Forbidden Secret

Chapter 11. Sophie

When I pull the bathroom door open, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through me. A piercing cat screech distracts me from what I've planned to do. Instead of kicking out my uninvited guests, I pick up the cat and kiss his face. I mutter apologies for his battered psyche and his tail pinched by the door.

"Soph! Don't try to hide by pretending to be busy with the cat," Christine draws my attention, nervously tapping her nails on the kitchen countertop.

Reluctantly, as if in slow motion, I turn around to face her and freeze, squeezing the cat even tighter. Oliver, unable to withstand such pressure, clings to my skin with his claws and jumps out of my hands.

Rubbing the scratches, I carefully approach the giant bouquet of flowers. Irises. Just like the ones that Christine's father gave me the night I decided I didn't want to continue my relationship with him. And which I left in his car during the escape.

Unlike the previous small one, there are a hundred buds in this bouquet, no less. I was almost right in thinking that it was Alexander who had come.

""You definitely won't forget these flowers, and my number is not blocked in this phone." The card was signed simply, A."Christine read the note with expression. "Who is 'A'?"

I blush for several reasons: the first letter of her father's name is staring her in the face and there are too many intimate details that I do not want Christine to know. Next to the bouquet is a box with a new and insanely expensive smartphone.

"Sophie, what are you hiding from me? Your secret boyfriend?" She moves her eyebrows playfully and smirks, but envy comes through in her voice.

Why now, weeks later, is he sending gifts and a note with hints? And again, this inconsistency of emotions, which only Alexander can cause in me. I am bursting with the desire to throw the boxed phone at him (preferably right into his handsome face), but at the same time I go crazy with tenderness, because Alexander remembered that my phone is broken.

Or does he just not like being on my blacklist? In any case, no one has shown this much interest in me yet. And it turns out to be extremely enjoyable.

"Do I have to dig the dirt out of you with my claws?" Christine pulls me out of my thoughts and hands me a mug of hot coffee.

I don't know how to answer. I have no excuses or reasons prepared. I had no idea that men could make such gestures. I've only seen it in movies and on TV.

"Maybe it's Andy, from our university?" Christine speculates thoughtfully. "No, he is clearly not your type, and he doesn't have the money for gifts like these..."

Christine takes a sip of her coffee and then almost chokes on it, her eyes wide. I clutch the mug in my hands, afraid to move. My stomach tightens and I nervously nibble on the inside of my cheek. I'm afraid to hear her next guess. The letter is too easy to decipher...

"It's your stranger from the hotel, isn't it?" She blurts out and slams her hand on the table. "Oh my God, that's right! 'A'! ANONYMOUS!" She whispers the last word.

I almost faint from overexertion. The back of my head goes numb and my fingertips tingle with adrenaline. I sit down at the table so as not to betray my anxiety through trembling legs.

Christine is beating around the bush and it's only a matter of time before she puts all the facts together. Of course, maybe I'm overthinking it? Well, what does Christine know about my stranger? There are no real details, nothing that could point to Alexander. But, what about the letter on the note? There are many male names starting with the letter A.

All fears are only in my head because I know the secret, but I completely forget that others do not.

"Wait," she continues to reason. "If he sends you gifts, it means he knows your address. Are you starting a new relationship behind my back? What kind of friend are you?!"

Her annoyance makes me laugh. Is Christine telling me how a friend should behave? Her hypocrisy puts a quick end to my insecurities. At some point, I even want to point out her mistakes and ask why she lied to her father about the internship, but I stop myself in time.

"Christine," I sigh. "I really think I have the right not to tell..."

"Crap!" Christine interrupts me. "Wait! Dad is calling."

She clears her throat and quickly answers the phone.

"Yes, daddy," she chirps sweetly. "I was at home, but went out to take a walk. Yeah. Yes. Good. Well, okay, have a good flight. Bye-bye!"

The swarm of thoughts in my head begins to buzz unbearably as the information provided comes together. Alexander does not know that Christine spent the night away from home. So, he's not in town. But what about Lola? She would have given up Christine one hundred percent just to set her up.

"Are you lying to your dad?" I sip my coffee, pretending to be indifferent.

"I don't want him to know I'm hanging out at his business partner's club," Christine rolls her eyes. "It seems to me that he knows that I've fallen head over heels in love."

"But what about his lady?" I can't hide my sharp tone of voice.

"Lola?" Christine is surprised. "Didn't I tell you? Dad kicked her out of the house the other day. I saw her packing her clothes in tears. And before that, he was walking on egg shells for several days. I was afraid to approach him. I think they broke up," she smiles slyly. "I think it's because of me. Apparently, dad saw how she was treating me and said goodbye to that fool."

Time seems to stop and everything around me freezes. Christine is speaking, but I can't hear a single word that she's saying. Pain fills my heart, my lungs cannot take a breath, and my legs give way.

The events of that evening flash before my eyes: Alexander, leaning on the hood of the car, his slight smile, and a bouquet of irises, which are neatly held by strong hands.

So, he wasn't lying about Lola? But that doesn't explain his behavior in the restaurant. I want to talk to him until my knees tremble.

My hands find the box with the phone and open it. Without thinking about the logic of my action, or about the presence of Christine in my apartment, I turn on my brand-new phone to type a message to the only contact in the phone book.