Trust (45 page)

He gazed around. “Magnificent,” he breathed, in awe. He paused in front of a Picasso. “Truly. I wasn’t expecting this. Your apartment was much simpler. You did this all by yourself?”

“No, everyone helped.” She rearranged the pillows, pursing her lips and eyeing them before being content with her arrangement. “I chose the fabrics in Venice. Victoria and I picked some of the furniture in Paris. Valentina helped me choose the colors and had some brilliant ideas for the lighting and the kitchen. Felipe and Carolina did the architectural part. My siblings and I, we’re a team. I also had an English architect help organize the work and buy the basic materials. I brought some of the paintings I had in my apartment in Rio and bought some others. This room was worse than the hall. Felipe made an album for me,” she smiled, “Atwood House, before and after Sophia.”

They left the reception room and she closed the door, crossing the hall to the other set of double doors. “Here’s the dining room.”

“You dine here?” he asked, dumbstruck.

She laughed. “No, of course not. I use the kitchen. It’s cozier.”

The beautiful dining room, with its fifteen-foot ceiling, enclosed a table for sixteen. Three fantastic English silver salves rested on the table. Two exceptional Turner paintings topped Portuguese mahogany chests, which flanked each end of the room. A floor-to-ceiling glass panel let the light and faced the side garden, opposite the hall doors.

“You have eclectic taste for paintings,” he pointed.

“I have eclectic taste. Period,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen, closing all the doors behind her. “We decided to put this door here to give Gabriela some privacy when I entertain.” She touched another button on her iPhone, “What kind of music do you feel like?”

“Anything. I like anything you have on your mobile.”

“Hmm,” she pressed another button and soft romantic music started to play through the house.

Sophia had fully equipped the kitchen with every modern feature, all in stainless steel that contrasted with the black-and-white floor. “Here is where we eat.” She pointed to a spacious table for six, already set for two. “I tore the whole kitchen down to fully modernize it. Juliette was not interested in this part of the house.”

“It really is cozier than the dining room.” He looked at the table and teased, “I think you have an ego problem.”

She made a face at him. “Want something to drink before dinner or do you want to go straight to wine?” She opened one of the refrigerators and he saw that it was perfectly organized. She grabbed a small bottle of Evian for herself and wiggled her brows at him.

“I’ll have some water too. Still, please.”

She threw him a bottle of water and picked up a glass from the cupboard for him, drinking directly from her bottle.

He eyed her askance and then smiled, “Never thought I’d see you drinking from a bottle.” He did the same, handing her back the glass.

“There’s always a first time for everything.”

She toed off her peep toe shoes and stood barefoot on the Carrara and Emperor Dark marble floor, smiling. “I installed floor heating in the whole house. I love to walk barefoot.” She bent down and picked up her shoes.

“Hmm, you have elegant feet.”

“Elegant?” she sneered, “Are you serious?” She looked at her feet, wiggling her toes. “I’ll never tell you my shoe size,” she chuckled, walking out of the kitchen. Again, she grabbed his hand. “And now, the TV room and my office. If I want to work and Gabriela has friends, I can close the sliding doors. If it’s only the two of us, I keep the doors opened.”

The two generous-sized rooms were perfect for an office and TV room, separated by the sliding doors and further enhanced by wool carpeting. In the TV room, there were comfortable sofas begging for sitters and big square cushions on the floor. In the other room, twin Louis XVI tables faced each other, with comfortable armchairs behind them. On one sat a twenty-seven-inch iMac. The walls displayed contemporary art with a stunning photo-based Gerhard Richter that commanded the eye.

“Don’t you like English furniture?” he asked, amused.

“Oh, I do. But it’s very difficult to find originals. The only one I was able to buy was the Chippendale in the hall and, anyway” she shrugged, “I’ve always loved French furniture. Since my first visit to France, I fell in love with the castles.”

“You see, ego problem.” He chuckled.

“Oh, it’s not that. I was five years old when I visited Europe for the first time. The castles in France made a big impression on me. They’re completely restored and refurbished. It seems like people still live there. I’ve always had an insane desire to lie down on one of those beds, sit in one of those armchairs, and have tea in one of those rooms. I clearly remember the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. It made me want to be a princess and waltz through it.” She pirouetted and waved her hand elegantly in the air as if dancing. “Long, beautiful dresses, glittering jewels and handsome men.”

