Trust: Betrayed (62 page)
Why so afraid?
“That won’t fool them,” he warned in a low voice.
“That won’t fool them,” he warned in a low voice.
“Indeed. But it will give me some room. I don’t like being smothered by flashes and mics. After I’m inside, I’ll take a photo and answer a question or two. But...” she made a vague gesture with her hand.
“I see.” It made no sense to him, but he would do anything she asked just to see a smile on her face. “I’ll get the journalists off Tavish Uilleam and he can meet you at the back entrance. Better?”
She smiled relieved and kissed his lips, “Just perfect,
Amor
. Just perfect.”
Amor
. Just perfect.”
The cloudy sky mirrored Sophia’s confused feelings as she admired Alistair’s ease while he handled, along with the two gallery partners, the special tour for the press. She longed to be at his side but, at the same time, she was afraid of the exposure.
The group of journalists, photographers and cameramen had surrounded him as soon as he got out of the car.
He dominated the room and maneuvered the press into asking him what he wanted. Dressed in an expensive black suit, fitted to perfection to his body, with a striped green and blue tie over a white shirt, he was the embodiment of tradition and power. He could have looked intimidating, but his charming and seductive smile masked the straightforward business thoughts that she was sure he was having.
“He has a hypnotizing way with them, hasn’t he?” Tavish approached Sophia quietly from behind handing her a champagne flute.
“Yes,” she smiled up at him, but his eyes were glued on his brother.
Only with them?
She clinked her glass on his. “Cheers. Congratulations on the opening. You handle them quite well too.”
Only with them?
She clinked her glass on his. “Cheers. Congratulations on the opening. You handle them quite well too.”
“Cheers. This is a part that I don’t like very much. I’m not photogenic.”
She laughed and elbowed him on the ribs. “You’re fishing for compliments, Lieutenant-Colonel Doctor Lord Tavish Uilleam.”
He grimaced at her, “You’ll never let me forget it, will you?”
“Absolutely not!” she joked. “That was the most intimidating greeting I’ve ever received.”
“And you’re the only woman who has ever slapped me,” he retorted.
“You deserved it,” she volleyed back.
“Aye, I did.” He sighed. “Do you like the gallery?”
In the heart of Chelsea, set in a listed building, the Blue Dot Gallery was a stunning space over three floors, with five main high-ceilinged rooms, wooden floors and glass stairwells. The old and traditional façade on the outside concealed an amazing and fresh approach to contemporary art on the inside.
“It’s spectacular,” she nodded. “Valentina would absolutely love it. She’s finishing her degree in fine arts in Florence.”
“Florence? Too traditional. She should have come here or gone to UCLA,” he said.
“That’s why she went there. Her ideas are already too daring.” Sophia rolled her neck and flexed her shoulders. “Shall we get more champagne? I need to relax.”
“How are the preparations for the wedding coming along?” He offered his arm to her with a crooked smile. “Is Alistair Connor still driving you mad?”
“Good God! How can you work with him? The man is so stubborn, domineering, unmanageable-”
“And you are paranoid and a perfectionist,” Alistair’s voice interrupted her string of complaints.
She turned, blushing at being caught red handed.
He had a huge smile on his face. “But I love you anyway.” He reached out for her hand. “Come on, sweetheart, the journalists want to meet the mysterious woman that has tamed my heart.”
Sophia saw that Zahira, Ashley and Edward were at the door posing for photos. She breathed deep.
“Go on. They’ll love you,” Tavish assured her.
Alistair put her hand on the crook of his arm and covered it with his.
Sophia bit her lip and raised her eyes to his.
He tsked and bit his lip, drawing a smile from her. “Good. No one is going to resist you now.”
8 p.m.
The five hundred select guests for the opening of the gallery had each paid five hundred pounds, to be donated to the Sophia Leibowitz Foundation. Among them, beautiful and elegant young men and women well versed in art history explained the concepts of each artist and endeavored to interest prospective clients and the directors of foundations and museums. The event was turning into a huge success.
“Sophia!” Warm hands rested on her shoulders.
She angled her neck back with a smile, “Hello, Ethan!”
His hands ran over her back to circle her waist and turned her to face him. “You look ravishing, darling.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she teased as she returned his kisses. “You know Edward Davidoff and Zahira Chanda, don’t you? And this is LO’s PR director, Ashley Carruthers.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Ashford,” Edward stretched his hand.
“Davidoff, Mrs. Chanda, Ms. Carruthers,” he greeted them and turned to Sophia. “I guess that after tonight you’re not afraid of the press anymore. So, Mrs. Chandra you can set up a date and location for our event.”
Zahira only smiled at Ethan, knowing full well that Sophia didn’t want the ball.
Aren’t you insistent, Ethan?
“Why do we need a gala ball?”
“Why do we need a gala ball?”
“It’s free marketing, darling. If MacCraig can benefit from it,” he motioned to the crowd mingling around, “Ashford Steel and Leibowitz Oil can too.”
