“Nae, you’re not made of sugar,” he said, licking the corner of her mouth. “But of something much more delicious.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Sophia put the ice-cream in the kitchen freezer and closed it. She grabbed his hand and took him to the TV room. She waited until he sat by her side and served them more wine. “Okay. We had hot sex—”

“We made love,” he corrected, his full attention on her now.

“Right. We made hot love twice. We both showered again. We ate dinner. We are sated and happy. Now, you can spill it.”

He looked away for a second. How well you maneuver me, huh? “Pardon?”

“Something has been bothering you for days. I can bet it’s not the South America deal,” she said, coming directly to the point. “I want to know what it is.”

Bothering, no. Saddening, but I’ll get over it. “I was thinking,” he said, in his old detached way, “that we never discussed what you are going to be called.”

Shoo, Lord Pokerface! You’re not welcome. She didn’t understand at first. “Discussed what?”

“If you are going to use my surname at work.” And if you are throwing a ball with Ashford without acknowledging that you’ve married me.

Oh. I thought you’d like it. “Is that it?”

He nodded.

“And I was having such a bad time deciphering the enigma. If I give the wrong answer, will you eat me, Lord Sphinx?”

“Nae.” He shook his head slowly. He’d had many days to think about it and she had just showed him that it wasn’t the most important thing in their married life.

“Well, then. I think it won’t make a difference if I use the new printed cards for our private correspondence. I can order my old ones again for LO correspondence. God. What a—”

“Wait.” He put a finger on her lips and fused his eyes, hiding his emotions. “Are you saying that you are going to use my surname on LO?”

Is that what you want? Sophia looked at him confused. “Well…I thought that as a married woman, I should use my married name. Why should I use my previous married one?”

“Because you are the owner of Leibowitz and your previous surname was Leibowitz. Surely, you want to be identified with the company. Using the MacCraig surname, or your title, won’t make it obvious that you’re Sophia Leibowitz.” Christ. Is this even making any sense?

Why that question now? What are you hiding? “And, pray tell, who told you I would do that?”

Veritas vos liberabit. Alistair finished his wine and turned to stare right into her eyes. Don’t make this any harder than it has already been. “Sophia. I had many days to think about it. I reached the conclusion that it doesn’t matter at all what surname you choose to use as long as I have you in my arms, as long as I have you with me. Why lie?”

Her eyebrows opened wide, with astonishment. “Lie? I’m not lying.”

“I saw the invitation,” he emphasized. “I don’t care, really. But don’t lie to me.”

Damn. All this just because of the ball invitation. She opened her mouth but closed it again, pressing her lips in a thin line, without saying a word.

Sophia went to her desk and took a blank cream square envelope from a pile of work she had brought home, which she waved at him as she walked back to the sofa. “You saw this. On my desk.”

He nodded. “I did.”

“When?” she asked drily, standing in front of him.

He sighed when he realized she was angry. “Monday evening. I didn’t mean to pry, Sophia.” When her eyes rounded, he realized it was coming out all wrong. She wasn’t getting it. “I was looking for more staples.”

“And you never thought of asking me about it? Or to say that you wanted me to use your surname? You went through my things, saw what you were not supposed to see, and kept it all inside festering and rotting?”

Nae. Nae, it’s no’ like that. “It’s your right to use whatever name you prefer. Although, of course—”

“Aaaah. Of course, my right,” she mocked. “Good to see that you respect me.” They really screwed you up, didn’t they?

Fuck. I’m trying to respect your wishes. Be a little more sensitive. “Sophia. You don’t need to talk—”

“Dammit, Alistair Connor!” She stomped her bare foot on the fluffy carpet. The meek sound made her even angrier. “Don’t tell me how I can or cannot speak. It’s you that don’t know how to communicate. You could have spared yourself days of sadness. You could have spared me days of worry. You drew the wrong conclusion.”

Forcefully, she slapped the envelope onto his chest. “Here you are.”

He gripped her wrist and pulled her down hard on the sofa. “Calm down and lis—”

“Read the fucking invitation card!” Sophia shouted. Oh, great. Now I’m shouting curses.

Sophia rarely shouted. And for sure, she never cursed.

That made Alistair look at the envelope that had fallen on his thighs. He released her wrist and raised one eyebrow at her, stunned with her reaction.

“Read the invitation card, please,” she asked evenly, her anger deflated. She brought her wrist to her chest, rubbing it.

His eyes followed the movement. Christ! “Did I hurt you? Let me see.”

“No. It’s okay. Please, read it.”

He picked up the blank square envelope and pulled the invitation card from inside. His heart stopped in his chest. There was no okay written in red all over it. Under the word ‘proof’ stamped in a corner, there was only her new signature. He looked at her, not knowing how to proceed. “Sophia, I—”

“Please, read it out loud,” she requested. “I want to hear you say the words.”

He cleared his throat. “Mr. Ethan Ashford, on behalf of Ashford Steel Industries and—” his voice faltered for a moment, but he proceeded firmly, “the Marchioness of Ells, on behalf of Sophia Leibowitz Foundation for Women and Children, request the pleasure—”

“That’s enough, thank you,” she whispered, stretching her hand to pick up the envelope and the card.

