Chapter 3
Sophie asked to speak to me.
Alone.
That surprised me.
I sat across from her in the small morning room while one female guard stayed outside the open door.
Sophie twisted the edge of her dress.
“Am I in trouble?”
“No.”
She looked relieved.
“Did you want Noah’s chair?”
Her face went red.
“No.”
“Why did you sit there?”
“Mom told me to.”
Fair.
“What else has she told you?”
Sophie looked toward the hallway.
Then whispered:
“That after the wedding I have to act like your daughter.”
My expression tightened.
“What does that mean?”
“She says people have to see me beside you.”
“At parties?”
She nodded.
“Pictures too.”
Interesting.
“And Noah?”
Sophie’s face changed.
“She says he already had three years.”
I stared.
“Three years of what?”
“You.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Victoria had turned a father into something children received in shifts.
I leaned forward.
“Do you think you need to take something from Noah for me to care about you?”
Sophie’s eyes filled immediately.
“No.”
“Good.”
“She says I need a father.”
That part was true.
Sophie’s father had died when she was four.
But grief did not create ownership over another child’s place.
“What do you want?”
She thought for a long time.
“I want Mom to stop making everything weird.”
I almost smiled.
Accurate.
Then Sophie reached into the small pocket of her dress and handed me a folded card.
It was one of the event photographer’s instruction sheets.
FAMILY PORTRAITS:
Raffaele + Victoria + Sophie.
Raffaele + Sophie.
Victoria + Sophie.
Noah — candid children’s photographs only.
My son had been removed from the formal family portraits at my own engagement party.
Not accidentally.
In writing.
Sophie looked at me.
“I thought you knew.”
Of course she did.
Everybody did.
That was how Victoria operated.
May you like
She told each person the decision came from someone else.
Eventually, nobody remembered to ask the person whose name she was using.