What?
“Come again?”
“Come again?”
“Everyone likes to have a good excuse to throw a party. Better if you can couple beauty and youth with wealth and charity. You personify every quality to make our project a huge success, Sophia.”
And spend more time at my side.
And spend more time at my side.
“I hadn’t looked at it that way,” muttered Edward.
Ashley tapped her finger on her red mouth. “Mr. Ashford makes a fair point, Sophia.”
As always.
He smiled charmingly at Ashley, “Ethan, my dear, please.” His attention wandered back to Sophia. “See, darling,” his hands made their way back to her shoulders and his azure eyes glowed with excitement, “your CEO and PR director agree with me. Say, November? We’ll raise even more awareness for the new branches in Asia. And funds, of course.”
He smiled charmingly at Ashley, “Ethan, my dear, please.” His attention wandered back to Sophia. “See, darling,” his hands made their way back to her shoulders and his azure eyes glowed with excitement, “your CEO and PR director agree with me. Say, November? We’ll raise even more awareness for the new branches in Asia. And funds, of course.”
“I’ll think about it, Ethan,” she replied with a smile.
And my answer will probably be no.
She looked at Ashley asking for help.
And my answer will probably be no.
She looked at Ashley asking for help.
Ash discreetly winked, understanding. “I’ll take a look at her schedule, Mr. Ashford, and get back to you.”
“Ashford.”
Fuck off.
Alistair’s arm snaked around Sophia’s waist and pulled her to him, as his free hand stretched to shake Ethan’s.
Fuck off.
Alistair’s arm snaked around Sophia’s waist and pulled her to him, as his free hand stretched to shake Ethan’s.
“MacCraig. Congratulations on the exhibition.”
Your best piece is in your arms right now. The moment you let go, I’ll have her back.
Your best piece is in your arms right now. The moment you let go, I’ll have her back.
Don’t you dare paw Sophia again.
“The gallery’s guiding principle is to show what our most exciting artists are making nowadays. We aim to make art more accessible to the mainstream, without losing the exclusivity.”
She is the one and only. Exclusively mine.
“The gallery’s guiding principle is to show what our most exciting artists are making nowadays. We aim to make art more accessible to the mainstream, without losing the exclusivity.”
She is the one and only. Exclusively mine.
Edward rolled his eyes at Sophia, who was struggling to control her laughter, as Ashley looked away with a huge smile on her lips.
Exclusivity of Sophia, you mean.
“Indeed. I heard you’ve created an art fund and that it’s already closed to new entrants. I’ll be interested if there’s a new one.”
Interested in Sophia, I mean.
“Indeed. I heard you’ve created an art fund and that it’s already closed to new entrants. I’ll be interested if there’s a new one.”
Interested in Sophia, I mean.
You don’t fool me, Ashford.
“Aye. It was a huge success. My brother,” he signaled to Tavish, who excused himself from a group of buyers and made his way to where they were, “is in charge of the gallery and the art fund. I’m sure he can explain it to you better.”
“Aye. It was a huge success. My brother,” he signaled to Tavish, who excused himself from a group of buyers and made his way to where they were, “is in charge of the gallery and the art fund. I’m sure he can explain it to you better.”
Family business, huh?
Ethan watched the younger and more handsome version of Alistair approach them, smile at Sophia before acknowledging the others.
Your perdition is in your own home, MacCraig.
Ethan watched the younger and more handsome version of Alistair approach them, smile at Sophia before acknowledging the others.
Your perdition is in your own home, MacCraig.
“Ashford, my brother Tavish Uilleam.”
He’ll be watching you too, Ashford.
He’ll be watching you too, Ashford.
“Gentlemen, Ash, Zahira,” Sophia said to the group, “if you’ll excuse me for a moment.”
“Don’t wander too far, my love.” Alistair didn’t miss the chance and whirled her in his arms, planting a kiss on her mouth.
She’s mine, see Ashford?
She’s mine, see Ashford?
She rolled her eyes at his smirk. “I’ll be right back.”
Good God, Alistair Connor. What’s this show for?
Good God, Alistair Connor. What’s this show for?
“Jesus,” Tavish’s murmur called Alistair’s attention away from Edward, Ashley, Zahira and Ethan as they talked of the LO and Ashford ball. His eyes were fixed on something Alistair couldn’t see.
“What is it?” Alistair inquired.
“Excuse us for a moment,” Tavish bit out harshly and lugged Alistair by the arm to the stairs. They climbed up a few steps before he faced Alistair and hissed, “Are you crazy? What is she doing here?”
What?
“Who? Doing what?”
“Who? Doing what?”
Tavish grabbed Alistair by the upper arm pointing to the end of the center room where a blonde woman was draped on the arm of a member of the House of Lords. As she strolled through the room, heads turned in her direction.
Fuck.
