Alistair told him what happened at the shopping center, while they walked downstairs to Sophia’s bedroom.

Felipe knocked on the white wooden door and opened it. Sophia was curled up on a queen size bed, surrounded by a mountain of light yellow, orange and pink silk cushions, holding one to her chest, crying.

“Go away,” she sobbed, not even turning to see who was at the door. “Leave me alone.”

“Hey, little Sis,” Felipe murmured and approached the bed. “There is no need for this.”

“There is no need for this,” she parroted.

The men stopped in the middle of the beautiful and feminine room when she spun to look at them.

“No. There never is, is there?” She sat crossed legged on the flower printed silk cover and wiped her tears away, heaving. “I’m so tired of this crap, Felipe. Everyday someone wants to redirect my life without asking me how I feel about it. Do you think it’s easy to live in a different country all alone with a small daughter? Do you?” she asked both men. “I had everything a woman could want. I was loved, pampered, had a blooming career and a beautiful, perfect family. In less than three months, I lost everything. Even my memories. My in-laws killed my husband, drugged me, declared me insane, stole my daughter and who knows what else. I lost everything that was dear to me. I had to reinvent myself and start anew, had to fight to protect Gabriela. She was barely two years old, for God’s sake. A baby.” The tears began to fall again as she whispered, “A fatherless baby. Do you think my wealth makes up for anything? It doesn’t!” She slashed her hand in the air. Her brown troubled eyes searched Alistair’s gaze. “You should have talked to me first. Asked my opinion. Don’t try to use Gabriela against me. I know what’s best for me, for both of us.”

“I didn’t-” Alistair started to say.

She interrupted brusquely. “I thought we were building a new life. Together,” she stressed the word. “I need some space to readapt. Don’t push me off a cliff. I need roots again. I have Gabriela to think of. She is my daughter, my responsibility which I cannot overlook. How dare you talk with her first?”

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.”

The soft yellow light from the two wall lamps illuminated his rugged face, his sculpture chest and his lean, muscled abdomen. In spite of his nonchalant poise, she could feel his strained emotions. You asked, my dear.

“How-”

She raised her finger. “Let me finish, please,” or I won’t get this out. “So, this is - more or less - how a cycle of violence works: Normally, there is a period of build-up. Tension between partners increases, the abuser starts to get angry and communication is difficult. The victims-to-be find themselves walking on eggshells. Then comes the incident, or explosion as I like to call it, when the violence takes place. It can be psychological, verbal, physical or sexual. Next follows the making-up or, as I prefer, the false-remorse phase, when the offender promises to never be violent again; that it wasn’t like that; that the victim provoked it, was to blame too, and so on. The victim feels relief, thinking that the violence has ended. Next is the honeymoon phase. The victim becomes meek and thinks about her actions and reactions around the partner. The abuser will shower the victim with gifts and tender demonstrations. The partners are in denial as to how bad the abuse and violence was. It’s then that the possibility that violence could occur again is totally ignored, because they don’t want their love to be tainted by it. They don’t want to lose respect and admiration for their partner.” Her lips curled in a grimace. “Unfortunately this never lasts, and the cycle begins again, escalating and becoming more frequent over time. Until a final, tragic break up or the ultimate death of the victim.”

What about your feelings? “You really seem to know a great deal about this. But-”

“Aren’t we impatient today?” She interrupted him with a ghost of a smile. “You wouldn’t last a day in my class. I just stopped to breathe and organize my thoughts.”

He grinned, “Are you a very strict teacher, Beauty?”

“I keep a paddle on my desk for misfits.” She flashed him a mischievously smile.

He laughed, “A dominatrix in Cambridge!”

God! Why does everyone keep calling me that? She shook her head at him with an amused expression on her face. “Well, back to the subject... Abusers have even lower self-esteem than the victim and like to control the partner.” Like Ethan, for example. The thought robbed her of her next lines. “Hmm... Right. The abuser will use, in a twisted way, the partner’s feelings to dominate and control. The verbal or physical abuse is used with one purpose and one purpose only: to gain and maintain a complete control over the victim. The abuser’s supposed love.” You’re stalling Sophia. Face it. “Err... What you did...” She tilted her head to the side examining his poker face. “Ready for it?”