Alistair opened his mouth to speak again and she lifted a finger, stopping him.
“She is my daughter. Mine. I will not lose her again,” she flung at Alistair, who paled. She whipped her head to stare hard at Felipe. “Having a child is bigger than anything you can imagine. I can’t afford to be carefree again and to do things hastily. Never again.” She rubbed her eyes, forlornly. “And what if anything happens this time round? It is so hard to want something when I’ve learned that fate can take away what I value most, like that,” she snapped her fingers. Raising from the bed, she stood in front of the window, looking at her reflection, her back to the men. “Sometimes I feel so ancient. And to think I’m only twenty-five.” She touched her scarred arm and sobbed; her head dropped and shoulders hunched inward. “I envied Carol today, you know? An ugly feeling.” She whispered and shook her head. “I wish I could be sixteen again.” She hugged her middle and sagged further, “Sometimes... I wish I were dead.”
The tears that were threatening to fall from Felipe’s eyes spilled and he left the room silently.
In two strides, Alistair was at Sophia’s back, winding her to his chest and folding her in his arms. “Don’t. Don’t,” he breathed on her hair. Shaking his head at her, as if she were an insolent child, he commanded, “You should not say such things, even in jest.”
She rested her head on his chest and let out a shuddering sigh.
“I love you so much I cannot imagine my life without you, mo gràdh.” He heard as Felipe shut the door quietly. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to waste time away from you. If you want a small wedding, I won’t fight over it. But I can’t wait.”
Sophia breathed in his scent. Sublimely Alistair Connor. “It’ll be as you wish.” Her voice came out muffled by his cotton shirt. “Don’t do that again. I don’t like to show off. I am a private person, I don’t discuss my life in public.”
“We were not in public, Sophia. They are your family.”
“Doesn’t matter. You should have talked to me first. Alone. Just the two of us.” She lifted her eyes to look at him. Her long lashes were spiked from her tears. “It was not your decision to make, it’s ours. Don’t mistake indulgence for weakness. I won’t be a puppet in anyone’s hands. I won’t be tamed.”
“I got carried away in the excitement. I’m sorry.” He held her hand in his and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Please, forgive me.”
She gave him a wan smile. “I’m sorry too. I’m a little finicky today.”
Mo chridhe, mo gràdh, mo bheatha. He rested his forehead on hers, “You’re my heart, my love, my life. Tha gaol agam ort.”
“I love you too.” She stood on tiptoes to kiss him and hugged him for a few minutes.
“Let me wash my face, so we can return to our dinner.” She pushed aside a mirrored pane and the bathroom was revealed. “Grandma won’t let me have dessert if I don’t eat properly.”
“No dessert? Nae, nae. That can’t happen,” he protested and winked at her.
“Alistair Connor,” she grinned at him, “you’re impossible.” And walked into the bathroom.
And you’re the most beautiful, mercurial woman I’ve ever known. He followed, incapable of staying away from her.
He watched as she washed her face and brushed her long black hair.
The mere thought that he could lose her made him step behind her and put his hands on her waist.
Her soft body leaned onto his and she looked at him in the mirror.
He wrapped his arms tightly around her and pulled her closer. He buried his face in her hair and drank in the fresh scent of her, “I love you so much.”
She tipped her head sideways and up, inviting him, and instantly Alistair’s mouth was devouring her lips. Hard, hot and fraught with memories: the first time they met, their first kiss, their first night together. He flexed his hips on her buttocks, his hold on her tightening.
“Ah-ahem,” a voice came from behind them.
Alistair and Sophia hastily sprang apart.
“God, Felipe!” she exclaimed, blushing.
“I knocked. You didn’t answer since you were... otherwise occupied,” retorted Felipe, amused. “Come on, Sophia. Grandma’s waiting.”
When Sophia walked past Felipe, he looked over his shoulder to his future brother-in-law, and whispered in a conspiratorial way, “Dude, you don’t know what you’ve got yourself into.”
Copacabana Palace Hotel.
The Black Marble Private Pool.
Sunday, April 11th, 2010.
1.11 a.m.
Despite the cool weather, the water was warm. When Sophia surfaced after diving, she found Alistair perched on his haunches at the edge of the pool, rolling ice cubes in his glass, looking at it with an unreadable expression on his face.
“What?”
“I-” he narrowed his eyes and stretched his hand. “I want to talk to you.”
You’re a piece of work. “Now? That I’m inside?” Sophia looked up and ordered, pointing down at the water. “You come down here.”
Oh, Sophia. Giving me orders? “Or what?” A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He stood up and gave his back to her, walking to a spacious reclining chair. He sat down and wiggled his fingers at her.
“I’m all wet,” she pouted, but in the end got out of the pool, shivering from the contrast of the warm water and the cool night air.
“Cold?” he asked and moved so she could nestle against his body and cover herself with a terry cloth robe.
“No, not at all. I like this cool weather. We usually only get it in July or August.” She put a leg over his and nestled comfortably on his chest.
“You feel so good, Beauty, so good.” He kissed her forehead and blurted out a question that had never left his mind, “Why did you forgive me when I assaulted you?”
Oh, what! She closed her eyes briefly. She had avoided thinking about it since that fateful night. She breathed in loudly and straddled him. “What are you looking for? My personal reasons or my professional point of view, as a lawyer?”
Why do you always create this wall around yourself, Sophia? He blinked at the determination that shimmered in her eyes. He gently pushed back her wet hair from her face. “Both, I guess.”
She bit her lip, uncertain of how to voice her feelings, but she knew he was right. They had to work it out. “This is the last time I’m talking about this issue, agreed?”
“Agreed.”
She rose and fetched the bottle of whisky, pouring a drink for herself as she arranged her thoughts. She sat on the edge of the reclining chair, facing him. “Very well. Let me start by outlining and analyzing the facts. Women that love and live with a violent partner usually return to the relationship several times before they leave it, permanently damaged, physically and psychologically,” she paused, but there was no possibility of making light of reality, “or they are killed.”
Alistair winced, shocked, before he composed himself again.
“That’s what happens if they remain in a violent relationship against all common sense. The reasons range from experiencing or being present during domestic violence in childhood to low self-esteem or financial security and so on. The woman, or the man as they can also be the victims, remembers the good times and somehow dismisses the bad. And believes in the promises made after the violent event, like,” she made quotes in the air, “‘I’m sorry. I’ll never touch you again’ or ‘I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing. I’m sorry’. The offender is always sorry, until the next time. The old routine starts again, but often the victim doesn’t realize that they’re repeating the cycle of violence.”