The pressure on Sophie was horrendous. A few of her colleagues suggested she make her temporary hiatus from RCI permanent. Her professional integrity had never come under attack before, and she began to second-guess her decisions.
The final straw came when Page Six ran a series of photographs on their website, a slideshow of Michael and every beautiful woman with whom he’d ever been photographed. Most had been taken at Orlisian community functions, posed photos with family friends or women he’d dated casually over the years. But he felt guilty about the one of him with Orlisian model Anna Lauton, taken a few years before at a cultural gala. They’d both had too much to drink when the photo was taken, and it showed. It didn’t help his conscience that he and Anna had ended that night with a drunken romp in bed.
Beside this, they ran a second slideshow of images of Sophie working in the field. No glamour shots here – they were all pictures of her on the job in the developing world, many of them taken while she stood knee deep in filth, sweat rolling down her face, her hair stringy with dirt. They’d worked hard to find the most unflattering shots possible. The headline above the two sets of pictures: Hot and Not.
Michael was at the UNICEF offices with Joanna. Sophie had already gone back to his parents’ place for the evening. He looked at Joanna, bile rising in his throat.
“I cannot live with this. Is there no way to stop this?”
She sat back in her chair and chewed on the end of her pen. “I know Marlene feels the two of you shouldn’t interview together, but I’m wondering if we need to adjust that strategy. We’ve had dozens of requests for the two of you together on all the best shows. Perhaps it’s time to think about it.”
Michael said nothing, and Joanna cast a sharp look at him. “I suggested this to Sophie a week ago, and she flatly refused, saying that privacy is paramount for your relationship.”
“Sophie is correct. Nonetheless, I am willing to consider it at this point.” He ran his hands through his short hair in agitation. “This is killing her. I try to keep her from the worst of the gossip, but this trash makes it so difficult.” He gestured helplessly at the computer. “We need someone to tell the real story of how Sophie saved me and everyone else in that camp as well.”
Joanne looked back at him steadily. “I have an idea.”
-
He came home from the office, sprinting from the car to the front door to avoid any photographers who might have been lingering around his parents’ house. Maxwell and Signe sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and looking beleaguered.
“Where is Sophie?” Michael looked at them, concerned. “What is it? Tell me.”
“She is upstairs, my son.” His mother’s eyes were dark with worry. “She would not take food or drink. She would not speak to us. She went to your room and closed the door against me. She had been crying, I am certain of it.” Signe took a prepared tray from the counter and handed it to him. “Maybe she will eat for you. Please, Mikael. I am worried.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Moved, he kissed Signe and went upstairs.
He knocked, but there was no answer. He cautiously pushed the door open and entered the darkened room, placing the tray on the bedside table. Sophie lay on the bed, her back to him. The Page Six slideshow glowed on her laptop screen.
She didn’t move. He walked around to the other side of the bed. She was awake, her eyes swollen and red with tears. He closed the computer with a snap.