That she loved him beyond words, beyond reason.
Her strong fingers dug into his muscles. Sophie spent several long minutes soothing away the tension in his shoulders, then made her way down his back. He slowly relaxed under her until she heard his breathing drift into a soft rhythm. She slid off him, and climbed under the covers. Michael mumbled incoherently. He pulled her into his arms and went under again.
The next morning, they sat at the kitchen table over coffee, a pad of paper between them. Media training happened on Monday. The press release would go out Tuesday, and an initial interview had been scheduled with the New York Times that same day. After that, their private lives would cease to be private.
“Where do we start?” he asked.
“Let’s make a list of everyone we’ve got to talk to before this hits the media.” She picked up a pen and made a note. “I still haven’t told my parents. They know I’m home from Orlisia with an escaped American refugee. I haven’t quite gotten to the part where I’m in love with him.”
“We should speak with Carter in person. Perhaps we could drive up on the weekend,” suggested Michael.
She nodded. She wanted to see the baby anyway. “The class.”
“You do not believe they will not talk to the media, do you?”
“Of course they won’t.” The loyalty of their GYL class was unquestionable. “But they have a right to know in advance, in case the media contacts someone. We can send a joint email to everyone. Jesus, this is like announcing an engagement.” He gave her a smoldering gaze above his coffee cup, making her blush.
“We should also let the GYL administrative office know about this,” he said. “They also may be contacted.”
“Good thinking. Oh, Sergei and Sevastian.” Sophie scribbled furiously. “They arrive tomorrow from Kaliningrad. I’ll explain to them the importance of keeping a low profile and not talking to the media.” She paused. “Do you have any family you wish to tell?”
“Just my parents. I would be surprised if my mother has not already sent emails to our extended family in Europe, asking how many could make a summer wedding.” Sophie choked on her coffee. “Most of my family is in Orlisia anyway, and, although they are all accounted for, they are likely not in a position to be reading American newspapers.”
“I know,” she said, touching his hand. “My parents can reach out to our extended family. There aren’t many of us and we’re not close. I’ll send an email to Matthew tonight. All my other real friends are either class or at the Parnaas camp.” She smiled ruefully. “We’re not exactly social butterflies, are we?”
“Perhaps not. But the friends we have are true friends who will not betray us.”
-
They had a brief conversation with Signe and Maxwell that night about what was likely to take place over the next week or so. Maxwell looked resigned to the whole thing, as if he’d anticipated this might happen. Signe, who knew what it was like to be the subject of gossip and media speculation, expressed concern for them.
They drove back to Brooklyn to talk to Jeris and Don Swenda via webcam. It had taken Sophie a long time to get her parents set up on Skype, but now even her father could handle a video call.
“I’d like you to meet Michael Nariovsky-Trent,” she said, after telling them about her return to the US. Michael moved into the frame. Her parents looked at him speculatively for a moment.
“Nariovsky-Trent. Your name is familiar,” said Jeris at last. “Weren’t you in Sophie’s GYL class?”
“Yes, Mrs. Swenda. I apologize that we cannot meet in person, but time does not allow it.”