Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

She’s mature beyond her age. Alistair remained silent for a long time thinking about what Sophia had said. Or, when did I start to hear her so clearly?

She laid her cheek against his, silently encouraging him to continue with his story.

“So, when Nathalie died...” he closed his eyes and breathed deep. “It just made my anger worse. I started to have serious relationship issues. I numbed myself. I felt totally empty and I didn’t care anymore about forming a relationship. And, if I follow your line of thinking, I became an abuser too. I told Andrew, my therapist, about your slow-down. How you conducted things slowly only giving yourself to me when you thought you could trust me. How you brought me to your house. Your home.” His voice lowered to a whisper, “I told him about what I did in Berkshire.” His gaze returned to her face in time to see her flinch. “How you forgave me. How you stood your ground when I suggested the crop. How you showed me time and time again I could feel a greater pleasure with gentle and tender caresses. And finally, how you gave me my world back to me when you told me that you didn’t care if I was sterile or not. That you cared more about me.”

Oh, God. She searched his taut face for a clue, “You are important, Alistair Connor. Just you. In here.” She tapped his chest.

“He said I was in a healing process. That you’d started it and that I was letting you guide me through it because I wasn’t like that anymore. That it wasn’t what I was looking for.”

“And what were you looking for?”

He gazed into her eyes and it was his turn to smile sadly, “Love.”

5 p.m.

“Are you sure this is what you want, Sophia?” Victoria asked, surprised at the drawing of the wedding gown Sophia was showing her and her choice of colors.

Sophia nodded. “I’m a widow, Victoria. I know Alistair would like me to wear white, but...” She shrugged to show her discomfort with the color.

“I see,” Victoria murmured. And examined her sister’s face, with a mischievous smile, “But if that hunk looked at me the way he looks at you and asked me to marry him naked I would.”

“You’re impossible, Victoria,” Sophia giggled. “Gabriela will choose her own dress, of course, so please help her with that. I think the main color should be pale pink, but she can choose whatever she wants.” She fixed Victoria with a serious stare, “Remember, you’ve promised me no one will see my gown or know about it. Not a word.”

“Hm-hmm. Scout’s honor.” She mused as she chewed on the end of her pencil. “Let’s see...” Victoria looked at the design Sophia had drawn and at the fabric samples lying on the table. “We can order some bespoke lace at one of the best manufacturers of Chantilly silk.”

Sophia looked at the drawing and tapped her nails on the table.

“What about a more modern idea? Something like...” Victoria pursed her lips thinking about the dress. “Yeah, this. What do you think?” She turned her pad for Sophia, a light in her eyes. “Can you picture it, Sophia?” She picked up a tiny length of tulle and bunched it up forming a small skirt. Then she swirled the cloth, draped it asymmetrically and with a scissor tattered it. “Here.”

“That’s it! That’s exactly what I want,” Sophia exclaimed.

“And here I thought you wanted just me, mo gràdh.” Alistair’s deep voice sounded from behind her.

Hastily, Victoria opened her bag and crammed samples and sheets of paper inside, winking conspiratorially at Sophia.

“Wow, Sophia, you and Victoria are still discussing the gown?” Valentina asked. “You’ve been in here for at least two hours! Have you decided? Let me see your ideas.”

Sophia didn’t answer and stood to kiss Alistair lightly on the lips. “We have to design the rest of the stationary and decide on the best men and the maids of honor together, Alistair.” She shook a white envelope in her hand. “And my guest list is ready.” She turned to Gabriela, “I missed you, my angel.”

“Mama, Alistair took me to see the Eiffel Tower. It’s so tall. And we had ice creams.” Gabriela was hopping around Sophia.

“That’s great, my love.” Sophia knelt to kiss and hug Gabriela. “Why don’t you sit with aunt Victoria and decide on your dress while I work with aunt Valentina?”

“Yes, yes!” She jumped on the sofa and picked one of the magazines on the center table, leafing through it.

“Christ! Colors, flowers, dresses. Too much information. And too many women.” Alistair bowed, mocking, “I’m bid you good-bye, miladies.”

“Ah-ah! Come back here, Lord I’m-scared-of-women,” Sophia grabbed Alistair’s sleeve. “You have to work, too. You can ring our butler and ask for a light snack. I’m hungry. Then you can call the concierge and make us reservations at... say... Lassere, eight o’clock? A table with the vue plein ciel. Gabriela will love it. After that you are going to sit here beside me,” she patted the chair next to her, “and finish your guest list. Carol has finished all her stationary and emailed it to me,” she lightly tapped her Mac with the pencil, “I’ve approved it all and she’s already sent them to the printers. They will be ready for the final approval tomorrow morning.”

