Chapter 19
Nineteen
Andrei ignored the sound of his phone buzzing somewhere in the room. It was probably Rolf calling to tell him time was up. The sun was setting, and Sofie needed to be out of Club Alibi.
He’d take her out of the club, but not back to her house. According to her official records, she was a Dutch citizen, so it shouldn’t be hard to get the local Interpol office to issue her a temporary passport.
Beside him, Sofie stirred. She’d fallen asleep almost immediately after sex, awake enough only to grumble about being cold.
He’d covered her up before leaving to take care of the condom. She’d curled into a ball and pulled the blanket over her head by the time he got back, but when he climbed in behind her and scooted against her back, she’d uncurled enough to mold her body to his until they were pressed together from chest to knees.
“Dusk,” she murmured, stretching against him.
Her ass pressing against his cock only hardened his resolve—and his cock.
“Or dawn,” he teased.
“No, the light is gold, not white.”
Having never thought too hard about the tonal qualities of the light at dawn and dusk, the only response he could think of was to kiss her bare shoulder, then the side of her neck.
She gasped and shivered when he kissed her neck just below her ear.
“Sensitive?”
“Very,” she whispered.
“I'll have to explore that more later.”
She stiffened against him, then sat up. “I don't have to leave anymore?”
He sat up to. “You can't stay at this Club Alibi location. It isn't open to the public.”
“I don't understand."
“The London club is up and running. It's a dance club on the bottom floor and a private BDSM club upstairs.”
“Private or public? You've said both.”
“Private, meaning membership based. But lucky for you, you know one of the Doms in charge.” He winked.
Sofie didn't even smile. “I don't understand what any of this has to do with me.”
Andrei rolled his shoulders to loosen the sudden tightness in his neck. “Sofie, you have to see that you can't go back to your house. Whatever you believe about your father, not wanting to hurt you, you were attacked in your own home. You have that elaborate security system that did nothing to stop them. That means that either they had the codes, or that system is incredibly weak.”
“I can get a different system.”
“Fuck.” He rolled off the bed, gripping handfuls of his own hair to stop himself from screaming in frustration.
He took a minute to jerk on his pants before turning to face her. Sofie looked soft and rumpled. At one point, her hair had been in a bun, but he tangled his fingers in it, and now it was a cloud of messy waves around her bare shoulders. She pulled the blanket up over her breasts, but the smooth naked line of her back down to her ass was visible.
“Sofie, what is your plan?”
“You know my plan?—”
“That's a fucking pipe dream and you know it. You're too smart not to.”
She jerked back as if he slapped her. In a way, maybe a physical blow would have been kinder than his words.
“I'm sorry,” he said immediately. “I’m sorry. That wasn't fair.”
“What do you want me to do, Andrei?”
“I want you to not put yourself back in your father's power.”
“You want me to just walk away. Right now. From everything. My whole life.”
A panicky feeling that he was losing her made him lash out. “What life, Sofie? What fucking life?”
Her eyes widened in shock, and he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He was an asshole. He'd always been an asshole.
Right now, he was the biggest asshole.
“It may not look like much of a life, but it's mine.”
The rustle of fabric had him dropping his hands. She was off the bed, pulling on panties first, and then her shirt, which was long enough to touch the tops of her thighs. She held the fabric closed with one hand, gesturing with the other.
“I told you this morning that I’ve never had much choice in my life. And maybe when I did…do…have a choice, I make the wrong one.” She raised her chin, even as it quivered. “But it’s my choice. My life.”
He had fucked this up and he was going to lose her. Clichéd as it was, the moment he slipped back into bed, pulled her body still flushed and warm from sex against his, he had no choice but to admit to himself that he'd fallen in love.
Being cynical and jaded were not the defenses he thought they were, because he was helplessly in love.
If he was lucky, this was just a case of really intense lust, and he was just too fucking emotionally stunted to realize that. He imagined it would be easy to mistake a mix of protectiveness and lust and think it was love.
But the part of him that always expected the worst knew that this was love. Because, of course he would fall in love with a woman who didn't love him back. A woman whose life was so tight and narrow that there was no space for him unless she chose to make room.
And it was very fucking clear she was not going to choose that. Not going to choose him.
But he had to try.
“Come with me,” he said slowly. “Stay with me.”
