“I don’t know if I like this expression of yours,” Alistair cocked his head. “What are you planning now?”

Sophia wasn’t listening. She was intently examining the orchids that appeared to be floating in air. That’s it. “Mmm,” she moaned and purred, “I want him. I want Jeff.”

“What?!” Alistair was aghast. He blinked at his future wife. “You want... Jeff?” Who the hell is Jeff?

She startled and looked up at his face. “Yes, I want Jeff. Jeff Leatham. He’s the artistic director of the hotel. The amazing flower designer responsible for this,” she raised her arms showing the superb floral arrangements. “For our wedding. I have to call him. Now. He’s very sought after.”

“Madame Leibowitz. Lord Ells. What a pleasure!” Christopher Norton, the general manager was waiting to accompany them to the Penthouse Suite Sophia had booked for them. “Your luggage has arrived and I’ve already sent the Rolls for your sisters. Their flight is supposed to land in half an hour.”

“Superb, Chris.” She linked her fingers with Alistair’s and smiled at the manager. “Could you get me an appointment with Jeff Leatham? We are getting married in August and I’ll have no one but Jeff for the flowers and of course, for all his creative ideas.”

“Congratulations to you both! I’m sure Jeff will be thrilled, Madame.” He exited the lift and opened the doors for them.

Designed to resemble an elegant European residence, the Presidential Suite was two thousand square feet, and its six terraces offered a three-hundred-and-sixty degree view of Paris. Jeff Leatham’s beautiful floral arrangements, along with French paintings, Blue de Chine pottery and the floral damask fabrics in golden-yellows and dark-blues created the sense of a luxury home.

Their personal maid and butler were already unpacking their luggage in the main bedroom.

Alistair let Sophia organize things and ask for refreshments as he went directly to put Gabriela in bed in her room on the other side of the suite. She stirred and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up.

“She’ll wake up only for dinner now,” Maria said as she took off the little girl’s shoes. “I’ll take care of her, Mr. McCraig.”

“Perfect, Maria. Thanks.” He stopped to look once more at the blonde girl sleeping like an angel before he exited the room, softly closing the door behind him. How could I have been so lucky? Two angels gift-wrapped in one cloud is better than I deserve.

He slowly made his way back to the living room where Sophia was talking excitedly with a thin, tall, dark-haired man dressed in a black T-shirt and black washed jeans.

“Alistair, come here,” she grinned happily at him. “This is Jeff Leatham. Jeff, my fiancé, Alistair Connor.”

The men shook hands and Alistair sat beside Sophia, who handed him a flute of Krug champagne. They toasted and he pulled her by the waist, snuggling her close to his body, as she talked of her ideas to the flower designer, who made a few notes. Alistair’s mind was only half engaged in their conversation until he heard Sophia stating that she wanted no white flowers.

Fuck, Sophia. You’re a widow, but this is too much. It’s a wedding for Christ’s sake! “Why not?” he frowned down at her.

“It’s too virginal,” she wrinkled her nose. “It’s not appropriate.”

Jeff’s laughter filled the room. “My dear, if that were true no bride would wear white anymore.”

“Sophia, this time I’m getting married in a church. Can’t we have white for the wedding ceremony, at least?”

Church?! I’m Jewish. There’ll be no- She realized that they’d never talked about religion. She turned her head to face him, but he was eyeing Jeff.

“I want white roses and orange blossoms in the chapel at Airgead. It’s all in dark wood and rock. White will be perfect. And I want the air scented with vanilla.”

Damn. How am I going to solve this? She squeezed Alistair’s hand, saying, “We can decide on the flowers for the wedding ceremony later, can’t we, Jeff?”

“Yes, of course. So, I’ll block off my schedule for that week. I’ll be waiting for the photos and the floor plans.” He closed his black leather moleskine.

They raised and walked to the suite door. Jeff grinned at her, “Sophia, your wedding will be fun to do. I already have a million ideas for it. Black iron and green for one day, crystal glass, purple and orange for the other-”

“And white for the ceremony,” Alistair reaffirmed.

“White for the ceremony,” Jeff concurred as he shook hands with Alistair. He kissed Sophia on the cheeks. “White roses and orange blossoms, Sophia. And vanilla scented air. A romantic groom’s wish cannot be denied.”

