Alistair wondered what could such a young and innocent woman have done, to keep it buried so deep. “You know, Sophia, this mysterious aura around you... just makes you more enticing. I’ll uncover and solve whatever enigmas you’re hiding.”

Kensington. Kitchen W8.

1.09 p.m.

“Why do you insist on turning me into a hero? I’m no hero, Sophia.”

She gave him a small smile, “A hero is a man who does the best he can. Nothing more.”

Sophia, Sophia. I didn’t do the best I could. I’ve been evil for years. “Hmm. All this just because I sent your daughter a doll?”

“No,” she shook her head. “You really don’t get it. You care, Alistair Connor. Gabriela said she wanted the Corolle doll just once during our dinner yesterday. And you cared enough to remember and send it to her first thing this morning. With your personal card attached. And flowers. This, my dear, is so much more important than anything.”

I... I care? The way Sophia turned what he considered a simple gesture into a grandiose thing left Alistair discomfited and scared. He immediately repelled the good image she made of him, “You see good where there is none.”

“And you see bad always and everywhere,” she retorted instantly. “Why you should have such a poor opinion of yourself eludes me.”

It’s because I know who I am, Sophia. “It’s not a bad opinion, just a fair one.”

She frowned in thought, “I don’t remember who, but someone once said ... The mask, given time, comes to be the face itself.”

“Marguerite Yourcenar,” he prompted.

“Ah, yes.” She looked at him seriously, “Is that what you want to become, a heartless and callous man, a misogynist, who’ll live alone for the rest of his life? Just because you were hurt once?”

Hurt once? Alistair’s thin nostrils flared wide. Careful, Sophia. Dangerous ground. The echoes of his despicable, vengeful wife and the horror of his daughter’s broken body resonated in his mind, but Alistair was stunned to watch the memories through a lighter filter, their surfacing not poisoning him as they usually did.

The approaching waiter interrupted their conversation. “Ma’am, sir, the fillet of cornish pollock.”

“Thank you,” Sophia and Alistair said at the same time. She glanced at him and grinned at the coincidence as he squeezed her hand, his mood lightening in a second.

“Mmm,” Sophia moaned, closing her eyes, “this smells very good.”

“I knew you would like it here,” he glanced at her hand, admiring it with his gift on her finger. “Do you still have many friends in Brazil?”

“I have very good friends in Brazil, but few. One doesn’t need many friends, just good ones. I’m a private person and...” I need to hide, I can’t afford to make new friends.

“And?”

“I have my daughter, my family, my PhD, my work, my books. I barely have time for myself.”

“Aye, you should work less, Sophia.” He paused and sipped his wine, musing, “I don’t know how you manage to do everything.” He put the glass on the table and counted on his right hand fingers, his plain white-gold Love ring catching the soft light. “Between your studies, your lectures, your foundation and Leibowitz’s problems, what time do you have for Gabriela?”

“More than enough. The trick is being extremely organized, working only with top people and not being self-centered. I demand excellence from those who work with me. I don’t tolerate laziness, I don’t accept unpunctuality or rudeness. And I hate mediocrity. I give my best, always, and so must the ones that work with me.”

His eyebrows were almost at his hairline, “Exacting, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “We, my siblings and I, were raised by my grandparents, Alistair. A Portuguese upbringing. Very different from the Carioca one. They could have chosen to pamper and pity us, trying to make up for what we had lost. But they didn’t, because nothing would ever make up for my parents’ death. We had everything: love, attention, the best money could buy, but we were taught that we had to first give to then receive. And they only praised us when we endeavored to achieve the best we could. They brought out the best in us.”

“A little harsh, don’t you think? You were so little, even your brother was young, when your parents died.”

She thought for a moment, before answering, “You know, it may seem a little harsh, but it made me who I am and I am grateful for it. I wouldn’t exchange it for a less challenging upbringing. If I hadn’t been taught how to be strong and face difficulties, my father-in-law would have destroyed me when Gabriel died.”

“What?”

“A very long and complicated story,” she ended the subject and he let go, sensing it was a sore subject.

“You know, Sophia, I never thought I would engage in another relationship...”

She put a forkful in her mouth gaining time. Hmm. Treacherous territory. Should I ask? “And how do you feel about it?”

He smiled. “Are you trying to analyze me?”

“Why. Isn’t this a normal question for an unusual statement? Specially after what we were just talking about, Lord Misogynist?”

Should I answer? He chewed his fish, thoughtfully, and decided for stalling. “An unusual statement?”

“I would say so. Everyone wants to feel loved and to love, and, to do so, a relationship or commitment is a prerequisite. If not, it’s not love, it’s unilateral adoration. In that light, don’t you think your statement is unusual? Don’t you think I would like to know how you are feeling about it? Do you know how you feel about it?”

“How long have you been in therapy, Doctor Leibowitz?” he teased.

She smiled sadly and looked down at her plate from a moment before raising her eyes to look into his green ones, “Since I lost my parents. I have a fifteen year unofficial PhD on the subject.”

The inevitable and brutal truth made Alistair’s heart squeeze in his chest as he pictured a small orphaned Sophia. He curled a lock of her raven hair around his fingers. “And does it help?” he asked quietly.

“A lot. But you didn’t answer my question, Lord Slippery. How do you feel about our relationship?”

“I told you yesterday, have you forgotten?”

“Do you think you can outsmart me in this game, Alistair Connor?” She didn’t fall prey to his game of hide and seek. “Humor me again, please.”

“Sophia...” his deep voice was low as he confessed, “you have to understand that I was... I was so numb, only violence could touch me. I felt old and jaded. Cruelty came easily to me, maybe too easily. I felt a deep need to punish and be punished by my disgust with myself. I didn’t want a bond with anyone. I just wanted to cause pain and feel it.”

Sophia drank a big gulp of wine, astonished. “God, Alistair.”