Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
38. A Note From The Author
39. About Shades of Trust
Shaded Love
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
40. A Note From The Author
Love Painted in Red
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Also by Cristiane Serruya
About Cristiane Serruya
This book is a work of fiction and the characters, and dialogues, places and incidents involving them are drawn from the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Wherever the author has used real locations, all the details and descriptions have been kept as real and accurate as possible.
All rights reserved. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express written permission of the author.
This book contains as bonuses: Shaded Love, a prequel to Love Painted in Red. Copyright © 2017 Cristiane Serruya; an excerpt of Love Painted in Red, a TRUST Series standalone romance, a KindleScout winner. Copyright © 2016 Cristiane Serruya; and an excerpt of USA Today bestselling romance Damaged Love, a TRUST Series standalone novella. Copyright © 2017 Cristiane Serruya
ISBN-13: 978-1980433163
Text Copyright © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Cover by Book Cover Luv © 2018 Cristiane Serruya
Acknowledgments
For my right—and left—hands:
- My designer, Renata Fontanive. You’re the best.
- My funny, patient, loving editor, Edward M Wolfe. You have a special place in my heart;
NOW! For the hearts of my heart, in chronological order of arrival in my life, my biggest thanks:
My broad, six-foot-six, stubborn, loving husband, Raphael, who hated this series with all his might. In spite of his many official—and unofficial—complaints against it, he supported and helped me through all those long two-and-a-half years.
My brilliant, older daughter, Raphaela, who cried and hated me when I killed Ethan’s dog, but still helped me sort out some darker tricky scenes. When you grow up a bit, I promise I’ll let you read it all—yeah, I’ve censored it for you, baby;
My blue-eyed, spirited, youngest daughter, Giovanna, who since she was a toddler called my books and my Kindle ‘The enemy’, and was so much jealous of this series, but never failed to like my FB posts;
And last but not least, a prayer to my real companion on those long, long hours, Duda, my husband’s British Bulldog, who slept and snored through all those lines. He passed away just a few days after I finished the last book of SHADES of TRUST. I miss you, Duda, and I hope you are in Heaven.
Rio de Janeiro, April 2014.
To those who didn’t believe,
you kindled my fire.
Chapter 1
London, The City, Victoria Embankment
The City of London Headquarters
Monday, October 4, 2010
1:29 p.m.
Alistair walked the length of his office with long strides, a caged panther, as he read the messages again and again.
Unknown. 12:45 p.m. - Do U trust your wife?
Unknown. 12:49 p.m. - Where is your wife?
Unknown. 1:01 p.m. - What is your wife doing? With who?
Unknown. 1:09 p.m. - Your wife is betraying U
He had entered his office, closing and locking the door, which was atypical, and informed his assistant on the intercom, “MacKeenan, I don’t want to be bothered.”
“Of course—”
Alistair cut off the answer, being unusually rude. He was more concerned with beating the doubts that had wedged in his mind. Who could possibly be doing this? Why do they want me to doubt Sophia?
He peered again at the image attached to one of the messages.
Ethan was holding Sophia’s hand, helping her into his Rolls-Royce. Both of them had huge smiles on their faces.
This is…this is… Alistair fell on his chair. He didn’t even want to contemplate what that was. Who is chasing Sophia and getting so close to take pictures of her? Who is trying to make me think she is betraying me?
He picked up his mobile to call his wife, but didn’t place the call not wanting to alarm her unnecessarily.
London, The City, L’Anima restaurant
1:37 p.m.
“Oh my God, Ethan.” Sophia licked her lips. “This is so unfair.”
Yes, so unfair. Ethan felt dizzy sitting there beside Sophia.
“I really don’t know what to choose. What do you think, Ash?”
Ashley looked at her boss and shook her head. “I don’t, either. I love the food here.”
“How about we ask Chef Francesco to suggest something for us?” Ethan offered. “His food entices the senses.” As you have done with mine, darling.
“Great idea.” She turned to Scott. “I’m really impressed with your ideas for The Dorchester ballroom decoration.”
“You should consider yourself honored,” said Ashley to Scott, “it’s v
ery hard to impress Sophia.”
