The years passed. Sophie got her undergraduate degree and her masters in international development at Stanford. Learned to speak French. Remained in constant touch with Will Temple, who grew from being a casual acquaintance to her greatest mentor and teacher.
She returned to Matt Cain, grieving and guilt-ridden. He accepted her confession surprisingly well, and they remained together for the next two years. Their relationship was calm and conflict-free, if not a little boring. Matt became a lawyer, moved to New Jersey, and married. Sophie consulted him for all her legal matters.
She stood as the maid of honor in Ana and Raphael’s wedding in S?o Paulo, and attended the gigantic bash when Mirielle and Kyle married in 2005. Thirty-seven of the GYL02 class made it to that affair. Understandably, Michael Nariovsky-Trent did not attend.
Michael and Sophie stayed in touch from opposite sides of the country. The night Sophie broke up with Matt, Michael had sat up with her on the phone assuring her that she’d made the right choice. Partway through his third year, Michael had almost given up on his grueling medical studies, and it had been Sophie’s turn to support him.
Sophie dated, fell in and out of love, met some terrific guys. Moved in with a man she’d met in Bangladesh on a field placement, but moved out soon after when she realized he wasn’t so wonderful in real life. Michael dated casually over the years, but never settled down.
She saw him again in 2008 at Carter’s wedding. Walking into Michael’s arms felt like coming home. He was Carter’s best man, and she thought she’d faint at the sight of him in a tuxedo. When he took her out on to the dance floor at the reception, the years melted away.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered in Orlisian.
“As do you.” He complimented her accent; she had continued her Orlisian lessons throughout college. Much later, they strolled in the spectacular hotel gardens in the summer night. He took her hand and interlaced their fingers.
“You are happy, mana mila?” he asked.
“I would be happier if I could see you more often,” she said with a smile. “But yes, Mikael, I am happy. Are you?”
“For now, yes.” He walked her back to her room and lingered outside the door. His green eyes flickered down to her mouth, then he leaned down to kiss her. She let her tongue brush over the edge of his lip. He caught his breath and deepened the kiss. When they pulled apart, his cocked an eyebrow at her in an unasked question.
Sophie was sorely tempted to invite Michael into her hotel room for the night. But as appealing as that was, Sophie valued his friendship too much to risk it on a one-night stand. Their time would come, and when it did it would be for keeps.
Chapter 3
January 11, 2014
Sundays were difficult.
Sophie took the train into Manhattan in the morning. She didn’t own a car, had never needed one in New York City. She got off in Midtown and walked three blocks in the icy January wind to a street of elegant brownstones.
She always dressed nicely when she came here, although she couldn’t say why. Respect, maybe. Perhaps pretending to be something she wasn’t. She pinned her red hair back and wore charcoal dress pants, a white silk blouse, and a black cardigan under her coat.
The door opened before she could touch the doorbell, and she knew the woman standing before her had been waiting for her. Signe Nariovsky-Trent greeted Sophie with a small but genuine smile.
“Come in, mana meita,” Signe said, taking her coat and hanging it away. Sophie felt her cheeks heat up at Signe’s casual use of the traditional Orlisian parental endearment “my daughter”. Michael’s mother had always been kind to her, but their interactions had changed in months Michael had been missing.