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 myresponsibilities. 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 readsSofia, 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 Heraldis 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.
I pass the device back to my dad, feeling a slow boil of emotions overcoming my brain. First, I’m shocked. I don’t know how she managed to drag me so far along, that I would invite her into my home without questioning her loyalty.
I think about all the dates we’ve been on, all the conversations over coffee, and that wonderful afternoon we spent at the park. I think about all the times we made out at her apartment, and how vulnerable she seemed. I thought she didn’t want to sleep with me because she was nervous about making a mistake. I thought she had been hurt in the past, or she was just the kind of girl who didn’t give it away that easily.
Come to find out that she actually doesn’t care about me at all. It was just a sham to get herself invited into my father’s house. On the heels of that realization, my next emotion is anger. She made a fool out of me, and that’s not something I’ve dealt with before. Last night I told her I loved her, but all I can summon now is hate. I hate her for lying to me, for making a fool out of me, for making love to me with deceit in her heart. It takes a cold, calculating soul to turn something as wonderful as sex into a weapon. I didn’t think she had it in her, but now I know differently.
“What did she find in your office?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” Dad answers.
“Dammit!” I shout, unable to contain myself any longer.
I smack the table with a closed fist, causing both coffee mugs to jump. The one closest to me topples over, causing a big brown stain to splash onto the floor. My father doesn’t budge. He was expecting this. If our roles were reversed, I know he would be firing his weapon at the wall or shattering all the wine glasses he could get his hands on. By contrast, I’m acting reserved. But this is all I can manage for the time being.
My father puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says.