He smiled at her pirouette and romantic air, “Those aren’t difficult to attain.”

“No, they’re not. But money can’t buy everything.” She sighed. “The romantic dream? It just vanished away, Alistair. I think I chose right to live in England. Prince Charles and Camilla?” she wiggled her brows at him.

He chuckled.

“But seriously, there is a lot to love about this country, of course, the English silver pieces and Chippendale’s furniture. Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.”

“Are you always this combative?”

“I’m a lawyer. Do you know any lawyers who won’t fight tooth and nail for their point of view?”

“There is also a small storage room and a laundry room on this floor. At the back of the house, is the famous garden you’ve already seen. I can show it to you another day.”
Or tomorrow morning, if I’m lucky
.

They turned back to climb the stairs, its runner carpet held with bronze stair rods.

“The first floor is for family only. A smaller TV room with a mini fridge full of snacks because I don’t like going downstairs at night if I’m hungry.” She pointed to a door in the far corner of the room. “A small toilet. No work or homework is allowed up here. No new friends either.” She bent down to pick up a book and carried it with her.

Hmm. What a butt!
Alistair felt his hands itching for her and his blood stirred again.

“So, I’m not allowed here?” he said, his voice hoarse.

“Who says you’re a friend?” She smiled over her shoulder turning right, opening a door. “Gabriela’s room. She chose everything with Felipe and Valentina.” She put away the book on the white bookshelf along a wall.

The room completed in various shades of pink, orange, and white. Over the bed and on the ceiling, a multicolored garden with fairies was painted directly on the wall. A door opened into a dressing room and a bathroom with Carrara marble that adorned the floors and walls, contrasting elegantly with Italian rose marble.

“Gabriel?” He asked, picking up one of the frames on Gabriela’s bookshelf. The picture showed a blond, blue-eyed man. He had his arm on Sophia’s shoulder and cradled a tiny Gabriela in his other arm. The couple grinned.

“He was much older than you,” he said, looking at the photo.
Got a thing for older man, Sophia? Gabriel, Ethan, me
.

“Well, it depends on your point of view.” She grinned at him, “Do you think you are much older than me? If he were alive, he’d be four years your senior.”

Nice move, Counselor
. “How did you meet a man fourteen years older than you when you were so young?”

“At the beginning of my second year at Law School. He was already a well-known economist and businessman. He was invited there to give a lecture.” She smiled widely, remembering. “I was sitting on a bench - studying for a test, head bent over a book - when I saw a pair of black shoes stop in front of me. When I looked up, I was staring into the most beautiful blue eyes I had seen in my whole life. He sat at my side and started a weird conversation. It was… hilarious. That important man, all dressed up in an expensive suit was ignoring everyone who came to talk to him, paying attention only to me. Later, he confessed it was love at first sight. Not for me, though.” She shook her head. “Would you believe he discovered my timetable and showed up at the campus every evening? He chased me for three months before I gave in to his charms and accepted his invitation to dinner.” She laughed again, “Six months after that we were married. I was seventeen.”

“A stalker,” he affirmed.

“I beg your pardon?”

He looked from the photo to her, “He was a stalker.”

“Well, maybe. Or you could say he was persistent. Like you,” she finished softly.

So naïve, Sophia…
He thinned his lips and put the frame back on the shelf. “Gabriela looks exactly like him, but for the mouth and the chin.”

She nodded and murmured, “Yes, she does, especially the eyes and the satin blonde hair.”

He envied and hated Gabriel at that moment. He felt it unbearable thinking of another man having her unbound love. Even worse was the idea of someone else being capable of bringing her as much joy as he saw in the photograph. He wanted to be the one-the only one - to touch her body and her heart in that manner.

He pulled her to his body, bent his head, and kissed her. Her shoes fell silently on the carpeted floor as her arms wound around his waist. His hands wandered on her back, one cupping her nape and the other her butt, pressing her more firmly to his hips. His tongue invaded her mouth, dueling with hers. He bit her lush bottom lip and heard a carnal moan leave his own mouth.

