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.