Ethan almost laughed out loud when Scott puffed his chest. “Scott is very competent. He manages to achieve everything I ask of him. Even the most difficult tasks. I’m sure the ball will be a huge success.”
“All the invitations are sold,” Scott said. “I’ve already managed to secure sponsorship for the decoration, The Dorchester will not charge for the ballroom rental and they are also giving us a very special price for the catering, Mrs. MacCraig.”
Sophia saw Ethan flinch at hearing her married name. Oh, Ethan, you have to get over it. “Please, Scott, call me Sophia. We’ll be working together on this. I didn’t want to prolong the meeting, but I have a few ideas that I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Scott, her ideas are extremely creative.” Ashley smiled fondly at Sophia. “But get ready, she is a general and commands us as if we were soldiers.”
That made Scott grin. “It’ll be my pleasure to soldier under your orders, Mrs—”
“Sophia,” she corrected him with a sweet smile.
If possible, Scott’s grin widened. “Sophia.”
The chef approached their table and they started an animated discussion about food flavors and wine combinations.
Sophia may have married MacCraig but she still likes me very much. It’s just a question of time. Then a thought intruded into his mind, making him review his feelings. But a question of time to do what? Oh, damn. I don’t even know what I want anymore.
Sophia, Barbara. Barbara, Sophia.
I’m going crazy. This whole mess is going to lead me to hell.
The City of London Bank Headquarters
2:22 p.m.
Alistair opened his office door quietly, “MacKeenan.”
His assistant looked up, surprised. Alistair normally made his requests by intercom. “Yes?”
It took Alistair a while to speak. He opened his mouth but what he was going to say was replaced by, “Do you know where Tavish Uilleam is? I’ve tried to reach him on his cell phone, but he’s not answering.”
MacKeenan consulted his computer. “He’s at The Blue Dot. He had a meeting there with a new artist.”
“What time was it supposed to begin?”
“Two o’clock, sir,” informed MacKeenan, noticing the strained lines around Alistair’s eyes. “Mr. MacCraig, would you like me to call your brother?”
Shall I call him? Leo? Baptist? Alistair just shook his head, in spite of his need to roar his anger and fear. Without a word, Alistair went back to his office and shut the door quietly. Picking up the headset of his private line he called the PI.
5:29 p.m.
“I came as soon as I could. My battery died—”
Alistair swirled in his chair to face his brother. There was a bottle of The Famous Grouse Scotch whisky on the table and a glass half-full.
The dramatic sounds of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, the Symphony of Destiny, filled the room.
Tavish turned and closed the door, locking it, frightened by the dark hollowed look on Alistair’s face. “Jesus, Alistair Connor. What happened?”
But Alistair couldn’t reply. He was numb. Fate is knocking on my door again. He thought how appropriate was the symphony he had chosen.
“Sit. Please.” He stood and motioned for Tavish to sit in one of the armchairs, waving his glass. “Do you want one?”
Tavish shook his head. “How much have ye had?”
“Just a sip.” Barely nothing. I’m…feeling sick. “No one is dead. And no one is hurt.” Well, not physically. At least not yet. He sat heavily on the sofa by the armchair and handed his brother the file Baptist had given him in February.
“I’m getting worried—” Tavish leafed through the file and scowled at his brother, handing it back. “Why are you spying on Sophia?”
Alistair didn’t elaborate for a while, not exactly knowing how to explain his paranoia. He opened it to the last page and, as he did those many months ago, he traced the contour of Sophia’s delicate face. He knew his limitations and he knew he was on the edge of something dangerous. “This is old. I was going to throw it away. I don’t know why I kept it. Maybe it was because of the photos.”
Tavish shook his head, not really understanding why Alistair was brooding with such sadness and darkness. He leaned over and put a hand on his brother’s knee. “Come on, tell me.”
“And if I said Sophia is betraying me?” His voice was so low he didn’t know if Tavish had heard him. He was controlling his urge to shout and hurl his glass against the wall. But when he looked up from the photo, Tavish’s mouth was hanging agape. “Well?”
Tavish closed his mouth and swallowed. “Are ye serious?” When Alistair nodded, he stated, “Dude, I’d say ye are fucking nuts.”
