He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her right ear, “Yes, it is. It’s for real. As long as we want it to be.”

She tilted her head, a thoughtful frown creasing her forehead.

His finger smoothed out the lines on her brow, “Don’t you worry. I want this to work. And it seems to me that you do, too. Now,” a slow smile spread over his face, “I want to collect a promise.”

“What promise?” her brows lowered.

“Your promise to take me for a ride in your McLaren. I wish to see if you are really as good a driver as you claim you are. We can dine at The Waterside Inn in Berkshire. It’s,” he made quotes in the air, “a restaurant with rooms, as they like to call it. A very common concept in France. We can spend the night there. The accommodations are spectacular. It’s about an hour’s drive. What do you think?”

“I’m game,” she smiled.

“Great. Do you want to spend the night there?”

“Why not? We can take some wine,” she ogled him, “and, please,” she stressed the word, “you can choose from my cellar as if you were choosing from yours.”

He put his hands up, “I will, don’t worry. I don’t want to incur your wrath. Again.” He kissed the tip of her nose.

She harrumphed and fisted his chest, playfully, “I’m going to pack, and then we can swing by your place to pick up your things.”


5.48 p.m.

“Sophia, slow down!” Alistair grabbed the door handle when she exited a sharp curve at eighty miles per hour.

Her laugh rang in the car, “Scared?” she asked without taking her eyes from the road and pressed down on the accelerator. In a second, the needle jumped to a hundred and sixty-five miles per hour.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed as the potent motor roared and they were pressed against the plush leather seats.

“Chicken!” Just before she entered another curve, she slowed down a bit, nevertheless turning at a hundred and ten miles per hour.

“You asked for it,” she said and glanced at Alistair, rigid on the seat and his face drawn taut, “I told you I was a good driver,” she smirked at him and let the car slow down to enjoy the drive.

“Are you trying to kill us both?” his voice dry.

She chuckled, “No, of course not. I’ve always driven well and last year I took a special defensive driving course offered by a former policeman in São Paulo.”

“And you call this defensive?” He started to relax on the seat, “I would say it’s aggressive driving.”

“Handsome,” she smiled amazed at his behavior, “it’s defensive driving against kidnapping or such. It’s all about speed, being in control of minute movements and having complete knowledge of what the car can do.”

“Indeed,” he exhaled loudly, still mad at her. “You do drive quite well.” I have to concede.

“Thanks. I’m used to this beauty,” she caressed the steering wheel and checked the route on her GPS. “We’ll get there in about fifteen minutes, I guess.”

“Sophia, this car is more of a beast than a beauty,” he snorted, “like your horses.”

“Well, then. They’re beautiful, gorgeous beasts,” she smirked at him. “I do love powerful things,” she glanced at him with a malicious gleam in her eyes and measured him with her eyes. “They make interesting toys.”

He fell into an astonished silence. How dare she? “Toys,” he repeated slowly, experiencing the word on his tongue, “toys.” Sophia, I’m not a man to trifle with. Her explicit bantering and debasement of him surprised and aroused him. Leaning over, an evil look on his face, he whispered in her ear, “One day, I’m going to introduce you to some of my toys.”

She smiled naïvely at him, totally unaware of his dark thoughts, “I think I’d like that.”

“Don’t be so certain, Sophia,” he murmured.

Why? She looked at him, a wary look coming over her face. “What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer and changed the subject, “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me.”

“No,” she answered firmly. Enough with the unknown promises, Sophia. “I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Please, state your case,” the small joke didn’t lessen her refusal.

“Promise me that you won’t go driving again, like a lunatic, without warning me.”

“No.”

“NO?” Alistair saw red. “Did you just say ‘no’?

“I just said no,” she confirmed and repeated, “no.”

He raked his left hand through his long hair, “Sophia, you don’t want to defy me.”

“Oh? I don’t?” she blinked. “But it’s not a question of defying you. No, not at all. It’s more a question of you ordering me around. I don’t respond well to being ordered or bullied. I’ve told you so.”

“Then we will have to work on that,” he spoke through clenched teeth.

“No, I don’t think so,” she pumped the accelerator, the needle jumping again. “I hate being ordered around. Try to ask gently, for a change. I might, let me repeat, I might think about your request,” she stressed the last word. “Got it?”

Where did I find this insane woman? Why have I involved myself with her? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. How am I going to deal with her strong will?

“Got. It?” Sophia asked again, peering at his expression.

“Aye,” he clipped his answer, his accent strong, “I. Got. It.”

He stared at the sinking sun, struck by the violent searing colors across the sky. The dark blue sky slashed with fierce reds and oranges, mirroring his own crazed feelings.

In the last few years, Alistair had been all about control. If she destroyed his control, she would destroy him. She stirred his emotions to a startling degree. A treacherous height. Since Heather, no woman had ever made me… need. Face it, Alistair Connor. She makes you want more than a quick fuck. That’s why you have been putting up with all her whims.

Sophia drove in silence for a few minutes, pondering his entreaty, stealing a quick glance at him; his hands were clenched in fists, resting on his thighs. He brooded, looking straight ahead, his eyes half-closed and fine lines creased the sides of his eyes.

“Alistair,” she glanced again at his rugged profile illuminated by the beautiful sunset.

“Aye?” He turned his head slowly to study her face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“So, you are promising me not to do it?”

