Page 14 of Lela's Choice

“Why wouldn’t your father stitch up a deal with the Debrincat family if Peter’s from the successful branch of the family? Scion of wealthy Maltese family marries granddaughter of wealthy Maltese emigrant,” Hamish speculated. “Why wouldn’t marriage be on the cards from your father’s point of view?”

“Because he’d have me to deal with.” She was fierce as all hell. “They’re both far too young.”

“If she wants to marry the boy, would you object?” He still hadn’t identified her biggest fear.

“I’d encourage them to wait until she’s older.” Defensive, tart, fierce and barely holding on to her temper.

“If she’s pregnant?” Hamish prodded.

She flinched.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Hamish watched the light leave her beautiful eyes. “You’re afraid she’s pregnant.” A pregnant Sophie added another complication to the mix.

“It’s crossed my mind.” She pushed her shoulders back.

“It scares you to death,” Hamish said, her distress a tangible presence in the small space. The reasons for opposing teenage marriage were real, but maturity, or being financially secure as a basis for starting a family didn’t always work out—he and his wife, Olivia, had waited and lost everything.

“Her mother was a single parent.”

Hamish was convinced Lela’s statement hid a bigger secret. Less than twenty-four hours, and he was convinced Lela Vella loved her niece, would love her niece’s unborn child. He still didn’t have all the puzzle pieces. “What counts is that the child is loved, wanted, and cared for.”

“Sophie’s always been loved and wanted.”

“If she’s pregnant and it’s accidental, there are options.” Hamish waited for her to choose one.

She visibly drew in on herself, her voice hoarse. “Sophie wouldn’t choose an abortion.” That made sense, given her mother must have made a similar choice.

“Would your father?” Hamish asked.

“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she’d come to some sort of decision. “I’ll support Sophie’s decision, but being pregnant is not a good enough reason by itself to get married.” She ground out the words, making him feel like an unreconstructed chauvinist, but revealing something else about herself. She was genuinely seeking to understand Sophie’s situation, not impose a ready-made solution onto it.

“Would your father agree?” Hamish was unable to imagine old man Vella being so open-minded. Was this the cause of the stand-off between Vella and his daughter?

“What do you think? You have Papa’s instructions,” she chided him.

“It’s your position we’re exploring now,” Hamish argued.

“We’re talking hypotheticals.”

“We are, but your father didn’t mention marriage. He didn’t tell me they were lovers, but his belief in a seduction scam presupposes they are. Like you, he must have considered pregnancy. He also didn’t give me the boy’s name.” Hamish didn’t like clients being selective with the facts. “That makes me wonder if there is some dispute between Peter’s branch of the Debrincats and the Vellas. What did you say, Lela—history between the families?”

“That was a generalisation.” She backpedalled, but generalisations usually had a core of truth. The line between justice and revenge was indistinguishable to some people. “I don’t know the name, had never heard it before I met Peter.”

“That’s why it’s called history.” Hamish grinned. “Marty, can you also have a look at past connections?”

Marty looked up from his notes. “There’s a good charity in Malta with offices on Melita, works with kids on the street—usually only looks for specific kids if they trust the person looking.”

“Maybe, if we run out of options.” Hamish studied Lela’s bent head. He’d found her on Melita Street. “They used their own names coming in. Let’s try tracing Debrincat first.”

“I don’t want a raid or anything that frightens them.” Her passionate plea told him she’d been scarred by the police bust all those years ago. “She’s a young woman, not a criminal.”

Lela’s preference for an informal search solidified Hamish’s hunch that she knew about the charity’s work.

“I never assume children or young people are criminals,” he replied.

Suspicion settled like a heavy cloud around them.

“We’ve got a confident young woman who’s travelling with someone who knows the islands well, giving him—them—the advantage. A sudden, unexplained decision, but they haven’t had a run-in with authorities, so probability says they’re safe and well.” Marty cut through the thick atmosphere to summarise. “No big deal until we add in family. We’ve got a grandfather and legal guardian who opposes the relationship. And you. Given she ran away, Sophie’s likely carrying a chip on her shoulder that Granddad, or you, don’t understand her. The tricky part is the underage sex, which is prosecutable in Malta.”

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