Cristiane Serruya - Trust: Betrayed

“Thank-” She was interrupted when Alistair’s possessive hand fell from her shoulder to her breast. She swallowed her gasp and eyed him with censure in her eyes.

Alistair was glaring at Drake. “Sophia will only be playing the leading role of my life. No chance I’d share her with anything else. Not even Hollywood.”

Drake’s eagle eyes sparkled and he licked his lips unpleasantly. “Your loss, Sophia. No man is worth such a sacrifice.”

Alistair’s angry grunt sprung Sophia into action. She jumped from the sofa. “Vic, Val! Let’s take a walk around the stables. They are amazing!”

Alice immediately stood up. “Great idea, Sophia.”

“We are heading to the ESCALA,” said Carolina. “Aren’t we, my love?”

In his Californian accent, Drake answered Carol without taking his eyes off Sophia and Alistair. “Yeah, we are.”

Ethan Ashford’s Penthouse.

Monday, August 2^nd, 2010.

9.45 a.m.

He was feeling too miserable to dispute anything. Since Sophia had told him about her wedding, a strange feeling of doom had descended upon his soul. But somehow he kept on. His business was booming and Barbara had been doing her best to cheer him up.

The blow of reality had come when he saw Sophia leaving that wretched gallery with a blade sticking out of her soft belly and holding on to Alistair’s hand as if he were her lifeline. His heart broke and he understood in that moment that she was lost to him.

He felt as if his life had ended.

He didn’t have any more hope. She was to be married. Ethan knew his heart could only take so much pain. The only thing he could enjoy from Sophia was her friendship. He’d rather have that than nothing.

“So, sir, how much are you going to give her foundation as a wedding gift?” Scott smiled gently calling Ethan’s attention back to him.

I don’t care. Everything I have is hers. “Call Mrs. Chanda. See what’s the average donation and double it. Think about a few lines for the card. I don’t have the heart to do it.” His eyes roamed around his soulless home. As empty as his life was now. He had everything money could buy, but he didn’t have what he wanted most: Sophia’s love. His eyes stopped on the Francis Bacon. He remembered she said she loved his paintings on the first night they made love and when they went to Tate Modern together. “Scott...”

“Sir?”

“Call White Cube. See if they have someone that could take the Francis Bacon down and wrap it. Send it to her house as my wedding present. Today.”

“Sir...” Scott’s mouth dropped open. He knew Ethan loved the tortured painting more than any other in his apartment. Besides, it was worth a fortune. “The Francis Bacon? But-but-”

Scott was flabbergasted by the whole scene. He had never seen Ethan having breakfast in his pajamas, with his sun-kissed hair tousled from sleep, unshaved, no light in his azure eyes. It pained him to see his boss so down and disheartened. He knew Barbara had been sleeping in the guest room. Alone.

“No buts, Scott,” Ethan sipped his coffee. “She loves Bacon’s painting. I want her to have something that will remind her of me. Something personal.” This way, at least, she’s going to think of me everyday.

“It’s not that simple,” Scott answered. “He doesn’t want to go ahead with the plan anymore.”

“Simple? No. Doable? Yes,” replied Ghost’s computerized voice. “And, what is best: it would not cost much. Can you imagine how he would feel with her beside him? How grateful he is going to be?”

“I don’t know...” Scott ran the back of his hand over his forehead.

Scott would do anything to see the smile back on the face of that proud man that had showed him only kindness. However, to act behind his back and against his wishes could have terrible consequences.

“It’s not magical or anything. No one will ever know how we did it. MacCraig’s sister-in-law is bent on revenge. We can use her and then put all the blame on her.”

Scott scratched his head, not sure of what to answer. “Mr. Ashford loves her. He’ll be furious if she is hurt or humiliated.”

“I can guarantee her honor would not be touched, if this is your fear. In the end, the fault would be MacCraig’s or Miller’s.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Did I ever disappoint you?” Ghost smiled as he heard Scott’s sigh and his negative. “Great. Hear me out.”

Scott sat more comfortably on his chair, praying he was doing the right thing and said, “I’m all ears.”

Airgead Caisteal.

Friday, August 6^th, 2010.

