Authors: Cristiane Serruya
It was not until he saw stern Steven, Sophia’s bodyguard and driver, put an apple pie in the refrigerator that he cleared his throat out loud.
For Christ’s sake! What the fuck is happening here?
Everyone except Sophia froze and turned to look at him. Then their collective gaze swung to Sophia, waiting for her to acknowledge her husband.
Steven opened his mouth but Alistair raised a hand to stop him. He wanted to see how far she was lost in her frenzy and how serious the situation was. He texted Tavish, who already knew about the Leibowitzes, briefly explaining the situation and asking him to come over as soon as possible.
Sophia closed the oven and took off the oven mitts. She stirred the pot on the stove, completely unaware of the change of mood in the kitchen.
Turning to look at her book recipe, she saw Alistair.
He almost gasped when he saw her wide eyes and the white contour around her blanched lips.
This is not a panic attack.
“Hi!” In her unnerved state, she wasn’t able to notice his astonishment or concern. “Do you want something? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Steady, Alistair Connor.
He shook his head and calmly leaned a shoulder on the threshold, crossing his muscular arms over his chest, gaining time and trying not to scare her.
His gaze slowly wandered over her, the kitchen, and back to her, making a point of stopping on her hair and face.
What should I do? Warm her up? A whisky? A shower? Both?
She looked around the kitchen as her hand moved to her hair. “Oh. This happens when I cook.”
I know it doesn’t. You’re extremely anxious. On the edge.
He uncrossed his arms and cautiously made his way to the dining table, locking his eyes briefly with each one of the employees.
Then he fixed his gaze on Sophia. “This delicious smell came wafting into the office and my nose brought me here. Can I have one of these wee tartlets?”
In a second, she was at his side and her icy fingers slapped his warm ones. “No. They are not ready yet.”
I can see.
“I don’t mind.” He placed a bunch of berries into one and threw it in his mouth.
Sophia sputtered, shocked, “You… You caveman. This is a Cordon Bleu recipe that took me an hour to make. It requires precision to be arranged.”
I know, I know.
He licked his lips and his fingers like a petty child. “Not anymore. Anyway, it’s scrumptious.”
It is.
“Thank you.” She cocked her head, squinting her eyes at him.
What do you really want?
Easy and slow. You don’t want to scare her.
He put a hand on his flat stomach with a smile on his face. “Can I have another?”
“No.” She shook her head emphatically. “Lucy is going to finish filling them and I’ll—”
Steven took Sophia’s place by the stove and signaled to Alistair that he was taking over.
If Alistair weren’t so worried about her state, he would have laughed at the sight of that big man in a black suit and mirrored glasses cooking delicate chocolate fudge.
She followed his eyes. “No. No one else can stir—”
Now!
He picked up a sputtering Sophia in his arms.
“Put me down,” she demanded. “My chocolate—”
Fuck the chocolate.
Heading directly up to their bedroom, he started talking so much nonsense about his own way of cooking that Sophia’s mouth fell open and she forgot her chocolate sauce.
Alistair gently closed Sophia’s bathroom door with a knock of his foot and put her on the sink. Softly, he ordered, “Call Dr. Kent and Dr. Colton.”
“What?” Her eyes were big on her pale face.
He unbuttoned his shirt, hanging it near the towels, as he repeated evenly, “Call Dr. Kent. And Dr. Colton.”
“I heard you the first time. I want to know why I should call Mina or Dr. Colton?”
“Because you’re on the verge of something serious.” He took off her apron, her scarf and dress. Very gently he undid her bun. “I’m not a therapist and for sure I’m not a doctor.”
“I’m not panicking. Anyway, it’s very simple,” she explained slowly and calmly, seeming even more unbalanced to him. “Just tell me to breathe.”
Christ! Do you really believe that?
“You’re cold and I need to warm you,” he informed her as he picked up the phone from its cradle. “Before the shower, please leave a message for them. I’ve already texted Tavish Uilleam.”
Sophia looked down at the handset and up to him.
Tavish Uilleam? What for?
“Sophia, call them, please. For me. Just ask them to call back urgently.”
“Okay.”