Sofie’s expression softened, her gaze questioning.
“Right now, I'm stationed in London half the time, Budapest the other half. Both cities have world-class museums. I've got money saved up, enough that we can at least rent you a studio space in both cities.”
Tears gathered along her lower lids. “Andrei…”
He felt like he was ripping himself open, trying to pull his very hard from his chest to offer it to her. “You can paint. Paint anything and everything you want. Your style, not copying someone else’s. Original works, with your name on them.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, I’ll come with you?—”
He nearly went to his knees in relief.
“—while you’re in London, and then I’ll come home for a while and?—”
“What the fuck? Sofie, no. No.”
She stared at him. “What…did I do wrong?”
“You need to walk away.”
“From my life?”
“From being under someone else’s control. From being in fucking danger in your own home.”
“So instead of my father being in control of my life, you would be.”
“No.” Andrei turned, slapping his hand against the wall to vent some frustration. “I don’t want to be in control of your life. I may be a controlling asshole, but I limit how and when.”
“Then why can’t I come with you now, then come back here and?—”
“Because I can’t bear to watch you get hurt.” He turned to look at her, leaning back against the wall, as the hope he’d been holding inside him continued to wither.
“I won’t?—”
“Don’t lie to me, Sofie. Lie to yourself all you want, but don’t lie to me.”
She was trembling; he could see it from here, but she marched across the room to grab her pants, pulling them on.
He closed his eyes when she stripped off the shit to put on her bra before pulling the shirt back on.
“I told you I ran away. Again and again.”
She paused to listen, fingers on the buttons.
“But I didn’t tell you that I begged my mom to come with me. The last few years before she died, I realized what she was doing. What she’d become. And I knew it was bad. She was going to get hurt. Or arrested. Both. She was in danger, but no matter what I said, she refused to see it. No matter what I did, she refused to leave.”
“It’s not the same,” Sofie insisted.
“Isn’t it? You’re in danger, but refuse to even acknowledge it. You don’t have… You don’t have to be with me. I’ll help you, support you, even if we’re just friends.”
It would kill him to be close to her and not touch her and be with her, but he’d do it.
“Andrei…” Finally the tears that had gathered on her lashes fell, slipping down her cheeks. “I don’t have much. My world is small. My life is small. But my art…” She swiped her cheeks with the back of one hand. “I know it sounds stupid, but of all the things that have been taken from me, all the choices I never had, my art is the one thing I might be able to get back.”
Andrei nodded, though the fact that his heart was actively breaking made every movement feel dangerous and brittle.
“I understand. I truly do. But I can't watch you do this.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I'll get someone to take you home.”
He had his hand on the door when she called out, “Wait.”
He didn't turn.
“When it’s done, would you want…”
He was fairly sure he knew what she was asking. Someday, if she managed to steal back her art, and escape her father's influence, could they be together.
He should say no, because he wasn’t going to wait for her. When he got to London, he was going to grab the first willing sub he could and control every breath she took until this desperate, broken, helpless feeling faded.
He should say no, but he knew that day would never come, so instead he said, “If that day comes, find me.”
He heard a soft sob as he closed the door behind himself.
Sofie cried, slept, changed all her security passcodes, and slept some more before she was able to think past the grief.
She’d lost something precious when Andrei walked out that door, and it was entirely her fault.
She wanted to be brave, have adventures, but when he’d offered her a change for a true adventure—no, more than that, a life—she’d clung to what she knew. What felt safe.
It was Agent Baas who’d driven her home. The woman had let her cry quietly without asking questions. But she had talked. Agent Baas had talked about the psychological impact of abuse. How some people find it almost impossible to leave due to emotional ties, a safety in familiarity, or a sense they don’t deserve love. She talked about how abandonment and lack of security at a young age could affect someone for all of their life.
And when she dropped Sofie off, she’d handed her an envelope full of papers—printed articles for her to read, a list of local resources, and on the top, a handwritten note with the name of several therapists who would be a good fit for her.
After a shower and lunch—it was less than twenty-four hours since she last saw him, though it felt like longer—she sat down with the papers Agent Baas gave her.
