Authors: Cristiane Serruya
“Yeah, right,” she grumped. “I’m sure they studied you to make Viagra.”
United Arab Emirates, Dubai. In a dimly lit room.
Saturday, December 25
th
, 2010.
2.45 a.m.
He opened his computer, fuming. He had already sent the airplane ticket for Washington Silva, but somehow he had gotten the first name all wrong. He considered for a moment asking for reimbursement but dismissed it after a few seconds.
He ordered another first class airplane ticket for the same date and time.
The destination was London and the traveler’s name was spelled Uóchington Silva.
He had never seen a stranger name. It made no sense to him to write such an important and well-known name as Washington all wrong.
He sent the order and booked a suite at a five star hotel in the name of the man, from January to July.
He knew it would require more than one or two months to have everything in place. One could never be too cautious.
Chapter 19
The Harlequin Suite.
3.52 a.m.
“You need me,” she whispered in his ear, shedding her clothes but for the bright starry high-hell stilettos.
Not anymore.
He tried to tell her, but the words didn’t come out. Every nerve in his body had been uncapped and sensitive; his stomach was on fire with venom; but his lust had been awakened.
I don’t want you anymore.
Her chocolate eyes watched his. They seemed to be demanding a confession as she crawled down his body and took his penis in her mouth.
He willed his body not to respond to the stimulus to no avail.
He was a grown man and had learned to like it. He got erect and aroused.
And he hated himself for it.
He climaxed in her mouth and bile rose in his throat as he saw the chocolate-brown change to soft-blue.
“You see? You like a good fucking blow job,” she said, and slurped loudly as if his penis was a lollipop. “I’m better than she will ever be.”
She sat on his stomach, rubbing herself on him, and crushed his lips with hers, her tongue probing his mouth to find entrance.
He needed air but he would never give her the pleasure of getting inside his heart. It had been given. And he didn’t want it back.
“Why do you resist me? I love you.” The soft-blue eyes begged for something he would not give her. “I’ve given you my heart. You have to give yours back to me.”
He would resist her. But he was unable to fulfill his primal urge to escape. He was being held by three pairs of hands, all over him. Sweet, delicate hands.
Keeping his lips sealed, he closed his eyes tightly, willing his mind blank and his heart void.
“You’s no better than I.”
The flawed English and strong Greek accent made his eyes pop open and he saw a different pair of eyes, bright azure eyes, which he hated with all his being.
It was then that she slapped him.
Ethan sat up in bed, gulping air into his closed throat. He was nauseated and a bitter taste filled his mouth. He rose and walked to the bathroom, washing his face and brushing his teeth. Still the acrid taste lingered. He went to the living room, picked up a bottle of water and he threw himself in the armchair, putting his legs on its footstool.
Let them all be damned. Eve, Barbara and Calista.
He was still trembling from the nightmare. He drank from the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
It’s not water I need.
He picked up a bottle of Blue Label whisky and sat back, drinking directly from it. The liquid burned down his throat and he drank more.
And more.
Before the sun stretched its pale rays on the horizon, Ethan had passed out in the living room, completely drunk.
Craigdale Caisteal.
5.33 a.m.
Sophia came back from the bathroom and curled in on herself, drawing her knees against her chest. She tried to relax and sleep a bit, but it was useless. Cramps she had forgotten about were coming in hot waves.
I hate this.
She shook Alistair’s shoulder gently. “Alistair Connor. Wake up.”
“Hmm?” he groggily murmured. “What?”
“I need some pain killers. Please,” she moaned.
He instantly sat up, turning on the dim light. “Was it too soon? Did I hurt you? What are you feeling?”
“Calm down, I just have a headache,” she lied.
It’s not a headache, but you’ll tell me later.
As he walked to the dressing room to get some medicine and water, he wondered again how Sophia
and Tavish were alike with those little lies of theirs, trying not to bother others with their problems.
“Here. This will make you feel better.”
When he lay down again, he drew her close, wrapping one arm around her and keeping her snug to the warmth of his body. He nuzzled her until her body relaxed in his arms.
“You make me feel better,” she whispered. Sophia loved being close to him and found comfort in his strong and careful ways.
