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CHAPTER ELEVEN
Damon
“You should have let him win,” Sophia said as she led me up the stairs to her childhood bedroom. “He’s a terrible loser.”
I remembered earlier in the evening when I’d beat Bryant in a chess match. He hadn’t seemed too put off by losing from how he’d continued with the conversations and other games. Yes, he’d grumbled about missed opportunities, but nothing others would have said in the same situation.
“He seemed to have taken it well enough.”
She shot me a sideways roll of her eyes, and continued forward. “Believe me when I say Dad will hound you for a rematch. He thinks he’s the ultimate chess player and won’t stop until he wins against you.”
“He’s good but no match for me. Even Lucian has only won a quarter of the games against me, and he’s ten times better than your father.”
“Jesus. Keep your voice down.” She covered my mouth. “The last thing I want is for Dad to hear you say that.”
I moved her palm from my lips, unable to hide my smile. “Are you worried your father will hate me and I won’t get his seal of approval?”
I gave him an undignified snort. “No one has a say about the man in my life but me.”
“Then why the worry?”
“Comparing Lucian and Dad is the ultimate sin in this house. Their relationship is volatile on the best of days.”
“That’s because your father created a more ruthless and better version of himself in Lucian, hoping he could control him, and it backfired.”
She held my gaze as if reading something in my soul. “Is that what happened with you and your father and grandfather?”
I swallowed, not even realizing how my statement about Lucian paralleled my upbringing until Sophia pointed it out.
“You’re very insightful, Sophia Morelli.”
“I only call them as I see them. Come on.” She gestured with her chin. “Let’s not loiter. I want to change into something more comfortable.”
A few minutes later, she opened the door to her room. At first, I could only stand in the entryway and take in the space.
Modern elegance was the perfect way to describe it. Neutral shades of textured wallpaper covered the walls, and strategically placed silver and gold accented fixtures gave the room a glamorous feel. The gemstone chandelier added a touch of regalness, and the four-poster bed with its plush covering announced only someone with class slept there.
“This isn’t you,” I said before thinking twice about it.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been around you. I lived with you. This is a bedroom for a magazine, not for the Sophia Morelli I know.”
I slowly scanned the space and walked inside. There was no feeling of the warmth I felt in Sophia’s studio or her apartment here. The thought of her growing up in this type of environment infuriated me.
With so much love and compassion inside her, this woman deserved a family who showered that upon her.
“Is there any part of this room that you see is me?”
I slowly found genuine pieces displaying Sophia’s passions, dreams, and joys. She placed everything in a fashion so as not to intrude on the display of perfection for the public.
“That tucked-away shelf holding your sewing supplies. The basket with the fashion and design magazines next to the bed on the side with the windows. The sketchbooks you have stacked between all the classic novels on the bookcase. And the dress form sitting inside the left corner of your closet.”
“It isn’t fair that you see all of me, but I’m only allowed glimpses of you.” The rawness in her words tore at me.
“I’m working on it.”
“We’ll see.”
