Vanguard (32 page)

The coalition responded as planned. A letter from the Board of Directors indicating their full knowledge and support for Sophie and the coalition’s efforts to locate and repatriate Michael Nariovsky-Trent during the course of their work in the Parnaas camp. A statement from the coalition executive team regarding Sophie’s integrity in this same matter. A financial account of the mission with documentation about the anonymous donation. But the gossip, rumors, and tawdry insinuations continued.

The pressure on Sophie was horrendous. A few of her colleagues suggested she make her temporary hiatus from RCI permanent. Her professional integrity had never come under attack before, and she began to second-guess her decisions.

The final straw came when Page Six ran a series of photographs on their website, a slideshow of Michael and every beautiful woman with whom he’d ever been photographed. Most had been taken at Orlisian community functions, posed photos with family friends or women he’d dated casually over the years. But he felt guilty about the one of him with Orlisian model Anna Lauton, taken a few years before at a cultural gala. They’d both had too much to drink when the photo was taken, and it showed. It didn’t help his conscience that he and Anna had ended that night with a drunken romp in bed.

Beside this, they ran a second slideshow of images of Sophie working in the field. No glamour shots here – they were all pictures of her on the job in the developing world, many of them taken while she stood knee deep in filth, sweat rolling down her face, her hair stringy with dirt. They’d worked hard to find the most unflattering shots possible. The headline above the two sets of pictures:
Hot and Not.

Michael was at the UNICEF offices with Joanna. Sophie had already gone back to his parents’ place for the evening. He looked at Joanna, bile rising in his throat.

“I cannot live with this. Is there no way to stop this?”

She sat back in her chair and chewed on the end of her pen. “I know Marlene feels the two of you shouldn’t interview together, but I’m wondering if we need to adjust that strategy. We’ve had dozens of requests for the two of you together on all the best shows. Perhaps it’s time to think about it.”

Michael said nothing, and Joanna cast a sharp look at him. “I suggested this to Sophie a week ago, and she flatly refused, saying that privacy is paramount for your relationship.”

“Sophie is correct. Nonetheless, I am willing to consider it at this point.” He ran his hands through his short hair in agitation. “This is killing her. I try to keep her from the worst of the gossip, but this trash makes it so difficult.” He gestured helplessly at the computer. “We need someone to tell the real story of how Sophie saved me and everyone else in that camp as well.”

Joanne looked back at him steadily. “I have an idea.”

~~ - ~~

He came home from the office, sprinting from the car to the front door to avoid any photographers who might have been lingering around his parents’ house. Maxwell and Signe sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and looking beleaguered.

“Where is Sophie?” Michael looked at them, concerned. “What is it? Tell me.”

“She is upstairs, my son.” His mother’s eyes were dark with worry. “She would not take food or drink. She would not speak to us. She went to your room and closed the door against me. She had been crying, I am certain of it.” Signe took a prepared tray from the counter and handed it to him. “Maybe she will eat for you. Please, Mikael. I am worried.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Moved, he kissed Signe and went upstairs.

He knocked, but there was no answer. He cautiously pushed the door open and entered the darkened room, placing the tray on the bedside table. Sophie lay on the bed, her back to him. The Page Six slideshow glowed on her laptop screen.

She didn’t move. He walked around to the other side of the bed. She was awake, her eyes swollen and red with tears. He closed the computer with a snap.

“
Mana mila
.” He took her hand in his and kissed her cold fingertips. “You know that I love you. You know that those women mean nothing to me, that I never so much as laid a finger on most of them. You know that you own me, every last bit of me, forever. Why do you allow this to hurt you?”

“Because it’s true,” she said hollowly. “You’ve dated models. You’re a handsome doctor from a prominent, wealthy family. I’m a plain girl from a plain family, working under some of the most unglamorous conditions in the world. I’m not ashamed of what I do, but I’ll never be one of those beautiful women in the photographs.” Tears leaked down her cheeks, and his heart felt like it might break.

He gathered her in his arms. “You are so much more beautiful to me than anyone else. I do not want one of those women. I only want you.” He kissed the tears from her cheeks, then pressed her against him. “I will never want anyone except you. You, and only you.” She began to sob into his shoulder, and he rocked her in his arms. “I am here now. I will not leave. We are together now,” he whispered, remembering the faraway echo of her voice during his delirium. She cried for a long time, then lay still in the dark with him.

“Mother made you a tray.” He switched on a light and propped her against the pillows. “Please eat, or else she may come up here and feed you herself, whether you wish to eat or not.”

She spooned up his mother’s soup as he watched anxiously. She hadn’t gained back the weight she’d lost during her bout of dysentery. The circles under her eyes still hadn’t gone away.

“Joanna made a suggestion this evening about how we might deal with this unsavory coverage.”

“Oh?” Sophie’s voice was dull. “What does she have in mind? We should move to a desert island?”

He smiled and waggled his eyebrows. “That appeals to me. I would have you naked the entire day,” he said. “And make love to you in the ocean and on the beach.”

“Seriously, now.”

“She would like us to consider doing an exclusive together on a major primetime news program.”

Sophie immediately shook her head. “No. Absolutely not. Marlene said...”

“I know what Marlene said, but the situation has changed. We must change with it. Joanna thinks
Current Event
would be best. She believes we would be treated with greater respect and be given an opportunity to tell our story the way it should be told.”

