Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
But when I put my hand on the pillow to draw her close, all I feel is empty air. I sit up, scanning the mattress in case she’s simply curled up at the opposite end. I’m disappointed when I discover that she’s missing, but not overly alarmed. Maybe she’s in the shower.
“Sofia?” I call out.
There’s no answer, so I go investigate for myself. The bathroom is empty, which is concerning. Maybe she had to leave early to go to work. But she didn’t have a car, which means she would have had to hire a lift. I’m not sure how I feel about that. After the night we shared, I hoped she would feel comfortable waking me up and asking for a ride. I would have given her one in a heartbeat, even thrown in breakfast if she was hungry.
Feeling a little upset, I throw some pants on and tug my way into a T-shirt. I don’t have to get started until around ten today. I’m supposed to be meeting with another one of my father’s soldiers, but there are no early morning rounds this time.
As I’m about to leave my bedroom, I notice Sofia’s shoes on the floor. That’s odd. Why would she leave without her shoes? Now I’m wondering if she’s just downstairs having breakfast with Marlena. That makes more sense than anything else. At least I know that she hasn’t abandoned me without explanation.
I hurry out into the hall and walk downstairs, anticipating a morning kiss. But when I arrive in the kitchen, there is only my father. He sits at the table, staring into two mugs of coffee. I’m immediately suspicious because I don’t know who he’s drinking with. Marlena has stopped drinking coffee because she’s pregnant, so that only leaves Gio, or one of Dad’s business associates.
“Have you seen Sofia?” I ask my father. Maybe she’s the owner of the second cup of coffee and she’s in the bathroom or something.
“Son, have a seat,” my father commands.
I gaze at him suspiciously. He is the boss, and he’s well within his rights to make demands, but I’m not used to that particular tone. It’s something most often reserved for people who are causing problems, for thieves and derelicts who have stepped out of line.
I sit down, realizing that the second coffee cup is for me. Dad has been waiting for who knows how long, and this discussion isn’t going to be pleasant.
“How much do you know about Sofia?” My father asks.
“What?” I wonder, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. I thought we were going to talk about work, yet, here he is, grilling me about my love life.
“How much do you know about Sofia?” He repeats.
“I know she’s a graduate student,” I say, suddenly aware of how little I actually know about the woman. She didn’t specifically say she was a graduate student. I just inferred that from some of the other conversations we had. “I know she’s a writer,” I reply, walking back my first statement. “I think she is doing some genealogical research.” Although now that I think about it, I’m not sure that she ever confirmed that she was doing genealogical research. Maybe she said something about researching other families in the city.
“Do you know where she works?” Dad asks.
I shake my head slowly. I remember Sofia saying something about work, but I don’t know where or what she does. I’m getting a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. The more I try to remember things about her, the more I realize that she carefully deflected most of my questions.
“I know her brother died,” I recall.
“How?” Dad asks.
I shake my head again. “I’m not sure.”
My father stares at me with an incomprehensible look. I don’t know where these questions have come from, but I’m not liking this conversation one bit. It’s not just my father’s suspicions, but my upbringing that’s telling me I’ve made a mistake. I should have been more careful. I’ve been living in my father’s shadow since I was a baby, and he’s never been vague about my responsibilities. I’m supposed to think about the family first, and everything else second. It’s starting to look like I’ve followed my dick into a bad situation.
“What do you know about her?” I wonder, dreading the response.
“I caught her downstairs, looking in my office,” Dad replies.
“What?” I demand. “Why?”
My father doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls out his phone. Tapping the screen, he hands it over to me, waiting to judge my reaction. I glance down, uncertain of what I’m about to see. It’s a photo of an ID card, and when I look closer, I can see Sofia’s picture in one corner.
The name reads Sofia, which is great. At least she hasn’t lied about her identity. But the next block of text beneath her name gives me pause. Morning Herald is printed in small block letters, along with the address and phone number of the city paper. The evidence is clear. The woman I thought I loved is a news reporter. She’s been lying to me all along.