Almost as if he knew what she was feeling, Alistair started to rub her stomach.
As she closed her eyes to sleep, Sophia thought of how wonderful it would be to give him a baby.
9.08 a.m.
A muffled knock on the door cut into Alistair’s thoughts. He had been awake for half an hour, enjoying the feel of having Sophia in his arms.
He woke her up with a tender kiss.
Sophia stretched lazily, smiling up at him. “Good morning, Handsome.”
“Feeling better?”
She nodded and returned the kiss. “Nurse MacCraig, you have magical hands. You’re my personal magician.”
“Thanks,” he smiled smugly. “Gabriela is outside, Beauty.”
“Hey, don’t you get too convinced.” She stretched again, yawning. “Open the door for her while I step into the bathroom. She can open her special gift from us in here, okay?”
“Just a minute,” he shouted, jumping out of bed. He shoved his legs into his jeans and pulled a T-shirt hurriedly over his head, opening the door to welcome an eager Gabriela.
Wearing a thick plush white jacket with a hoodie with delicate green leaves embroidered over a red turtleneck sweater and trousers, Gabriela was the epitome of Christmas spirit.
“Good morning, Daddy,” she entered the room, toed off her flats and stepped delicately on his bare foot. Hugging his strong leg, she beamed at him, “Come downstairs so we can open our gifts.”
“In a few minutes.” Alistair closed the door and walked with her propped on his foot. Her giggles filled the big room and Alistair’s heart. “Santa left a special gift for you here with a note.”
Sophia came out of the dressing room with a big green box from Harrods with a red and green bow tied around it. She paused to enjoy the homely scene; Alistair was running his hands through his long midnight-black hair, trying to tame it, while Gabriela, perched on his foot, was talking excitedly about how many gifts Santa had left under the Christmas tree.
“Good morning, Angel.”
Gabriela squealed, running toward her and hopping from one foot to another, excited. Impatiently she asked, “Can I see my special gift? Did you see Santa?”
“Now, where is my good-morning kiss?” Sophia asked, dropping to her haunches to receive many little kisses on her face and a very tight hug from her daughter.
“Now, can I open it?”
The three of them sat on the rug. Handing her a small red envelope, Sophia said, “First, read the card.”
“Dear Gabriela, This is a spe-cial gift. Part of a se-cret. San-ta Claus.” Gabriela tilted her head to the side. “I don’t understand, Mama.”
“You will.” Alistair helped her untie the bow.
Her curiosity grew and showed on her face as she lifted the lid off the box, undid a smaller red bow and peeled back the layers of green tissue paper. She peered inside and her light blonde eyebrows furrowed.
There was another hamper inside, this time made of natural wicker.
Alistair removed the hamper from the box, putting it on the floor in front of her. He lowered the small handle and undid the loops that closed the box. “Now, open it.”
Gabriela looked expectantly from Alistair to Sophia, who encouraged her with a smile. Carefully, the little girl opened the lid and peered inside. Her heart-shaped mouth dropped open in awe.
Inside the box there was a doll, with a remarkable resemblance to a sleeping one month old baby girl, with just a shadow of real black hair, wearing a long white dress, with all the things a baby could need.
As her daughter didn’t move, Sophia stifled a smile and picked up the doll as if it were a real baby in the crook of her arm, cuddling it against her breast.
When the doll opened its green eyes, Gabriela exclaimed, “But you didn’t get fat!”
Alistair laughed. “Fairy, this is a doll for you to take care of while your mother doesn’t get fat.”
“I will not get fat.” She slapped his bicep. “Stop saying that.”
Gabriela turned her head to Alistair, still with a flabbergasted look in her eyes. “She will, won’t she?”
With an impossibly happy grin, he took the doll from Sophia’s arm and put it on Gabriela’s and brought the little girl onto his lap. “Aye, Gabriela, she will. Now, let me show you how you carry your baby doll properly.”
Sophia was enthralled, watching a sunray touch the entwined hairs of her husband and daughter. They were a striking contrast between light and dark. Alistair’s was still messy from sleep, thick ink-black locks falling over his forehead and eyes; Gabriela’s white-blonde hair was combed neatly with a tiny white bow securing it on one side.
