Page 81 of Lela's Choice

“That was MacGregor. Sophie’s determined to stay in Malta until after her birthday.”

“Who’s Macgregor?” Mirko threw himself onto the couch.

“Over to you, Papa.” Lela took the place at her younger brother’s side.

Her father scowled at her. “I hired him to bring Sophia home. He’s no longer in my employ.”

“Hamish MacGregor is an internationally acclaimed Australian lawyer specialising in the illegal movement of minors across international borders. He works for the Australian government on international treaties and has a private practice in Australia.” He was the most honourable and stubborn man Lela knew, and living in this household, stubbornness took some beating.

Joseph hissed out a breath.

“Hamish was undertaking treaty negotiations in Malta. Papa tricked him into looking for Sophie, thereby taking his time from cases more deserving of his attention.”

“How did Papa trick him?” Joseph leaned on the mantel above the fireplace.

Aunty hesitated, the bobbin of cotton held above the pins.

“I sent him a medical report. It said there was a possibility Sophia was having a mental breakdown,” Papa replied, holding her gaze. “Possibility, nothing definitive.”

“The definitive evidence came directly from you.” Lela gentled her voice. “You were desperate, but you allowed Hamish to believe a lie. He’d have shredded you if it had come to a court case, and I would have been cheering him on.”

Her allegiance to Hamish, and her use of his first name, caught Papa’s attention. No matter. Hamish would leave their lives as abruptly as he’d entered them. She’d miss him for the rest of her life.

“I don’t understand?” Joseph asked. “Was the kid a conman or not.”

“Peter Debrincat comes from one of the wealthier families in Malta. His aunt was a close friend of Mama’s. Close enough that Mariella was named after her.”

“I was afraid he’d steal her away,” Papa confessed, and his admission didn’t inspire triumph in Lela, just more regret, “convince her of the beauty of Malta, that she should research her family’s history.”

“What in holy hell did you think you were doing, Papa!” Mirko had an impressive range of expletives in several languages. Lela admired his self-restraint in Aunty’s presence.

“I still don’t get it,” Joseph added. “Why did she run?”

Lela let the silence lengthen. She wouldn’t have chosen this way to tell the story. She’d planned to invite her brothers’ wives over, to lean on their good sense, to weave the truth with smaller blessings. Her brothers’ children would have distracted Papa. He loved them—not as he loved Sophie—but they could always make him smile. Papa was watching her, and she lifted her chin in deliberate challenge. “Either you tell them, or I do.”

“I may have overplayed my hand,” Papa said slowly. The damnedest thing—he didn’t look diminished to her in this moment. He’d gathered them close when Mama died, cried with them, and she’d thought the solidity of their unit was an anchor that would always hold fast. “I suggested the son of a business associate was a suitable husband for her.”

“For fuck’s sake, she’s a child.” Mirko exploded off the couch. His daughters were four and five.

“Language please.” Aunty made her reflex reply, and Lela stifled a giggle.

“You alone are responsible for this entire fiasco.” Joseph finally sat down. “Maybe you’re the one who’s mentally unstable.”

“Watch your mouth.” Papa was offended by Joseph’s judgement.

“She can’t have imagined any of the rest of us would have agreed to an arranged marriage.” Joseph was thinking out loud. “I’m assuming she didn’t talk to you, Lela.” Was he accusing her of failure?

“Why didn’t she talk to you, Lela? How on earth did she think an arranged marriage could be forced?” Mirko took Joseph’s old place beside the fireplace.

“Coincidentally, I’d refused to let her go away with Peter for a weekend a few days earlier”—Aunty gave a shocked gasp, but it was far too late to pretend Lela hadn’t known Sophie and Peter were lovers—"then I unknowingly hosted the dinner party for her prospective husband. She equated my actions to Papa’s in her head and—basically—decided we weren’t respecting her right to make her own decisions.”

“Was she looking for an out?” Joseph would be a good successor to Papa in the business.

“Yes.” Lela had thought long and hard about this. “She said we were all settled in our lives, knew where we were going. She wanted to find her own way.”

“Like Mama and you,” Mirko said, and Lela could have kissed him.

“What about her birthday?” Aunty asked, her lace-making set aside, a tear trickling down her cheek.

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