Sofia's Curse

Sofia and Ian

"C'mon. You don't want to sleep alone and you know it," Ian leers at Sophia seductively.

They are lying in her bed, on silk Egyptian sheets. Her bedroom is lavishly rich, just like the rest of her house. It doesn't look like a room of a teenager, though. There are three gilded bronze sculptures of the Roman deities in her room: the goddess Diana on the left side of the door; Pluto, the god of death, on the other; and, beside her bed, Saturn.

Sophia ignores his comment. She's too distracted by her encounter with that boy. She wonders what his name is. And how is it possible that they've found them?

"Seriously, though, I don't get what the problem is, Soph. It's not like you're a virgin or something. We've done it before."

She rolls her eyes. "You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know," she props herself up. "If I was a lady, I'd be offended." She walks to her closet placed opposite of the bed. It is nine feet wide, with three sliding doors and a huge mirror in the middle. She stars at it. At her reflection. The reflection so similar to the boy she encountered. She touches her jaw and runs her fingers up to her high cheekbones. She knows it was him. It had to be him. If it was only his similar looks, she couldn't have been certain. But the fact he thought she was somebody else - somebody named Victoria – means they are here. Luther must've found them.

"And that is precisely why I love you," Ian approaches her from the back and kisses her neck, "because you don't pretend to be one."

She slightly frowns. She almost forgot what they were talking about, "Right. Well, I'm too old for that stuff."

Ian laughs, "Right." When he sees her expression, his eyebrows come together. "I was your first, wasn't I?"

She lets loose of his arms and goes to the door. She puts her hand on the sculpture of Pluto.

He lets a sigh of disgust. "I hate those things. Why do you have them, anyway? Did they come with the house?"

"No," she says without turning. "We brought them along."

He squints. "They like family jewels or something?"

"You might say so."

"You should've let your dad decorate his room with those. I usually hate those girly rooms, but I got to say, a little bit of pink wouldn't hurt here," he says as she suppresses a smile. "A b****y mausoleum is what it is," he mutters.

"This is Pluto," she turns to look at Ian. "You want to meet?"

He lifts an eyebrow. "I'm good, thanks."

She curls her lips. "Feeling threatened by his family jewels?"

"Ha-ha. I prefer this one," he points at Diana.

"Hmm, the goddess of birth. Now isn't the time for her, though. I feel it's Pluto's turn now," she says thinking of the boy she met, "The god of death."

He frowns. "You sound crazy when you talk like that, you know."

"Perhaps. But since you're such an asshole, I don't think you can afford being picky," she smiles.

"Whatever. Isn't Diana the goddess of hunt, though?"

"Some say hunt," she nods. "Some say moon. But I prefer birth. You know, allegedly, she helped women in child-birth, because her mother Leto gave birth to her and her twin brother so easily."

He stares at her in silence for a few seconds. Then he speaks, gesturing with his hand, "You're doing those crazy sounds again."

She gives him a wry smile. "Weren't you on your way out?"

He twists his lips in annoyance. "Okay, you win. I know where I'm not wanted."

"Damn. And I was trying to be subtle," she opens the door for him.

He doesn't laugh. "Should work on that," he lays a quick kiss on her lips, quite impersonal. "See you tomorrow?"

"Mm-hmm," she smiles, "why not?" and shuts the door in his face. It's not that she doesn't like Ian. She does. She enjoys him just as she enjoys eating a Tiramisu. He is her delicious little treat. And she so often craves a small bite, just enough to ease the hunger, but he constantly offers the entire cake. And it simply kills her desire for more. What's more, it makes her sick to her stomach.

She rolls her eyes at the thought of him sleeping here. She knows he had a bad childhood, not because she noticed – she didn't care enough to notice – but because he told her so many times. And she never asked him to tell her. She didn't want to know. Because his opening himself to her meant he yearned for the same from her. And she doesn't want to talk about her past. She doesn't want to bond. She refuses to spill her past with the sound of violins in the background. And she will not. That's the reason she never allows him to spend the night.

She fixes her eyes pensively to Pluto. "What are we going to do with this boy once he loses his flavor?" she shakes her head. "My appetite's already gone."