Sophia felt then she was on her way to paradise.
11.37 a.m.
The snow that had been falling steadily since the night before had left the Elm Courtyard painted in white.
After changing into their skiing clothes, Gabriela and Ariadne announced that they wanted to make snow angels and ran outside with Alistair and Sophia. After a few minutes of feeling envious, Michael huffed and informed them he was joining the girls because they didn’t know how to make perfect snow angels and he would teach them.
Sophia and Alistair laughed at the poor excuse. He sat on the bench and snuggled her on his body as they watched the children play.
Lachlann and Tavish came out of the Game Room, drawn by the happy sounds and squeals and joined the adults.
“Okay, children, enough playing in the snow for today,” Sophia announced after a while. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“Aaah, Mama, you’re such a party pooper.” Gabriela pulled her hand. She looked at Alistair, who was helping Michael get up. He only shook his head, straightening up.
“Just a little bit more. Pleeease,” asked Ariadne.
Behind his brother’s back, Tavish looked at the children and put his index finger against his mouth. He made a snowball, and threw it, hitting Alistair right in the middle of his shoulders.
Sophia and the children laughed out loud.
Alistair pivoted on his heels to glare at those who were behind him.
Purposely, Tavish was still brushing his gloves, with a naughty smile on his lips.
“Oh, really?” He squinted and lowered himself picking up a handful of snow, with a naughty grin.
This reminds me of such happy times.
“Prepare yourself.”
Another snowball whizzed past Alistair’s arm and hit Tavish in the middle of the chest. They turned in the direction it had come from. Sophia was looking heavenward, whistling.
In a few moments, the calm, peaceful courtyard was a snowball battlefield.
“See what you started?” Alistair mumbled to Gabriela, who was hidden with him behind one of the elms.
Gabriela giggled, and picking up the ball he offered her, threw it in Lachlann’s direction, the one closest to her.
“Jesus! Are you all children?” Alice shouted. “Father, you should know better.”
The children, Lachlann, Tavish, Alistair and Sophia froze.
“You’re all soaking and—” A snowball hit her from behind.
Leonard was leaning on the wall near a three-ball snowman. When Alice glared at him, he put up his wet gloved hands. He calmly informed her, “Not me. It was him.”
“No, it wasn’t, it was them,” Tavish pointed toward Ariadne and Sophia.
Alice rolled her eyes at the two of them and shrugged. The wetness was worth the happiness she could see once more in the faces of her family. Grinning, she towed the children inside, saying that she was going to soak them in a nice, hot bath before lunch.
Laughing, Lachlann and Leonard followed her.
Tavish slung an arm over Sophia’s shoulders, not caring about Alistair’s grunt as the three of them also headed back inside. “So, when are those beautiful twin sisters of yours coming here again?”
Alistair stopped and turned, raising a questioning eyebrow at Tavish. “Don’t you think they are too young for you?”
“Hmm, maybe.” His lips opened in a mischievous grin and he asked, “Don’t you think Sophia is too young for you?”
Sophia’s laughter tinkled on the courtyard as she elbowed Tavish and put her arms around Alistair’s neck. “Touché!”
He pulled her up flush to his body. “I’m going to give you touché later.”
Tuesday, December 28
th
, 2010.
10.54 p.m.
Again?
He braced himself on his elbow. “Sophia, look at me.”
But she didn’t move, curled up on his side.
What the fuck is happening?
“Will you tell me why you’ve been so distant since Saturday?”
Not even sleeping naked?
Dammit, Alistair Connor.
Sophia sighed, keeping her eyes closed. “I have a migraine, I can barely keep my eyes open.”
“Ah, aye. Of course. A migraine that starts only when you come to bed.” Gripping her chin in his hand, he turned her face toward his. “Stop lying, Sophia. You’re getting me tied in knots here. I know that there will be days when you’re tired or you don’t feel like it. But you spent the last days taking painkillers and now you are feigning sleep. I don’t know if I should call a doctor or if I’ve done something wrong.”