Page 27 of Nobody's Girl

“Yes, my darling?” He was brushing his lips against hers, back and forth, and it drove her crazy with desire. She felt his lips curve up in a smile.

“I’m so in love with you, my beautiful, extraordinary Sofia, so much in love with you.”

Sofia’s eyes filled with tears. “And I love you, Ivo Zacca. I’ve always loved you, from the beginning, always…”

Ivo crushed his lips against hers and they began to make love again, forgetting the time, forgetting everything else but the two of them.

Part Two

Chapter Ten

Fergus Rutland stared at the profile in the glossy society magazine. So, Sofia was in Paris and about to become the next big thing in the art world. So many emotions welled up inside his chest. Pride. Shame. Love.

When Devika, Sofia’s mother, had died, something had gone out in Fergus’s life. He couldn’t bear to see Sofia, so beautiful, so like his beloved wife, around his home and he knew, if he explained it to her, she would refuse to leave, she would have wanted to care for him. Sofia was everything good in Fergus’s life, which was why he had to throw her away.

That’s what he told himself over and over – that he had done it for her benefit. The true fact of it was, Tamara had always hated Sofia, been jealous of her curvy, voluptuous, soft beauty and kindness, and had persuaded the grief-stricken Fergus to not only bury Devika outside of the family mausoleum but to banish her daughter.

Why the hell had he gone along with it? He loved his daughter, yes, but he knew the viper she was. She was exactly like he had been before Devika had come along. Cold, aloof, lacking in empathy. Jonas had been the victim of the family – Fergus’s first wife, Judy, was weak in some ways, but as ruthless as her daughter and her husband. When she had fallen from the stairs and smashed her head open on the marble floor, it had been a great shock…to Jonas and Fergus. Tamara had not seemed either shocked or particularly grief-stricken, although she put on a performance at her mother’s funeral. Fergus had heard the whispers at the wake – how exactly did Judy fall? Suspicious eyes cast at him, at Tamara, but never at the quietly devastated Jonas.

Fergus didn’t want to think about that. He touched the photograph of Sofia. She looked older, more self-assured. Her black hair now hung almost to her waist had bright blue highlights, her dark eyes ringed with kohl as she stared into the lens of the camera. She looked beautiful and so much like her late mother it made Fergus’s heart hurt. He read through the piece again. She would debut her work at a gallery opening in Paris at the end of the week. Fergus picked up his phone and called his assistant. He detailed what he wanted. “Get me an invite to that opening, but use a pseudonym. I don’t want Sofia running scared. And book me a flight and hotel to Paris. Actually…book two tickets for the return flight.”

He put down the phone. It was time. It was time to bring Sofia home.

Tamara ignored the doorman at her father’s club and pushed her way in. She could have cared less that no women were supposed to be admitted – the Rutland name meant access to anywhere, as far as she was concerned. She found her father in the garden of the club, a gin and tonic on the table next to him, reading a book. “Hey, Pa.”

Fergus looked up, annoyed. “Tamara, I come here to escape family, not to be harassed.”

“Cool your boots, Pa, I brought you the business plan you wanted.” She handed him a thick, bound stack of paper. Fergus put his book down to take it, and as he did, the book slipped and a folded-up piece of paper slipped out. Tamara was too quick for Fergus.

She smoothed out the magazine article on her knee and Fergus sighed. “Tamara…”

“So, the street urchin showed up in Paris, did she?” Tamara’s voice was spiteful, and she began to read the article. “Huh. Doesn’t mentioned us once. So much for family loyalty.”

“You can hardly blame her after what I did.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. “You did the right thing, the only thing to be done.”

“I’m not so sure anymore.”

Tamara went very still. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Fergus looked at his daughter steadily. “It means…I’m bringing Sofia back home. Where she belongs. There’s an art community here who would welcome someone of Sofia’s talents with open arms. And, Tamara, I miss my daughter.”

“Step-daughter,” Tamara hissed, then took a long breath in, calming herself. She stared out at the lovingly tended lawns and chewed her lips. “Never mind about her, Dad. I need an answer on the club. We have a lock on it until tomorrow, then another buyer gets to bid.” She thawed slightly. “You’ve always wanted me to have a focus, a passion, this is it.”

“An exclusive club for an elite clientele?”

“Like this one, except skewed towards the younger market. By invitation only. Hoping to capitalize on the disposal income of the city’s young and beautiful.”