She knows Ian thinks she doesn't allow him to stay because of her dad. She used him as an excuse so many times since she knows he's scared of him. The corner of her lips curl ruefully at the thought. As if there was a person who wasn't. If only Ian knew how ridiculous it was to think her dad was bothered by his presence. If he was, in any way imaginable, Sophie wouldn't have dared to allow Ian to set a foot past the iron fence that surrounded their villa.

She lets the thought go. It isn't what preoccupies her now. She can't stop thinking about the boy she met. If it's really him...it means it's happening again. Her eyes stray to the sculpture of Diana. She squints with hatred. "As ever, you're the last one who could help."

God, I hate these sculptures, she thinks. Ian is right. The room resembles a mausoleum more than it does a girl's bedroom. But it's not like she wants the sculptures. Her father bestowed them upon her on her first birthday. And ever since they've been around. Every new house they would move into, her father would place them in Sophia's room. Diana on the left, Pluto on the right. It's the only present she's ever received from him. And it wasn't even a present. It was a cruel reminder of what she was supposed to do.

As if she could ever forget.

#

Ian walks down the staircase curling towards the vast foyer. At the bottom, Sophia's dad is standing in front of a small but tall gilded round table serving as a mail repository, placed right in the middle – on a marble swords-crossing rectangle on the ground. As soon as Ian notices him, he freezes. His back is turned so all Ian can see is his thick dark hair and his amazingly elegant posture. He was planning to sneak out before her father came home. He wasn't expecting him to come back so early. Usually, he never does. Just as he is waging his options – climbing back up quietly and escaping through Sophie's window or climbing back quietly and escaping through a window of any room he found, her father speaks.

"I'm happy my daughter has already found new friends," he says without turning.

Ian pinches his lips so as he wouldn't let out a curse. "Hello, Mr. O'Connor," he forces as flat a voice as he can. He steps down from the last stair and quickly thinks of something casual he might say. "Anything interesting in the mail these days?" he blurts out while approaching. "My parents always complain about the advertisements," he quickly ads and stops walking at quite a distance. He doesn't want to come too close. Not many people make Ian nervous, but around Sophie's dad, he can never stand still.

"Please," he turns to face him. "Call me Leeroy." His eyes seem a shade colder than usual against the fluorescent light coming from the broad crystal chandelier above them.

Ian lets out a nervous chuckle. "Yes, I always keep forgetting."

"And to answer your question, no, I'm not."

Ian slightly frowns. "You didn't find anything interesting, then?"

"I wasn't referring to that," Leeroy smiles mysteriously, "The other question."

Ian finds himself breathing heavily. He is puzzled and scared at the same time. He doesn't want to continue this conversation, but he knows he can't just walk away, so he forces himself to speak. "I never asked another question."

"Yes, but you were thinking it."

Ian nervously twists his lips. "Was I?"

"Yes. And no, I am not mad you were hanging out with Sophia, regardless of how late at night it is."

There are no words for how uncomfortable this man makes you feel, Ian thinks. "Oh, that," he forces a chuckle. "You're right. I was kind of worried I'll get beaten if I encountered you."

"Don't be silly," Leeroy's lip curls up at a corner. "You had enough of that for today."

Ian freezes. How does he know? "Why would you say that?"

Leeroy points his index finger at the knuckles of his right arm. "Fists never lie, son," he winks.

"Oh," Ian lifts his hand up and sees his knuckles are a bit b****y. He hadn't noticed it before at all. "I must've-", he starts inventing an excuse but Leeroy interrupts him by laying a hand on his shoulder.

"No need, son," he says, "I'm lucky my daughter has somebody to protect her. But, do me a favor. Next time, go one on one. It's more masculine." He says without a smile, then turns shortly to pick up a letter and goes for the stairs. "I believe you know where the door is. Regardless of the fact your favorite mean of exit from here is the window," he says coldly.

Ian feels his gut turn. That man is intimidating. How in the world could he have known that Ian didn't go one on one? Maybe that was supposed to sound as an insult – he saw only his knuckles were injured, so he concluded there must've been someone else to help him in the fight. Is he suggesting Ian is weak? That he couldn't win a fight, not without a scratch? Ian narrows his eyes out of hatred as he watches Leeroy climb up. Then he sniffs with disgust and goes for the door.