Page 48 of Nobody's Girl

Sofia blinked. “You know about Ivo?”

Felix gave her a lopsided smile and touched the small white-gold band on her left hand. “Gives it away. Congratulations. Who was that guy out there?”

“My step-father. He’s gone insane. I already told him…never mind.” She took a sip of tea. “Thank you, Felix.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart. Listen, I’m going to go back outside and talk to the police, make sure they take that guy in.”

“Okay, thanks.”

When Felix had gone out, Sofia blew out a long breath and tried to calm her furiously beating heart. Really? Fergus resorting to kidnapping her? Why the hell was he so desperate to get her back home? She shook her head and pulled her phone out to call Ivo, then stopped. She didn’t want Ivo to get mad and go after Fergus – that way madness lay. She rubbed her face and looked around the apartment. It really was bare – old furniture which looked as if it came from a thrift store, no photographs, no books. Not even a television set or stereo player. It surprised her – Felix seemed such a warm, friendly kind of guy that she expected his home to reflect it. This place was cold. She shivered involuntarily and stood up. She took her mug of tea back to the kitchen and rinse it out, setting down on the drainer.

A glimpse of something caught her eye and she couldn’t help but peek. Felix’s passport. Feeling guilty, she opened it, grinning at the photo. Felix looked hard and sullen in the harsh picture. But then again, who didn’t look terrible in their passport photo? Ivo, Sofia thought with a fond smile, Ivo looked amazing in his.

Then she saw it and it made her skin prickle with shock. The name. Not Felix Hammond. Grant Christo. She read it again as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. Felix – Grant – had lied about his name. Why? Suddenly she wanted to turn back time, not look in the passport so she wouldn’t have to know. She flicked through the pages of it. He had certainly travelled widely – she was thankful to see, however, there were no passport stamps for Venice or Crete at the times she and Ivo had been away. God, paranoid, much?

But why did he lie to her about his name? It’s not all about you, Amory, he must have his reasons and they are private. She put the passport back where she found it and went back into the living room as Felix/Grant came back in. Felix, she told herself, for god’s sake don’t trip up and let him know you know.

He smiled at her. “They’ve taken the dude away.”

Sofia was surprised. “They didn’t want to speak to me?”

He shook his head. “I told them everything they needed to know. Hey, look, sit down. I have some bourbon here somewhere.”

Sofia hesitated, but felt she couldn’t leave without being rude. He had saved her from abduction, after all. Grant came back in with a bottle and two glasses.

“So, tell me, when is your next exhibition? I have to say I was awestruck by your pieces at the gallery opening. Inspiring stuff. Sofia, would you mind if I interviewed you? I’ve been looking for the muse to strike, and I think you may be it.”

Sofia chewed her lip. “I’m not great at being in the public eye, Felix. I did a small profile for Elli Navaro, but she’s more a friend.”

Grant cocked his head to one side, grinning. “And I’m not?”

Sofia smiled ruefully. “Sorry, of course you are. I didn’t mean that, forgive me. What I mean is…I’m shy. It’s that simple. And also, considering who my husband is, I don’t want to be put into a situation where, through my naivety, I could be embarrassing or detrimental to him or his family.”

“I’m in the dark about your husband except that he’s a very lucky man.” He held her gaze a beat too long then looked away, a shy smile on his face. Sofia flushed, and gave a small cough of embarrassment.

“He’s Ivo Zacca. You may not know of him, but I guarantee you’ve heard of his parents. Walter Zacca and Adria La Loggia.”

Grant’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

Sofia chuckled. “Yup. That was my reaction. Look, Felix, I just don’t know if I want to be that exposed. I’m still wary of it, mostly because of my ex-family members.”

“I understand the need to hide.” Grant sighed, staring out of the window, hesitating before he spoke again. “Sofia, we all have secrets, or parts of our lives we would rather forget. How about this? I use a pseudonym for you. We’ll agree on a name and anything you don’t want to tell me is off-limits. The story of a street girl made good.”

When he framed it like that, Sofia could see the appeal. “I really wouldn’t be identified?”

“Absolutely not, unless you find you want to be. Listen, I’m actually going to be away from a few days so I’ll give you time to think about.” He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Call me. Whenever.”

Grant put Sofia in a cab back to Ivo’s hotel and waved her off. As soon as the cab disappeared, his smile dropped from his face and he went back indoors. The overwhelming twisted desire he felt for her had been a roiling thing inside him all the time he was with Sofia and now, stripping, he went into the shower, masturbating furiously as he thought about touching her, kissing her, fucking her, killing her. God, what was this? He had never felt this level of obsession before and it frightened him. He could so easily lose control around her.

Maybe it was a good thing he was going back to New York for a few days. Here, in Paris, all he wanted to do was follow her, and he was scared his obsession might make him careless. In New York, he could focus, use up some of that sexual tension on Tamara. They could plan Sofia’s murder, prepare the killing ground in the bowels of their club. Grant began to come as he thought about Sofia, leased naked to the wooden St Andrew’s Cross, bleeding and exhausted from the whipping her had given her, but begging him for more as his cock thrust deep inside her tight, velvety cunt. She would kiss him passionately as he drove his knife deep inside her and he grunted now, thick reams of semen shooting from his cock, as he imagined her thanking him with her last breath, and the light going from her lovely eyes as she bled out.

Two hours later, he was on a plane to New York, but the fantasy in his mind was all he could think of. Soon, my darling Sofia, so soon, you will tell me you love me. Soon, you will be begging for death.

Sofia had decided not to tell Ivo about the near-abduction. She had gone over it and over it in her head in the cab back to his hotel. All she wanted now was to make things up with him, and tell him that yes, he could buy their home. After that, they would split everything fifty-fifty. She guessed he would be okay with it, as long as she allowed him to treat her now and then. She didn’t want his wealth to be a factor in their marriage, but neither was she ignorant of the way the world worked. Ivo was a proud man and it would cost her nothing to make sure he never felt uncomfortable. She knew he would do the same in return.