“Any other order, Marchioness?” He quirked a black eyebrow at her.

“Besides another kiss, my lord?” She giggled and lifted her lips to him. “Not that I can think of,” she smiled naughtily at him and whispered in his ear, “for the moment.”

“You’ll pay for this, dominatrix,” he murmured back, winding his arms around her and hauling her up for a kiss.

Sophia threw her arm around his neck, slanting his head to deepen the kiss.

“Hey! You two!” Victoria yelled and Valentina ended, “Get a room.”

Alistair stopped the kiss and Sophia turned in his arms, grinning, “You’re jealous. Get a boyfriend.”

Gabriela, sat between the twins, sighed rapturously, calling everyone’s attention. “Don’t they look like Beauty and the Beast?” she asked her aunts.

Sophia laughed out loud and Alistair frowned at the little girl and growled, “Who is the Beast, little Fairy?”

An innocent smile lighted Gabriela’s face, “You, of course. Who else?”

Christ! Alistair slapped his hand on his forehead as the twins doubled over with laughter. I deserve that.

Friday, April 16^th, 2010.

6.01 a.m.

An incessant low ringing woke Alistair.

Careful not to wake Sophia, he disengaged her from his body, rolled to the edge of the bed and fumbled on the bedside table for the phone. “MacCraig,” he answered quietly.

“Wake up and move your ass, Alistair Connor.”

He looked at the digital clock and frowned, “This better be good, Tavish Uilleam. It’s six in the morning.” He sat up on the bed and rolled his shoulders. Fuck. I’m tired. Too many women to dance with in only one night. He smiled remembering how much fun he’d had with Sophia and the twins at Castel, one of the most exclusive Parisian nightclubs, where a select clientèle of locals and celebrities danced, mingled and spent the night away. They left the club at three o’clock in the morning.

“Are you listening?” Tavish barked through the line.

Alistair raised, shaking his head to whisk away the remains of sleep. “Sorry. I’m still sleeping. What did you say?”

Tavish huffed impatiently on the other side of the line. “Where are you, Alistair Connor? On Mars?”

Alistair stretched and smiled remembering Sophia’s words, “On cloud nine.”

“Jesus Christ, man. Turn on the TV. All the airports are closed and flights have been cancelled. That fucking volcano in Iceland has been spewing out fire and smoke for days and last night it got worse. It’s not safe to fly back in the G6. I sent you Munro an hour ago.”

Alistair scratched his head as he walked to the bathroom, not at all worried. “Really?”

“What happened to you these last few days?” Tavish was taken aback. It was a long time since he’d heard his brother so relaxed and content. “You didn’t even called to check how things are.”

“I’ll tell you later. Call Father and Alice. I’m heading to Airgead and I want everyone there. Inform staff that we are going to celebrate.” He laid the phone on the sink and put it on speaker as he talked with his brother for a few more minutes.

Alistair grinned at his image in the mirror. He had a whole new life in front of him and nothing, not even an erupting volcano hurling its anger at the world, would stop his happiness.

Scotland, Highlands, Gairloch Bay. Airgead Caisteal.

Friday, April 16^th, 2010.

1.42 p.m.

“Welcome back, my dear.” Lachlann kissed both her cheeks and, unable to stop himself, hauled her into his arms and hugged Sophia fiercely. He released her, still keeping her in front of him, and put his big hands on her shoulders. Very seriously, he ordered, “Next time, Alistair Connor does something stupid, you call me. I’ll put him back on track.”

Ah, now I know why Alistair and Tavish are so domineering. She smiled at him, “I promise, Lachlann.”

One by one, Alistair’s relatives greeted Sophia and Gabriela as if they were long time friends. They had all come out to the steps of the fifteenth century castle, with its impressive Palladian and Gothic style, four high towers and cannon balls on display, standing on the shores of Gairloch bay.

Gabriela turned to Lachlann and asked, “Can you take me to the towers?”

“Of course, my dear,” he picked her up in his arms, silently thanking God that she and Sophia were back in their lives. “I’ve arranged lots of fun things for you: we’re going to pick shells on the beach, swim in the loch, walk in the woods and spy on the fairies in the evening, right?”