Aye, I’d say that too. He drained the rest of his whisky, thumped the glass on the table beside him and showed Tavish the messages. “So, what am I supposed to make of those?”
Tavish scanned the messages quickly and tapped the screen to zoom at the photo. “She is hosting a ball with Ashford, isn’t she? Maybe they were going out to lunch. Did Sophia tell you she was meeting him?”
“Nae. We rarely talk about our schedules, except when there is something different or interesting. And I don’t control her.”
Tavish rubbed a hand on his nape, looking at the photo and seeing nothing wrong with it. “Who could possibly want to make you doubt her?”
When did you become so wise, Tavish Uilleam? Alistair looked at his brother. “Do you think it is so?”
Tavish shrugged and looked at the screen. “Do you know the number?”
“What?” He didn’t understand what Tavish meant.
Tavish shook the phone. “The number that sent you the messages. I’m certain you have requested Baptist to track it by now. Do you know it?”
“Aye, I have the number already, but nae, I went through all my contacts and MacKeenan’s, and found no one listed with this number. Why would anyone send me this?”
“I doona know. You doona know. And I bet Sophia doesn’t know either. What are you waiting for?”
Alistair looked at him and parroted, “What am I waiting for? For what?”
Tavish rolled his eyes, thinking the messages must have addled Alistair’s brain. “Call Baptist again. Ask him to track the number to an address. And forget about labeling your wife a whore before you talk to her.”
“I’ve already set Baptist on a possible trail.” Then he scowled at Tavish. “And nae, I don’t think my wife is a whore.”
“So, go home. I’ll bet she is home playing with Gabriela or getting ready to seduce you. There’s no better place for you now, Alistair Connor. By the way, donna be an asshole. My promise still stands.”
“What promise?” asked Alistair befuddled.
Slowly, Tavish drew his fingertip over his slightly crooked nose. “Hurt Sophia and I will break your nose.”
Kensington Palace Street
Atwood House, Gabriela’s room
7:08 p.m.
Quietly, Maria opened the door to Gabriela’s room.
Without interrupting the story she was telling her daughter, Sophia lifted her eyelids. Everyone in the house knew story time was a special moment, reserved for the family to be alone. Surely something very serious had happened, since both Maria and Aisha were outside.
Maria motioned with her head and mouthed, “Mr. MacCraig.”
No. Sophia felt a sharp throb of fear inside her and wrapped up the story with a few words. She planted a kiss on Gabriela’s cheek and said, “Alistair has arrived and needs me downstairs. I have to go, all right?”
“Can Maria tell me another story?” asked the little girl.
“Yes, but just one, okay?” Sophia smiled at Gabriela. “Good night, my angel.”
Gabriela smiled back. “Nite, Mama. Kiss Daddy good-night too.”
As soon as Sophia stepped outside the bedroom, Maria said, “Mr. MacCraig arrived, changed clothes, and went to the pool.”
S
ophia’s forehead creased. “And?” Why didn’t he come up to see Gabriela?
Maria eyed Aisha, who answered, “I was waiting to see if he wanted a snack before dinner. He…he looked at me for a moment as if I wasn’t there, thanked me, and went downstairs, saying he was going for a swim and didn’t want to be interrupted. Mrs. MacCraig, he didn’t look well.”
Alistair’s laps were quick, yet regular. Swimming always felt right to him. He had learned to swim before he learned to walk. His father took him to the freezing lochs and he loved splashing his mother, who screamed and feigned dying of cold. As he grew older, the immersed silence along with the timely strong laps and kicks usually unknotted his muscles and emptied his mind of the small details and problems, making him focus on the bigger picture.
But tonight, his muscles had yet to unknot. The fury, the fear, and the angst he had experienced when he saw that photo hadn’t faded. It was like a disease eating at him, demanding he get Sophia far away from any chance of being hurt.
Deep down, at a cellular level, he knew he could not control everything and was just capable of doing so much.
And deeper still, his primeval instincts were jerking at his need to dominate. Irrationally, all he wanted to do was grab her, hold her, and never let go. Make love to her until they were both tired and sated; until their scents mingled together, branding her as she was already imprinted all over him. It was consuming him with such an intensity that even though he knew he should resist it, he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.