“No, I’m not. This is something I very much like to do and I don’t like having to explain what I do or don’t do,” she answered. “In fact, I’d say it’s vital to have some freedom. And as you saw, I drive quite well.”

“I’ll worry,” his voice had lost its dry tone and anxiety had taken its place.

“Hmm,” she mused, “I understand. Nonetheless, risk is a part of life.”

“A part of it I don’t like,” he sighed. “I’ve had enough of losing control. And I’ve seen where taking risks like these lead,” he shifted on the seat to better look at her and his right hand squeezed her left thigh. “Death.”

“Don’t worry,” she smiled, endeared by his concern, “I don’t intend to die soon.”

His lips twisted, “That’s very reassuring.” This woman will drive me insane.

Sophia parked the car at the main entrance of the charming hotel and the valet lifted the McLaren door. Sofia flung her legs out of the car, pushing out of it, and the valet froze, openmouthed. A gleam of admiration flickered in his eyes and he nodded respectably, at her, “Mademoiselle, bon soir. Welcome to The Waterside Inn.”

Sophia thanked him and opened the trunk for him to retrieve her bag, but Alistair was already there and took both his and hers in one hand.

He stretched out his free hand to her, an olive-branch offering.

She immediately took his hand and smiled.


They walked to Ryepeck Cottage, one of a few that were dotted around the restaurant. The Waterside Inn was more personal than an average hotel.

It’s really cozy. Sophia breathed in the chilly night air.

“We don’t offer room service, but there’s a guest kitchen at the end of the corridor, where you’ll find a Nespresso coffee machine and a variety of teas. And of course, a continental breakfast is served in the morning in your room or in the private garden. Just call us whenever you are ready,” the staff member explained, proudly. He opened the door to the cottage and paused halfway down the corridor to open the door to their suite, holding it open for them.

Located on the first floor, La Rivière, the suite Alistair had chosen, had a comfortable sitting room next to the bedroom, with a king-sized bed, and the bathroom with a combined tub and shower, enormous fluffy white towels and many L’Occitane toiletries.

Sophia emerged from the bathroom and looked at the subtly luxurious rooms all done in red-and-gold silks and damasks. She kicked off her red leather loafers and threw herself on the bed, stretching.

“These seem very comfortable,” he pointed to her shoes.

“They are. I love them. Guido is the best leather shop in Argentina. I have a hard time finding shoes my size, so every time I go to Buenos Aires, I buy three or four pairs. They have incredible shoes for men, too.”

He made a face. “Probably not in my size. I wear thirteen and a half, UK size. I’ve always had problems with clothes and shoes.” He gave her a ghost of a smile.

“Rochester Big & Tall, then?” she chuckled. “Or bribe every salesman in England to hold the only available pair of shoes in your size and shirts and cardigans, with the longest sleeves and the longest jeans.”

He laughed, “Aye, how did you guess?”

“Although Gabriel is not as tall as you, he has-” she choked at her slip. Unnerved, she jumped from the bed and strolled barefoot out to the private garden, which ran to the edge of the River Thames. She sat on a bench, tucking her feet under her legs. She missed the enchanting view of the river as she blinked away her tears.

Fuck you, Gabriel. Fuck you. Alistair grabbed the coat she had neatly hanged in the closet and walked to her side, putting the coat over her shoulders.

“Tomorrow we’re going to have breakfast by the river,” he said, sitting by her side, pointing to a table strategically set under an old majestic tree to his right. “It’s lovely here.”

“Do you often think about your daughter?” she asked in a small voice.

“Every day,” he murmured in her hair, his arms encompassing her and bringing her to his lap. “Every single day.”

They remained quiet for some minutes, each one immersed in their own thoughts, the sound of the water lapping at the sand soothing their scarred souls.

“When did she die?” Alistair’s neck muffled Sophia’s voice.

“Last year, on January thirtieth,” he squeezed her in his arms. “When they lowered her little coffin to the earth, I almost flung myself into that fucking hole, too.” He shuddered and lifted her chin to make her look at him. “I made a promise to her that day that I would never, ever fall in love again. That I would never again let a woman command my heart.” He lowered his head to kiss her gently, his hand stroked her hair, and whispered on her lips, “May she forgive me.”


8.55 p.m.

Christ, she’s breathtaking. Alistair had no recollection of uttering a sound, though he was sure he had because of the smiling look on her face.

How has she become so dear to me in such a small space of time? The thought scared him.

He watched as she held out her hand to him, motioning for him to escort her to dinner, a beautiful smile on her face.

She had darkened her eyes with kohl, which made them even bigger and clearer, and she had put on dark red lipstick that made her lips fuller and more enticing. She pinned her Nereid clip over her heart. She wore ruby earrings with the matching ring.

Her ruby wool dress alone nearly brought him to his knees. It left her shoulders bare and fitted snuggly on her torso, showing off her breasts and small waist, softly flaring into a skirt that caressed her hips and thighs when she walked. Her black lace peep toe booties were the perfect delicate foil for her feet. She carried a fringed red, black, and silver shahtoosh shawl and a black purse.

He was tempted to press her to the wall and have her right then and there, smearing that dark red lipstick all over their mouths.

As they exited the cottage, in an unconsciously sensual movement, she opened her shawl and threw it around her neck and over her shoulders, one end longer than the other, and draped it over her back.