“That bitch.” His eyes searched the three main rooms for Sophia. “Where is Sophia? I can’t see her.”
“That bitch.” His eyes searched the three main rooms for Sophia. “Where is Sophia? I can’t see her.”
“She’s probably gone to the toilet. Go look for her. I’ll take care of this.”
Alistair’s hand stopped Tavish as cold sweat trickled down his back. “Diplomacy, Tavish Uilleam. The gallery is full and I don’t want a scandal.”
And that’s all she wants.
And that’s all she wants.
“Don’t worry, Brother. Of course, I’ll be discreet.”
You are anything but diplomatic where my past is concerned.
“Wait.”
“Wait.”
Tavish paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked up at his brother, who was calmly descending with a smile on his face and a nonchalant pose.
If anyone had looked at Alistair, no one would have guessed the dread coursing through his veins. He knew what Emma was capable of. Since that day in the restaurant at Berkshire, she’d been hounding him to get him back. In her bank account. In her bed.
This is not a coincidence.
“Call Leo. Look for Sophia. I’ll handle Emma.”
“Call Leo. Look for Sophia. I’ll handle Emma.”
“Ma’am,” the waiter handed Sophia a crystal flute filled with freezing cold Cristal Louis Roederer.
“Thank y-”
Sophia saw disaster open its jaws to receive her, as someone roughly bumped into her back. Her hands shot forward to balance herself.
Her glass flew away, exploding against a sculpture of twisted iron forming a macabre rainbow made of sharp shards and splashed champagne.
Sophia, her shawl and her purse fell on the mess of glass and golden liquid.
She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, controlling her need to cry, reeling with embarrassment.
Two waiters immediately helped her from the mess.
“Here. Let me help,” a velvet coated voice and a soft arm over Sophia’s shoulders guided her to the nearby bathroom.
“Thanks,” she murmured, head lowered, not bothering to pick up her shawl or clutch. All she wanted was to be away from there.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not.
As she walked to the toilet, she brushed away the small pieces of glass from her wet dress. A piece caught in her palm and she flinched. She turned her hand up and pulled it out, biting her lip to stop the flow of tears.
Idiot. Idiot.
Idiot. Idiot.
“Here, my dear.” The arm guided her inside the bathroom.
“Thanks, you’re so kind,” she whispered, through the lump in her throat, as she entered the huge travertine marble room.
When she looked at herself in the mirror, Sophia’s eyes rounded. Her dress was torn and stained, her knees were scrapped and bruised and one of her legs was cut, a shard protruding from it.
God! Oh. My. God!
She was so shocked with her appearance that she didn’t hear the lock on the bathroom door being turned.
She was so shocked with her appearance that she didn’t hear the lock on the bathroom door being turned.
Tavish felt as if he was watching a humorless slapstick film.
He opened his mouth to get Sophia’s attention from the other side of the huge room, but it happened too quickly for him to warn her. Emma approached Sophia from behind, waited for her to get her champagne glass and pushed her against a John Chamberlain sculpture.
He cut through the chatter of people who didn’t seem to notice the accident, ordering the waiters to clean the mess.
When he looked around for Sophia, she was already gone.
Alistair’s head snapped up when he heard the noise of breaking glass, but he was too far away to see what had happened.
Christ! Let it not be Sophia.
Christ! Let it not be Sophia.
He crossed the rooms, a fixed smile on his face, his eyes scanning the crowds for Sophia or Emma.
But neither was anywhere to be seen.
Their eyes locked in the mirror.
Damn! What the hell does she want?
Emma Miller was a gorgeous woman. Natural blonde hair cascaded down to frame a perfect face, where blue eyes with mascara painted lashes were blistering and plump lips were sneering. She was very tall and lean and her sexy and cruel nature screamed from inside the Hervé Leger short black bandage dress.
“So. You’re the chosen one,” Emma tilted her head, raking her cold gaze over Sophia with spite. “Hmm. Alistair Connor used to have better taste.”
Sophia put her hands on the sink to steady her jelly legs and lifted her chin, “And you are?”
I’m not giving you this to gloat over.
I’m not giving you this to gloat over.
“Emma Miller, his sister-in-law.” Her hand traveled down her body, from her breast to her thigh. “He used to fuck us. Alistair, Heather and I had some great times together.”
The thoughts were wiped clean from Sophia’s mind at the same time that bile rose in her throat.
“Shocked, my dear? I have it all photographed and filmed when I want to reminisce. Maybe you’d like to join me?”
Disgusting, repulsive, sick.
Sophia bit back all the harsh retorts that came to her mind, deciding that silence was the best treatment for that woman. Her cuts were stinging from the champagne and her hands and legswere throbbing and hurting now that her blood had cooled down.
Sophia bit back all the harsh retorts that came to her mind, deciding that silence was the best treatment for that woman. Her cuts were stinging from the champagne and her hands and legswere throbbing and hurting now that her blood had cooled down.
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