Sophia shook her head and sighed. “All right, then.” But there will be no chapel.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph! “We’ve been at it for at least ten minutes, but you haven’t convinced me at all. If you don’t believe or follow a specific religion, why not marry in mine?”

You’re not listening. “Because I can’t change religions like I change clothes. One minute Catholic, the other Jewish, and then back to Catholic.” She made a face at him. “Then next year, I’ll be a Buddist. Can’t you see it’s ridiculous?”

“You said yourself that God didn’t need a name. What’s the difference?” He raked a hand in his hair, pacing the living room. Why are you creating so many difficulties?

“There’s Gabriela to consider, too. She’s also Jewish.” She shook her head. “What’s the problem with a civil marriage?” I can’t marry in the Catholic church anymore.

An aggravated sigh left his lips and he looked away as he toyed with the champagne flute in his fingers. You did it for Gabriel. Why not for me?

“I didn’t know you were so religious,” she murmured, walking to his side, touching his stiff back with light fingers. “You said you married... huh, her at a registry office.”

“I did.” Slowly, he turned to watch her face, green eyes narrowing. “But you are not her. I’m not marrying you on a whim, because you’re pregnant. Nae,” he shook his head, impatiently. “You are the one. The one that I want to spend my life with. The one that makes me happy.”

Oh. My. She looked in his eyes and capitulated. “Would you agree to an ecumenic wedding? We could build a place outside.”

“Aye... Yes, I would,” his shoulders visibly relaxed. “The Church of Scotland is very flexible.”

“I’ll find a rabbi and a priest that will agree to it.”

“I’ll talk to Father Bruce. He baptized me. I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige us.”

“While we are talking about it, did you-”

A knock sounded on the door, interrupting them. Sophia walked to the hall to open the suite door.

She barely had time to steady herself when her twin sisters threw themselves at her, babbling in Portuguese at the same time.

“Easy girls, easy.” Sophia backed away from the two lively girls.

“What happened,” Victoria started and Valentina finished, “to your face?”

“I fell.” Sophia was more than used to their strange way of finishing each other’s sentences. “The stitches come out next week. Come on in, girls.”

They walked into the living room where Alistair was eating a piece of Bleu de Brèsse. His hand stopped in midair and his mouth dropped open when he peered at the petite girls, with their arms wrapped around Sophia’s waist. He had already seen photos of them, but nothing could have prepared him for the real thing.

Victoria and Valentina were absolutely identical. They were short, five foot three, slender and delicate, with abundant light blonde hair that ended in large curls at the middle of their backs; their blue eyes sparkled on their peachy skin, complemented by heart shaped mouths. They were nothing like Sophia and Felipe or even Carolina. To make things worse they were wearing identical outfits, faded blue denim jackets over plain white T-shirts and shredded white capri jeans, pink flats and orange Hèrmes Birkin bags.

“Where is Gabriela?” they asked at the same time.

“Sleeping,” Sophia answered. “Let me introduce you to your future brother-in-law.”

Victoria whispered in her right ear, “Oh, my. He is,” And Valentina added in her left ear, “a giant hunk.”

“Behave, girls,” Sophia admonished in a murmur.

Valentina let go of Sophia’s waist and approached Alistair, who was standing, “Hi there. Aren’t you big?” She put her hands on his shoulder and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. “I’m Victoria.”

Victoria flanked an astonished Alistair on his other side and repeated the gesture, “And I’m Valentina.”

“Alistair Connor. It’s a pleasure uh, Victoria” he looked at Valentina who nodded, and then to Victoria, “and you’re Valentina.”

“Got it,” they answered him, smirking.

Sophia looked from one to the other and put her hands on her hips. “Girls! Grow up, will you?”

The twins giggled and turned to Alistair again, correcting themselves, and confusing him even more. “She’s Victoria,” Valentina pointed to her sister, while Victoria did the same, “and she’s Valentina.”

Christ! Alistair eyed Sophia, shaking his head slightly, and asked, “Are they right in the head?”

Sophia laughed. “No. They are not. Call them both Vic, or Val. They’ll answer anyway.”

Thursday, April 15th, 2010.


9.51 a.m.

Breakfast was served on the terrace overlooking the Madeleine, the Opera and the Pantheon.

Sophia was distractedly drinking the freshly pressed orange and strawberry juice, enjoying the view, when Alistair asked, “How do you distinguish the twins?”