He broke the kiss, panting, to look at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips redder and swollen by his kiss, parted, waiting for more. He didn’t resist the temptation and slanted his head to plunder her mouth. One of his hands wandered to her breast palming and gently kneading it, a thumb teasing the nipple.
Christ, she’s a temptress
. When she flexed her hips, he pulled her onto his straining erection, lost in the sensations.

This time, she broke the kiss, her breathing uneven. She tightened her arms around him and lowered her head to his chest. “Gabriela’s room,” she said hoarsely.

The hand on her breast went back to her nape, his thumb stroking her throat, feeling a vein pulsating there. They stood for a moment catching their breaths.

“Show me the rest of this floor.”

She bent, picked up her shoes, which tempted Alistair to swat her butt, however he held back his desire.

“There are two guest bedrooms, similar to Gabriela’s in size. Like this,” she opened a door to a generously sized room. A king-sized bed occupied the center and, in one corner, a desk with a chair. “And this one,” she said pointing to a closed door, “is still empty, but is the same size as Gabriela’s.”

“You haven’t finished it?”

She shook her head. “I’m waiting for someone to arrive,” she answered smiling.

“Who?”

“My next child,” her grin became wider.

Fuck. She wants another baby
. “And you think your next husband would come to live here with you?” he asked seriously.

“Why not?”

“It’s rather strange to live at the expense of one’s wife, don’t you think?”

“Not at all. Don’t tell me you have such old-fashioned ideas.” She stopped in the middle of the TV room, thinking for a moment. “Look at it from my point of view. I’m probably wealthier than any husband I chose. Why not share? Why not give? I don’t have to pay for everything, but I can have
and share
the things I can afford. It’s not meant to humiliate or make him less proud of himself. Or to make me have the upper hand. What’s money for if I can’t enjoy it with the person I love?” She stared at his green eyes, “My bank account won’t smile at me.”

“Hmm. When you put it that way.”
But you do want someone you can order around, don’t you, Sophia? You just don’t want to confess that to yourself
.

“Upstairs,” she pointed, “with a separate entrance, there are complete apartments for Maria, Gabriela’s nanny; Lucy, the housekeeper; Aisha, the cook; Steven, my driver; Zareb and Devon, our bodyguards.”

“Christ.” He laughed, “You have the whole world inside your house.”

She smiled, “Yeah, and all religions too. Now, my room.” She crossed the TV room and entered the master suite.

A huge four-poster canopied bed dominated the main wall and the center of the room standing on a giant Persian rug that added to the sense of grandeur. On each side of the bed were French bedside tables. Renoir, Manet, and Degas graced the walls. Three floor-to-ceiling glass doors opened onto a balcony; the light green-and-blue curtains hid automatic shutters.

“Come here,” she motioned with her hand, toward the doors. On the balcony, there were a table for four, two lounge chairs, and a spacious Jacuzzi. She looked at him with a wicked smile, “It’s heated, so I can bathe outdoors in the winter. It’s delicious.”

“Naked?”

She looked at him, startled.

“Naked?” he repeated in his quiet voice, deep and hoarse.

She smiled naughtily, “Curious, aren’t we, Alistair Connor?”

She turned back to the room and pointed to a door. “There’s an empty dressing room and bathroom on this side. They’re exactly like mine.” She went through another door. “Here’s my bathroom. Felipe did wonders in here.”

Blue Acqua Marine marble echoed on the floors and walls defining the bathing area, contrasting with the Pink Gray Cloud marble vanity tops. A huge shower added a further touch of indulgence to the waterfall tap in the oversized, inset bath.

“I don’t believe you have a high-definition plasma TV in your bathroom.” He looked as if he wanted to laugh, “That’s weird.”

Sophia turned her hands up. “It wasn’t my idea, it was Felipe and Vic’s. At first, I thought it ridiculous, but it helps a lot when I have a busy day. I can catch up on the news while showering.”

At this he chuckled, “You don’t relax, even in the shower?”

“Try keeping up with my timetable at Leibowitz, Cambridge, with Gabriela, and still stay informed. And I don’t have a TV in my room. When I go to bed, I sleep with another one of my gadgets.”