she was at this bookstore.
I’d expected to find a trite, sixteen-year-old girl, but Sophie was nothing like I’d anticipated. First off, she was far prettier than I’d imagined.
The most recent images provided in her files were from her eighth birthday. I guessed her mom, Clara, had been the photographer of the family as no pictures of the family had been taken since her death. But then again, maybe it was something Sophie’s father, Evyatar, did purposefully. It made sense for him not to take pictures of a daughter he didn’t want anyone to recognize, especially considering he and Sophie went into hiding after Clara’s death.
The first time I spotted Sophie, she was in line at the coffee stand in the corner of the bookstore, her back turned to me. All I saw was a thin, young woman in a white summer dress, her long, brown hair hanging in a braid down her tan back. But then she turned and stole my breath away.
I took in every detail of her lovely face: her intriguing, dark eyes framed by thick black lashes, the delicate arch of her brows, the slight peach glow of her cheeks against her olive complexion, and her full pout — her upper lip just slightly larger than the bottom.
So yes, at first the attraction was merely physical. Though as I trailed her, I became captivated with the things that weren’t: Her innate kindness — something I found unusual for such a pretty girl. The way she got lost in her books for hours on end, unconsciously frowning, laughing, and smiling along the way. How she exuded nobility without even trying. The fact that she was utterly unaware of the many stares that followed her every move, totally clueless of her eminent beauty.
I felt sorry for the poor saps whom came to the book store to study, read or work, but couldn’t accomplish a thing for the distraction of a beautiful girl in the room. Though, maybe like me, they came around anticipating her appearance at ten a.m., knowing she purchased mint tea and a blueberry scone before making her way to the oversized yellow chair near the windowed wall.
And if, like me, they came simply for a glimpse of her, I couldn’t blame them, for she was lovely in every way.
Chapter 9
At First Sight
At first, I excused my exceptional attention to Sophie rationalizing that it was my job to notice every detail about her, like whom she talked to, what she wore, and where she went each day. But I soon conceded that I’d never taken to studying a subject with such voracity before. Something about her captured me, drew me in.
To my detriment, the feelings took root and grew. The more I saw her, the more I needed to see her. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted to learn. Why was the agency so careful to protect this beautiful girl? And why was Lucian Divaldo, the agency’s greatest enemy, so determined to kill her?
Though, if I knew anything about Divaldo, it was that he hated all things good and pure and he didn’t care who he had to sacrifice to win his long-fought war against Dio, whom I served. So maybe it was simply the fact that Sophie was so selfless and kind, characteristics encouraged by Dio, that made Divaldo despise her. Regardless of the reasons why there was a death sentence on her head, my growing care for Sophie drove me to quickly learn her habits and routines to better protect her.
She was an early riser and made breakfast for her father, Evyatar, each morning. They’d pour over the morning newspaper at breakfast, reading aloud tidbits that amused them, always ensuing much conversation and laughter.
The girl was close to her father, largely because they were so much alike. Like her dad, a genius and brilliant professor, she was very intelligent. While this was probably correlated to the innumerable books she read, there was no doubt in my mind it was also genetic, making me like her even more. She was smart and beautiful and seemingly unaware of both.
After breakfast, Evyatar would go to work, leaving Sophie to her
I’d expected to find a trite, sixteen-year-old girl, but Sophie was nothing like I’d anticipated. First off, she was far prettier than I’d imagined.
The most recent images provided in her files were from her eighth birthday. I guessed her mom, Clara, had been the photographer of the family as no pictures of the family had been taken since her death. But then again, maybe it was something Sophie’s father, Evyatar, did purposefully. It made sense for him not to take pictures of a daughter he didn’t want anyone to recognize, especially considering he and Sophie went into hiding after Clara’s death.
The first time I spotted Sophie, she was in line at the coffee stand in the corner of the bookstore, her back turned to me. All I saw was a thin, young woman in a white summer dress, her long, brown hair hanging in a braid down her tan back. But then she turned and stole my breath away.
I took in every detail of her lovely face: her intriguing, dark eyes framed by thick black lashes, the delicate arch of her brows, the slight peach glow of her cheeks against her olive complexion, and her full pout — her upper lip just slightly larger than the bottom.
So yes, at first the attraction was merely physical. Though as I trailed her, I became captivated with the things that weren’t: Her innate kindness — something I found unusual for such a pretty girl. The way she got lost in her books for hours on end, unconsciously frowning, laughing, and smiling along the way. How she exuded nobility without even trying. The fact that she was utterly unaware of the many stares that followed her every move, totally clueless of her eminent beauty.
I felt sorry for the poor saps whom came to the book store to study, read or work, but couldn’t accomplish a thing for the distraction of a beautiful girl in the room. Though, maybe like me, they came around anticipating her appearance at ten a.m., knowing she purchased mint tea and a blueberry scone before making her way to the oversized yellow chair near the windowed wall.
And if, like me, they came simply for a glimpse of her, I couldn’t blame them, for she was lovely in every way.
Chapter 9
At First Sight
At first, I excused my exceptional attention to Sophie rationalizing that it was my job to notice every detail about her, like whom she talked to, what she wore, and where she went each day. But I soon conceded that I’d never taken to studying a subject with such voracity before. Something about her captured me, drew me in.
To my detriment, the feelings took root and grew. The more I saw her, the more I needed to see her. The more I learned about her, the more I wanted to learn. Why was the agency so careful to protect this beautiful girl? And why was Lucian Divaldo, the agency’s greatest enemy, so determined to kill her?
Though, if I knew anything about Divaldo, it was that he hated all things good and pure and he didn’t care who he had to sacrifice to win his long-fought war against Dio, whom I served. So maybe it was simply the fact that Sophie was so selfless and kind, characteristics encouraged by Dio, that made Divaldo despise her. Regardless of the reasons why there was a death sentence on her head, my growing care for Sophie drove me to quickly learn her habits and routines to better protect her.
She was an early riser and made breakfast for her father, Evyatar, each morning. They’d pour over the morning newspaper at breakfast, reading aloud tidbits that amused them, always ensuing much conversation and laughter.
The girl was close to her father, largely because they were so much alike. Like her dad, a genius and brilliant professor, she was very intelligent. While this was probably correlated to the innumerable books she read, there was no doubt in my mind it was also genetic, making me like her even more. She was smart and beautiful and seemingly unaware of both.
After breakfast, Evyatar would go to work, leaving Sophie to her
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