He toed off his shoes, and still in his jeans, he opened the shower while Sophia left a very confused message for her doctors.
As if holding a newborn baby, he guided her into the shower and let the warm water soak her. He whispered in her ear, “Don’t shut me out. Please. We promised ourselves, remember?”
Shut you out? Promised what?
Sophia’s thoughts weren’t making sense anymore. She felt Alistair’s hands roam softly and slowly over her hair and her back. So smooth, as if she were too precious for him to hold. So soothing, it didn’t seem he was touching her.
She felt cared for. She felt protected and loved.
He was ready when she snapped, with a great sob, her legs giving in.
He reached for her and guided her down to the floor as the water rained down on them. Cradling her in his arms, he murmured, “Oh, my love. Cry.”
When she put her hands on her face and let the tears come, he breathed relieved, skimming his hand lightly over her back in wide circles.
He hadn’t foreseen this happening but he berated himself, thinking he should have stayed by her side.
She didn’t want to relive the same nightmare of letting her daughter be taken away so she had shut herself off.
He had felt her shudder when she handed a stiffen Gabriela into Rose’s arms and Alberto sneered down at her.
When she said she would bake the chocolate cake, he thought she was feeling better. He was so focused on his conference call that he had lost track of time. He couldn’t have imagined she would fall that far without anyone calling him. Dr. Volk had explained to him about an effective but painful therapy technique, which entailed safely facing the very thing that frightened the person with PTSD or any disorder. One of his clients had done it in a virtual reality program that allowed him to revisit the train crash, which killed his wife and son and experience the trauma all over again.
Sophia had not done it safely with monitoring. She had ceded control of her daughter to people she feared and hated. She had undergone the process under brutal pressure within a few hours.
Emotions welled in Alistair’s chest.
Anger at himself. Sympathy for her. Sadness at the whole situation. Protection. Love.
His powerful and perfect goddess was human after all, and as fragile as anyone else.
Everything masculine in him responded to her call, but he felt impotent.
She’s broken. She needs me and I cannot heal her.
Rationally, he knew better. She needed support from him and he could help with the healing as much as she needed therapy. And yet, although his mind told him it was foolishness, he couldn’t help feeling powerless.
“I can’t believe this,” she whispered mostly to herself, between shaking sobs. “I can’t believe I let her go. I can’t believe this is happening all over again.”
“It’s not happening again. She’s just outside in our garden. Playing by the pond.” He rocked her in his arms. His touch was full of kindness and gentleness. He wanted to soothe her. “It is all in the past, Sophia. She is fine now. It’s all in the past.”
At his fierce whisper, she glanced up at him, her face barely visible under the curtain of her wet hair.
“She is all right because you’re a generous mother.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers. He pushed her hair back to kiss her forehead. “A wonderful woman.”
She cupped his face and kissed him on the mouth as the warm water spilled over them.
It wasn’t a tender, soft kiss. It wasn’t a lusty kiss, either. It was not about sex. It was a kiss of fury, of needing to feel that she was alive and safe, of needing to connect with him.
Her mouth sought his like a cold person sought fire.
Light, comfort, warmth.
It was all she wanted.
He was all she wanted.
Alistair slightly tightened his grip around her, letting her take control of the kiss until she felt secure enough to let go.
Sophia slowly came back to her senses and broke the kiss but didn’t pull back. Her lips were softly resting against his, her uneven breathing mingling with his, her eyes closed, as were his. Her hands were gripping his biceps, nails digging in.
He didn’t move. It was about making her feel loved.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so ridiculous and emotional.” Her voice was quiet. Too quiet. She still sounded tense and agitated.
He kissed her lips tenderly. A mere touch of skin. “Don’t shut me out again. I said I was here for you and that means that I’m here for everything. Even to help you cook.”
She smiled briefly at the image. She couldn’t imagine Alistair’s cooking one of her Cordon Bleu recipes. “I didn’t know what to do. And cooking distracts me. Mina told me I should do it.”
But it wasn’t. You were not just cooking.
“Perhaps, if you had made one dish and one dessert.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“Sophia, we are going to be buried under food and desserts for a week. You cooked three desserts and a three-course dinner for eight people, give or take.”
