Vanguard (30 page)

She flipped through months of records. Two numbers had called Michael’s phone every single agonizing day he was missing. She recognized her own number, of course. The other looked familiar.

Michael did. “You called my cell phone every day? Both of you?”

Sophie looked at Maxwell, then shuffled through her bag to find her iPhone. Sure enough, the other number was Max’s.

“I needed to hear your voice. Some days, I couldn’t find hope any other way.” She stopped, not wanting to cry in front of them, but failing miserably.

“We found hope where we could.” Maxwell rose from his chair and came around to put his arms around both of them. “We found hope in you, Sophie. Signe and I always knew you had the best chance of bringing him back.” He kissed the top of Sophie’s head, and then Michael’s. “That’s enough business for one night. Off you go now, both of you.”

~~ - ~~

Michael waited for Sophie in his bed when she emerged from the bathroom. She felt weird climbing into bed with him in his family home. Her parents definitely would not have allowed this. But as soon as he pulled her into his arms under the duvet, all the doubts melted away.

“No more crying.” He kissed her eyes. “We have had enough tears. I am here. We are together.” His lips moved down to her nose and cheeks to her mouth. He kissed her slowly and sweetly, making her forget that his parents were near, making her forget everything else except the two of them.

“I had a nice night.” She rested her head on his chest. “Although I think your mother might be rushing things.”

He laughed, tangling his fingers in her hair. “You think? I am surprised she did not have bridal magazines laid out in the living room after dinner.”

She ran her hand down his stomach. “A little lower would be very nice,
mana mila
,” he said throatily, nudging her hand farther down his body. She touched him lightly through his shorts, but was too freaked out by their proximity to his parents to do more.

“Don’t you find it…you know…weird to do this? I mean, with your parents right down the hall?” She expected him to burst into laughter, but instead, he turned his head on the pillow and smiled.

“A little,” he admitted. He bit his lip as she continued to touch him. “I have never brought a woman home to my parents, so I have found the whole evening rather stressful.”

Sophie dropped her hand and stared at him in shock.

“Oh, please do not stop.” He moved her hand back. “It feels so good, yes, just like that.” He sighed in contentment.

“Never brought a woman home to your parents?” she repeated, stunned. “Never? But you took Mirielle to Orlisia for Christmas!”

“Must you mention her name? My parents were not there at the time Mirielle visited. And I did not bring her here, to my family home.” He saw the shock on Sophie’s face and sat up. “What? What have I said?”

“I’m so surprised. You have a European home. I thought you would’ve had all your girlfriends sleeping over since the time you were sixteen.”

“No.” He chuckled and put his arms around her. “I told my parents a long time ago that I prefer to keep my private life private.” He smiled. “I also told them that the day I brought a woman home for dinner to meet them and sleep in my bed under their roof would be the day they would know I had met the woman I wanted to spend my life with.”

She tried very hard not to start crying again. “I love you.” She kissed him.

“I love you, too,” he replied, his eyes soft in the darkness. Then he smiled imploringly. “Now maybe you could return your hand to where it was before?”

Chapter 19

February 28, 2014

Sophie awoke to an empty bed the morning after dinner with Michael’s parents. The clock said it was nearly 10 a.m. After showering, she went downstairs dressed in the jeans she had brought in her overnight bag and the button-down Michael had had on last night. It smelled like him.

She found him in the kitchen unpacking a paper bag. Fresh-squeezed orange juice, fruit, croissants, smoked fish. Her stomach growled as her eyes roamed over the food. “Did you work up an appetite last night?”

He grinned, saying everything that needed to be said with his eyes. She sat down at the table as he poured her a cup of strong black coffee.

“What day is it?” She smeared raspberry jam on a warm croissant.

“Friday,” he replied. “Do you have things to do? I would love to spend the day together.”

She wondered if this was what the previous summer would have been like had he not gone to Orlisia, and they could have been just two people falling in love. “I would like to spend today with you too. But I should also go to the office. Would you like to join me?”

~~ - ~~

Sophie badged into the Refugee Crisis International office. The office manager, Cheryl, jumped up with a big smile.

“Sophie’s here!” she shouted, and people hurried over. But the usual greetings died away when they saw the tall, tense-looking man beside her.

“Hi, Cheryl.” She hugged her indispensable office manager. “Sorry I didn’t call ahead, but I left on short notice.” She saw Cheryl staring over her shoulder at Michael.

“This is Dr. Michael Nariovsky-Trent. He was imprisoned in Parnaas. Not a great place for anyone, but especially not for an ethnic Orlisian and an American citizen.” A murmur ran through the group. They understood what it meant to be an American on the wrong side of an international crisis. “I accompanied him back to New York.”

“How’s the mission?” one of the program managers asked eagerly.

“Fantastic. The coalition model is working well, as I’m sure you’ve heard.” She described what they had accomplished, the experience of working with people they had once considered competitors. “Anjali and Will are fine, and send their best to everyone. Unless the UN orders them out earlier, they plan to return to America in about eight weeks’ time.”

Everyone started asking questions at once, but Marlene Hawks, RCI’s public relations director, interrupted them.

“That’s enough for now,” she said in her authoritative tone. “Sophie and I have a meeting. Dr. Nariovsky-Trent, you too.” She gestured toward the Situation Room and waved them in. Michael and Sophie sat down, but Marlene stood, looking at them.

“We have a meeting?” Sophie asked dryly.

“I figured you’d be in today,” Marlene said. “Will briefed me after you two left Kaliningrad. Joanna Rigby from UNICEF is acting as the PR lead for the coalition. You’ll be spending Monday with her to approve press materials and get trained.” She continued to stare at them, tapping one of her long, red fingernails against her teeth.