Silently and slowly, she put the card inside the envelope and it back on her desk. She looked at the Cosmograph Daytona Rolex that had been Gabriel’s. Oh, Gabriel, help me understand this complex man. “It’s late. I’m going to bed, Alistair Connor.”

She spun on her heels and walked crisply out of the room before he could see the tears falling from her eyes.

You’re such an ass, Alistair Connor. He cradled his head in his hands and closed his eyes tight. Such an ass.

* * *

For a second, his hand hovered over the knob of the closed door of their bedroom, before he opened it.

The room was lit only by the dim light that came from the terrace.

Pausing on the threshold, he saw Sophia standing outside in a long lacy white wrap, watching the first quarter moon, with her arms around herself.

He studied her wounded stance. He didn’t need a whip or a flog to hurt her, he could do that easily with just a word.

His footsteps made no sound on the terrace but his peculiar scent invaded Sophia’s nostrils as soon as he got closer.

She didn’t make any attempt to dry her face, nor did she turn to look at him.

Alistair passed his arms around her and hated it when she stiffened. He could feel the pain emanating from her like an acrid smell.

Don’t do this to us, Sophia. “I’m sorry, mo gràdh. So sorry. I never meant to say that you’re a liar.”

“I know,” she breathed. And repeated, “I know.” We should have talked about this before. It’s my fault too.

“Come to bed. It’s late.” His warm hand covered her cold one and his thumb stroked her hand tenderly. “I’m sorry, I should never—”

She entwined her fingers with his. “No, you shouldn’t. But then I shouldn’t have either.” When she raised her eyes to look at him, her long lashes were still spiked from her tears. So very softly that it went all the way down to his soul, she whispered, “This marriage won’t last if we don’t talk to each other. Maybe because of our different upbringings, maybe because of our different personalities, we think very differently. If you keep your thoughts to yourself and I keep mine to myself, all these unspoken words will create a void so big that no sorries will be able to bridge it.”

Fate wouldn’t be so cruel! Pain lanced through his chest. He couldn’t believe that the same voice that could turn him on, could say things that sliced through him, exposing all his putrid wounds. He saw her mouth open, and for a minute, he was sure she was going to say something even worse. But she didn’t. Instead, not a sound passed her lips as she put her forehead on his chest.

We are both hurting and the fault is all mine. He cradled her in his arms and took her to bed, leaning her on the pillows.

She didn’t resist when he cupped her face in his hands.

“Sophia. Listen to me.”

She wanted nothing more than to drown herself in the love she saw in his eyes. “I’m listening.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. But when you were living your life, as difficult as it may have been with so many traumas, I had been pulled down into a living hell of betrayal, lies, deceit, and death. I still have issues. Many issues. And I have been working hard on them. I was not prepared for you to use your previous name on the invitation. I even discussed this in therapy.”

“When I married you, I signed your surname after Leibowitz. If I wanted to remain Leibowitz, or to go back to my maiden name, I could. But I did not.” The smile she gave him was gentle. “I promised to honor, to be faithful and loyal, didn’t I? I wouldn’t have adopted your name if I were going to keep two identities.” He nodded as she sat up in the bed, moving closer to him. “So, why would I lie about something so important? Why would I betray you at my first chance, using a different name than the one I chose for myself?”

“Many women prefer to use their maiden names at work.”

“I don’t care what other women choose. I care about what I choose, about what I do. I care about what you think.” She put her hands on his broad shoulders, squeezing softly. “Alistair Connor, you married me, Sophia. My work is an important part of my life. But I am more important than my work. You are more important than it. And I love you. I’m very proud to be recognized as your wi—”

She didn’t finish as he crushed her in his arms and burrowed his head in the hollow of her neck, smelling the perfume he had become addicted to. “Please, forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” Oh, my little big husband. You need so much love. She leaned her cheek on his head and combed his hair for a moment, before giving its jagged ends a little tug. When he looked at her, she softly said, “Sometimes, meu amor, we lose too much time asking ourselves questions that we can’t answer and forgetting that the answer is just beside us. You have to learn to ask and to listen. If one does not listen, the other does not exist. When the other does not exist, one is alone. I don’t want to be alone, do you?”

* * *

The man had kept his word, buying Ghost a penthouse in a luxury building in Dubai. He scanned his Dubai bank account, searching for the credits made in the last days.

A quarter of a million from Switzerland showed that the blonde woman was eager to start everything soon.

A hundred-thousand reais from Brazil showed that the group was formed and ready.

He smiled, amazed and amused at the same time, at what jealousy and hatred could make people do.

He texted the blonde woman:

And then he sent two texts to Brazil:

Ghost put the cell phone and the sim card in separate black plastic bags and crushed them with a hammer, to be disposed of far away from his home the next day.

He sat back on his chair, contented, and took off his gloves.

He was a man used to spying on the lives of beautiful women cheating on their older husbands or husbands cheating on their wives with ravishing younger women. He thought nothing could surprise him anymore, but this new job was novel and thrilling.

His grin was pure evil when he jotted down a few notes for the next days and went to bed.

He was sure he had opened Pandora’s Box and that not even hope would survive inside it.