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 na?ve,” 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.”