“Will told me you have a preexisting friendship,” she said at last. “The news agencies will figure this out very quickly. They’ll start digging the minute we produce an American POW out of our back pockets. Our plan was to be reactively transparent about your previous relationship.”

“We figured as much,” Sophie said. “We’re fine with that.”

Marlene’s eyes narrowed, settling on Michael, who looked back with characteristic stoniness. “Will didn’t tell me that you two are romantically involved.”

“Jesus.” Sophie swore some days that Marlene was psychic. “How do you draw that conclusion?”

“You’d have to be in the grave for a month not to notice; your chemistry is off the charts. Don’t you see the way he looks at you?” She jerked her chin at Michael. “He practically tripped over himself to open the door for you. Sophie, you’re glowing like a Christmas tree, and I’m pretty sure you’re wearing one of his shirts. I can’t decide whether to be happy for you or throw up.”

“Thanks a lot.” She cursed herself for leaving the house wearing Michael’s button-down. “Yes, we’re romantically involved. As if that’s anyone’s business.”

“Don’t be naïve,” said Marlene. “The media is going to crucify you. They’ll say this was a personal rescue mission on your part. Once this gets out – and it will – the media will have a field day with you.”

She felt the color drain out of her face. Michael suddenly leaned forward and took her hand.

“The media will be having no field days at my expense or Sophie’s.” His eyes were dark with fury. “It will be your job and the job of your colleagues to manage it appropriately. I will not have her name or mine dragged through the mud. See to it that you do your work.”

Marlene sat back, eyebrows raised. “Aren’t you the one? Will said you have a wicked temper. Don’t worry, we’ll manage the media. At least, we can manage the story as best we can. But if I have my way, you two will
never
interview together in person. Not unless things get really out of hand.” She paused. “Now I have a bomb to drop on you guys.”

“What is it?” Sophie felt more dread in her stomach. “What’s wrong?”

Marlene smiled. “This is a good bomb.” She held up a bank check and a sheaf of legal paperwork. “Someone made a donation, earmarked specifically to cover ‘any and all extraordinary costs incurred by the Refugee Crisis Coalition associated with the rescue and repatriation of Dr. Michael Nariovsky-Trent.’”

“Holy shit.” Sophie reached out with trembling fingers to take the check. “Is it enough?”

“More than, although not by much,” confirmed Marlene. “The amount is close enough that it makes us think the donor had inside information.”

“Who was it?” She felt shaken to the core by this development.

“Anonymous.” Marlene pointed to the legal paperwork. “Came through a big name law firm. Cash money, not a pledge to cover these costs in the future, which all too frequently doesn’t materialize. Cash in the hand.” She looked at Michael. “You, my friend, are home free.”

~~ - ~~

Michael vibrated with tension all the way back to Midtown. There was no point in talking to him when he was in this state, so Sophie let him be. As they sat on the train, he reached down to take her hand. She squeezed it tight.

His mood remained dark for the remainder of the day. Michael’s parents were at a social engagement, so he and Sophie had a quiet dinner and watched a movie. She didn’t push to talk. He was too fixated about the possibility of their relationship becoming a topic of media scrutiny.

Eventually, she pulled him against her on the couch and started rubbing her fingers through his short hair. He was just starting to relax when the phone in the kitchen rang, and he jumped, his head connecting with Sophie’s jaw.

“Jesus!” She rubbed her chin until Michael pulled her hands away, searching for bleeding. “You’re so edgy tonight.” She winced as he probed her jaw line.

“I know. I am sorry,
mana mila
. This afternoon was…”

She took his wrists in her hands and dropped a kiss on each of them, and another on his mouth. She suddenly remembered him washing her in the shower in Kaliningrad, the tenderness with which he’d cared for her when she’d been sick. “For me, too. Come.” She switched off the television. “Let’s go upstairs. I know what you need.”

Sophie told him to get undressed and lie down. A few moments later, she climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. She squeezed some lotion onto her hands and began to massage his back. Beneath her, Michael let out a faint groan of contentment.

“Seems like the least I could do for the man who let me sleep in this morning.” She leaned forward to kiss him between his shoulder blades. “Went out early to fetch me breakfast.” Another kiss. “Made me coffee.” Another kiss. “And endured much scrutiny and ogling from my coworkers.” Another kiss.

For every word she said aloud, she said a dozen others with her actions. That she understood his moods. That she cared deeply about many of the same things he did. That she, too, felt distressed that their intensely private love affair could easily become a plaything for the media in a matter of days.

That she loved him beyond words, beyond reason.

Her strong fingers dug into his muscles. Sophie spent several long minutes soothing away the tension in his shoulders, then made her way down his back. He slowly relaxed under her until she heard his breathing drift into a soft rhythm. She slid off him, and climbed under the covers. Michael mumbled incoherently. He pulled her into his arms and went under again.

The next morning, they sat at the kitchen table over coffee, a pad of paper between them. Media training happened on Monday. The press release would go out Tuesday, and an initial interview had been scheduled with the
New York Times
that same day. After that, their private lives would cease to be private.

“Where do we start?” he asked.

“Let’s make a list of everyone we’ve got to talk to before this hits the media.” She picked up a pen and made a note. “I still haven’t told my parents. They know I’m home from Orlisia with an escaped American refugee. I haven’t quite gotten to the part where I’m in love with him.”

“We should speak with Carter in person. Perhaps we could drive up on the weekend,” suggested Michael.

She nodded. She wanted to see the baby anyway. “The class.”