7.02 p.m.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she will be mine. Mine and no one else’s. No Davidoff, Ashford, Westwood, not even Leibowitz. She will be a MacCraig. He breathed in the fresh air and looked around.

The amorphous chaos by the loch had taken the shape of a tall pavilion that ended in an incredible chapel which looked like it was made of crystal. The Santo family had a creative vein he never could have imagined from Sophia’s line of work. Everything they created was different, classy and dashing. From the stationary to the dresses. He was sure the guests would be surprised tomorrow.

Alistair shook his head amused as he sat in one of the acrylic chairs and watched Jeff Leatham, with a white rose between his teeth, dance and laugh with Valentina and Victoria.

He turned his head as he heard Sophia’s musical laughter. She was still wearing the riding gear she had ordered for the tournament that his father had held at Craigdale Castle in their honor. Her daring redingote was made in the MacCraig’s tartan colors: thin red and yellows lines crossed with the brightest green and midnight blue. She was happily showing the world she was to be his.

Still, he was unsure. Still, he couldn’t believe it.

Tavish and Sophia, arm in arm, walked down the stairs and made their way onto the catwalk covered with Persian rugs over a wide white carpet, which started at the last step and ended at the entrance of the chapel.

Jealousy elbowed its way into Alistair’s heart and he squinted at the handsome couple his brother and his fiancée made. Tavish had been around Sophia more and more since her stabbing. He would fit her better; he doesn’t have my past; he could give her children. Perhaps, it’s another MacCraig she wants. And perhaps... another MacCraig wants her too.

He looked away, reasoning with himself. Stop this, Alistair Connor. You should be grateful that Sophia is adored by your family and that she’s not another Heather.

A soft hand on his shoulder made him raise his head, lines still creasing his forehead. He could see the joy shining inside those hazel eyes he loved so much and he prayed the joy was because of him.

“I was looking for you,” she said, straddling the chair in front of him.

“Here I am,” he smiled at her, scooting to the edge of his chair to kiss her. From the corner of his eyes, he saw that Tavish had walked to where the twins were.

“I have a proposal,” she said after he broke the kiss. “We- I-” Dammit! “I want us to sleep separately tonight.”

What? He looked at her speechless. Why?

“It- It may sound strange but- It’s just that- Oh! Dammit! I want to surprise you tomorrow. I want you-”

“No.”

“No?” she looked at him quizzically. “Why not?”

Because I’m unsure and I want you near me. I need you. “Nobody has ever told you no?” He raised an eyebrow and his poker face mask descended over him.

Oh, yeah. You, included. “But it’s such an innocent request. It won’t hurt-”

He stood up and held out his hand for her, “Come. Let’s take a walk.”

She watched his face as they walked away from the hubbub in silence and entered the maze by the sequoia alley. Sophia could hear the delightful squeals of Gabriela, Ariadne and the other children who had come with their parents to her wedding as they sat on the bench. “Gabriela is loving all this activity.”

“Aye,” he answered curtly.

Sophia looked at him. There it is again. That unnerving unreadable mask. She rolled her eyes heavenward. Sophia, don’t you think it’s time to stop this? She stood up and moved in front of him. That’s enough. She bent down, put her hands on his knees and, looking deep into his green eyes, scolded, “Stop. Stop that right now. We are getting married tomorrow for better and for worse. Wipe that mask off your face and tell me what you are feeling.” She stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, tapping her foot on the ground, “Right now, Alistair Connor.”

He didn’t know if he should laugh or scowl back at her. On impulse, he snaked his arms around her waist and brought her flush against him, burrowing his nose in her breasts. White roses, orange blossoms and vanilla. This is my apple a day.

“Hey,” she whispered, dipping her fingers in his long hair, combing it. “What is it?”

Alistair raised his head to look at her and, for a shimmering moment, Sophia thought she saw fear in those forest green eyes.

She caressed his cheekbones with her thumbs and traced his lips. “Talk to me.”

Do you love me? Will I be able to make you happy? But his fears seemed too ridiculous to be voiced and he just shook his head, incapable of understanding himself.

“I love you, you know? I know I don’t say it much. It’s so overwhelming that I don’t want to trivialize what I’m feeling. Sometimes, silence says more than words.”

But he kept his eyelids lowered, his long black lashes shadowing his cheekbones.