It was past time to admit to herself that getting back her art wasn’t, by itself, going to be enough to make her feel like she’d taken control of her life. She’d built a shaky tower on the belief that if she could do that—become a woman capable of first manipulating her father and then pulling off an amazing art heist—she’d not only have her art but finally be a person brave and capable enough to leave everything she knew and start over.
Shockingly, none of the articles she read suggested committing crimes as a way to process her trauma. Apparently, art heists were not the kind of “work” that was meant when they said people had to do the work to get better.
Part of her wanted to cling to these papers as a different kind of excuse. That until she learned more, read more, and started going to therapy, she should just sink back into the life she’d been living before a heartbroken Colette showed up on her doorstep.
Then she wondered if this horrible hollow feeling in her chest was a broken heart. The fact that she ached to see Andrei again, even just hear his voice, made her think that it might be. She’d done an internet search for him, hoping she could find a picture, but Interpol didn’t post their agents’ pictures anywhere she could find.
Sofie put on water for tea, then carefully tucked the papers away. Therapy was on the to-do list, but she wouldn’t use it as an excuse to avoid taking action.
She had to fortify herself with several cups of tea before she was brave enough to pick up her phone.
She called her father.
“ Hallo , Sofie.”
After decades living in Rome, he had a faint accent when he spoke Dutch, though it was his native language.
“ Hallo, Vader .” She sank down onto a box of canvas, hunching over as nerves jangled through her.
“It’s late, is there something wrong?”
“I have a question. Do you know where my paintings are?”
He made a tutting sound. “Sofie, that’s not something we talk about like this.”
He meant over the phone.
“My original paintings.” She stressed the important word.
There was a long silence.
Sofie moved the phone from her ear to check the call hadn’t dropped. It was still connected.
“Vader?”
“Yes?” he said in the same smooth, kind voice he always used.
Apparent that long silence was his answer. Disappointing, but not surprising.
“Where is my passport?”
“Passport?” Now, he sounded genuinely surprised.
“I want to go to London.”
“Sofie, it isn’t safe?—”
“It’s not safe here anymore anyway. Men came into my home. They hurt me.”
He sounded genuinely shocked and worried as he asked her what had happened, and for a moment, she doubted what Andrei and Rolf had said. Maybe he really did have enemies who respected and feared the church enough not to do worse than scare and slap her as long as she stayed at home.
He was assuring her that he would have her security fixed when she interrupted.
“Do I have a passport?”
She felt rather than heard his disapproval at her interrupting him. “Yes.”
“Can I have it?”
“Is there something important in London?”
“Am I allowed to have my passport and travel?” She’d very carefully chosen those words, skimming the edge of the technical definitions used when referencing how human traffickers used documentation, primarily passports, to trap their victims.
“Of course,” her father said slowly. “But I’m afraid I have your passport here.”
“Can you overnight it to me?”
“When do you need it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Sofie, this will be very expensive…”
“Do you not have money?”
You should have plenty of money. The fee for those “friends” you sent to my home, and the proceeds for whatever black market and private sales you’ve made.
“You know I took a vow of poverty,” he scolded. “But…yes. I can send it to you.”
Relief made her almost lightheaded. “Thank you.”
“Very good. I will see you soon, Daughter.”
Sofie had to tap the screen twice to end the call her fingers were shaking so badly. She’d never spoken to her father like that before, and she thought she was okay until she went to take a sip of tepid tea and ended up running to the bathroom to vomit.
After a long time spent on the bathroom floor dry heaving and another shower, she shuffled back to her phone. This call was far easier to make.
“Sofie?” Colette sighed in relief. “I’m so glad you called. I didn’t know if I should call you… How are you?”
“I will cry if I talk about it.”
“Crying is good.”
“I can’t cry anymore. I called to tell you I have your things.” She’d packed up Colette items since Colette herself hadn’t been back to Sofie’s place since the gala.
“Okay. How about I come into town tomorrow and we get lunch. We could go out, if that…feels safe?”
“I would like that.” When Colette had stayed with her, the most Sofie had been willing to do was to stop in at the coffee shop between her house and the market. She’d only told Colette that she preferred to cook at home, not that there were no restaurants on her very short list of places that were “safe.”
“I'm really glad to hear that.”
“I have a question too.” Sofie twisted the hem of her shirt between her fingers.
“What is it?”
“Do you have the address of the Club Alibi in London?”