“An exclusive? On
Current Event
?” She thought that over for a moment. “That would mean we would talk about everything, including us. They would ask a lot of questions. Your privacy…”

“
Our
privacy,” he corrected her, “is already in tatters. This cannot go on,
mana mila
. I cannot stand to see you hurt this way.” Michael took her hand. “Will you consider it?”

“You would do this for me?” Her eyes filled with tears again.

“I would do this for us.”

Chapter 20

April 16, 2014

“Hold still, you’ve got an eyelash on your cheek.” Sophie reached for his face.

Michael glowered at her, his hand twitching as if he wanted to slap her hand away. “Do not touch me. Leave me alone.”

She scowled back but didn’t attempt to touch him again. He swiped furiously at his cheek, trying to get rid of the offending eyelash. Michael caught a glimpse of the hair and makeup assistants rolling their eyes at one another, and he glared at them. They both found things to do in other rooms.

“For two people who are madly in love with one another, you look like you’re going to tear each other’s throats out.” Joanna walked into the room, her high heels clicking on the tiled floor. Michael had spent so much time with Joanna that he was ready to kill her, and Sophie suspected the feeling was very mutual.

All Sophie wanted was to be left alone with Michael. Instead they were walking into a television studio to do an interview. She reached down to brush his sweaty, clenched fingers.

“It’s all right,” she said in Orlisian. “It’s only this once. Then we can go back to your parents’ house and make love on your father’s desk.” His eyes flew up to hers in shock. “Or perhaps we could just stick to your bed.”

He smiled reluctantly and brought her fingertips to his mouth.

“Ms. Swenda? Dr. Nariovsky-Trent?” They looked up at the man who had entered the room. “Why don’t you come into the studio to meet Annabelle?”

Neither of them was ready to let go, so they walked into the
Current Event
studios hand in hand to meet Annabelle Hunter.

~~ - ~~

April 27, 2014

Michael had no interviews scheduled for the week the show aired, a good call since his reaction to nervousness was – predictably – bad temper. He’d been so surly at the breakfast table on the day of the airing that Maxwell had given him a few choice sentences in Orlisian about common courtesy. Sophie had never heard Max speak the language before; his mastery of it put her own to shame. Michael apologized and subsided into a tense silence.

“Put the morning show on.” She poured her second cup of coffee. Michael’s refuge might be temper, but hers was control. “They usually run an excerpt from tonight’s show.”

“I do not want to watch it,” he growled.

“Tough shit.” She turned the television on. He made a choked sound in his throat and glared at her. Sophie glared back. She could see him eyeing the remote in her hand, considering making a grab for it, and her eyes narrowed. Maxwell laughed out loud, and they both turned to look angrily at him.

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “You’re like two peas in a pod, you know.” They both sulked silently. After a few moments, Michael’s foot nudged Sophie’s under the table, but she ignored him. Eventually his hand came down and took hers. She gave it a quick squeeze of apology and acceptance.

The morning show segment focused on the war and the humanitarian emergency that had emerged in the developed world. There were a couple of clips of her and Michael, but they were clearly saving the majority of their “exclusive interview” for the episode of
Current Event
.

Sophie put her coffee cup in the dishwasher. “I’m going into the office before we end up killing each other.”

He smiled ruefully at her, and she suddenly wished they had the house to themselves. Michael’s smile broadened, and she blushed. He could read her like a book, which both delighted and annoyed her. She stalked upstairs, trying to preserve her dignity.

She brushed her teeth and put on her makeup, her mind already on the day’s schedule. When she left the bathroom, she crashed into Michael, who stood right outside the door. Only his quick reflexes kept her from tumbling to the ground.

“God, sorry, my mind is…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence as his mouth descended over hers. Warmth flooded through her as she caught his urgent mood. He backed her against the wall and kissed her very thoroughly.

“I want to make you late for work,” he breathed into her ear, his hands pulling her skirt up and her underwear down.

“Yes, please. Make me very late.”

He did.

~~ - ~~

That evening, the Nariovsky-Trents and Sophie gathered in front of the television. They had declined an invitation to watch the interview at UNICEF headquarters with the PR staff. Sophie hadn’t been able to eat a thing all day. They’d taken an enormous gamble to get their side of the story out there. While the interview itself had gone very well, the media could easily destroy them both with a few clever edits or a malicious source.

The doorbell rang, startling Sophie. Maxwell opened the door and ushered in Carter and Janet, who had little Michael bundled up on the unexpectedly chilly April evening.

Michael and Sophie rose, surprised at their friends’ sudden appearance.

“I called them,” said Signe. “They are your family. And family needs to be together tonight.” She plucked little Michael out of the carrier and made a gloating face. “I also wished to see this baby since my only son has not given me grandchildren. Yet.”

Carter mouthed “Holy shit” over Signe’s head at this, then accepted a glass of vodka from Maxwell.

“You think this is going to be so bad that we’ll need a drink to get through it?” Sophie asked.

“No.” Maxwell grinned as he poured her a shot. “I think it’s going to be so good we’ll need something to toast with.”

~~ - ~~

“
Tonight on
Current Event
…the refugee crisis in Orlisia, a full edition documentary. More than eight months after the Soviet invasion of Orlisia, the human cost mounts. Nearly one-third of Orlisia’s population is homeless, the death toll is in the thousands, and the economy of northern Europe lies in ruins. A massive refugee camp – controlled by a man alleged to be a war criminal – sits on the border of Orlisia and the Soviet Republic, estimated to house more than a hundred thousand Orlisians. It is the largest humanitarian disaster in Europe since World War II.