She grimaced looking at his chest. “Well, I hope I haven’t mixed the recipes, because I’m going to ask your family to dine with us tomorrow then.”
“I’m sure you got everything right,” he said softly. He raised her chin with two fingers and made her look at him. “We could have tried to work it out together. We should have called your psychiatrist on the way home.”
Right, my psychiatrist.
She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “Where is the quiet growing woodland now?”
“Even a woodland needs fertile soil, rain, and time to grow and firm its roots. These stressful situations are quite difficult to handle alone,
mo chridhe
.”
“I’ll do my best to remember that.”
The worried gleam didn’t leave his gaze. “That’s not an answer, Wife.”
Lady Wife of Caveman-land.
Sophia smiled at him.
A genuine smile that made his heart unclench.
She loved hearing him call her that, as if the word meant a loving secret that only he understood. His concern felt so good, she wanted to stay there on his lap forever. But she knew she couldn’t. Gabriela would be free from the Leibowitzes’ gnarling hands soon and she wanted to welcome her back. With a deep sigh, she rose.
He got up with a single movement of his strong legs, his wet jeans squishing as he did.
She laughed, watching him taking his jeans off and throwing them to the side. “Why were you wearing jeans?”
He soaped her body with placid, soothing movements, trying to make light of his explanation. “Even though I’m a hunk, I couldn’t take you to a hospital in the nude, could I?”
“That bad?” She cringed.
He shrugged. “It seemed pretty bad to me.”
“Thank you,” she breathed.
He shook his head at her, shifting them so they stood exactly in the center of the shower. “You don’t have to thank me. Ever. You’re my wife and I want to share everything with you. Every little thing.” Alistair clutched her to his heart. “I will always take care of you.”
Emotionally exhausted, Sophia buried her face in his chest and let him finish washing her.
5.33 p.m.
“No need to hurry,” Alistair said to Sophia. “She is relaxed and Rose seems affectionate.”
Rose can go to hell.
Sophia threw open the garden doors and taking a deep breath stepped on the lawn.
Alistair followed, worry still marring his forehead.
Tavish was by his side and put a hand on his forearm, slowing their steps. “Stop frowning. As soon as Gabriela is sleeping I’ll give Sophia the drug Dr. Colton prescribed and she will have a good night’s sleep. It’s all she needs right now.”
“And then?”
“Treatment. Therapy and maybe some drugs. Just for a while.”
“She won’t take any.”
“I’ve had a look at the notes she gave me. The drugs they gave her in that Brazilian hospital were different and the dosages were too high, which made her feel drowsy and spaced out. The assessment indicates that there may be some elements of PTSD. But,” he paused and looked at his brother, “I don’t think she is completely wrong in her reasoning. If just one trauma, for most people, is enough to give them severe symptoms such as depression, mania and many other disorders, imagine what these many traumas did to her.”
Alistair grimaced. “It must be heart-wrenching.”
“It is.” He knew from experience what he was talking about. “There is no right or wrong way to feel or respond to an event. The healthiest way is to deal with it immediately so after weeks or even months, they gradually lift and get better.”
“But I saw her getting a little better each day, not worse.”
“Sometimes Alistair Connor,” his sigh was soul-deep, “symptoms stay hidden and appear seemingly out of the blue when a great pressure is exerted on the traumatized. At other times, they are triggered by something that reminds you of the original traumatic event, like noise, an image, certain words, or a smell. Today, all of them came crashing down on her in less than a few hours.”
“The problem with Sophia is that she is not tolerant with her own reactions and feelings.” Alistair rubbed his fingers on his chin, thoughtfully, remembering their conversation about her need for perfection.
Yeah, I should have seen it coming.
As if Tavish could hear Alistair chastise himself, he said, “As if you were tolerant with yourself. You couldn’t have seen it coming. Not as it did. Support from close relatives will be vital for her to recover from the traumatic stress. So get her to lean on you more, make her call her siblings or her closest friends. In fact, ask her if you could go with her to one of her therapy sessions so you can have more information and share the experience with her and her therapist. From now on, you can be more attentive.”