Page 1 of Forced Arrangement

Prologue

Sophia

I was seven years old when my mother taught me how to disappear.

I sat on the edge of my pink, sparkly queen-sized bed, its frills bouncing each time I moved. It was a bed made for fairy tales, but the lesson my mom was teaching me wasn’t part of any storybook.

“Always keep your passport in your purse, Sophia. It must stay up to date.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her dark eyes were firm.

“And cash, Sophia, always have cash on hand, at least five thousand dollars. Keep a packed suitcase, something light and easy to carry. Have alternate IDs on hand, driver’s license, name cards, everything. And finally,Mia Dolce, always, always be brave.”

I'm sure running away from her husband and the life she had been living for years wasn't something that was on her bucketlist, but fate, that unpredictable bitch, had a way of screwing up even the best-laid plans.

The vanishing skill wasn't a skill she’d probably ever intended to pass on, but life has a way of pushing lessons onto us whether we’re ready for them or not.

The day had started like any other, with the morning sun spilling through the curtains of our Parisian hotel room, painting everything in a warm, golden light.

I had been excited because we were supposed to go see the Eiffel Tower that day, something I had been looking forward to since we arrived in France. It was a dream for any child—one of those magical landmarks you only ever see in books or on TV.

But there would be no trip to the Eiffel Tower that day.

Instead, after we left the hotel, my mother sat me down on the edge of a chair in a dingy little bread shop, her hands trembling slightly as she brushed a stray curl from my forehead. “Sophia,” she began, her voice soft but urgent, “we’re going to do something different today.”

I remember how I frowned, my young mind struggling to comprehend the shift in her tone. There was something in her eyes that I hadn’t seen before, a mixture of fear and resolve that made my chest tighten with a sense of foreboding.

“What about the Eiffel Tower?” I asked, trying to keep the disappointment out of my voice.

She took a deep breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “We’ll see it another time, sweetheart. Today, we have something important to do. We have to leave France.”

“Why aren’t we staying in France, Mama?” I asked, my voice small and unsure.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she focused on the man seated at a corner table, who looked just as out of place as we did. His suit was sharp, his expression sharper. He wore dark sunglasses and seemed to be looking at us, but I couldn't be sure.

“Because,Mia Dolce,” she finally said, crouching down to my level as she fished through an envelope, “we’re going to play a game.”

“A game?” I echoed, intrigued despite the fear gnawing at my insides.

“Yes, a game,” she said with a forced smile. “We’re going to pretend to be different people for a while. You’re going to be Sarah Lacey and I’m going to be Jennifer Lacey. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

I didn’t think it sounded fun at all. I liked my name, Sophia. I liked being who I was. But I nodded because I could see the plea in her eyes, the silent begging for me to just go along with things.

I nodded again, this time with more certainty. As long as I had her, nothing else mattered. She was my world, my anchor in the storm. I could pretend, for her.

As much as I wanted to be silent and go along with whatever scheme my mama had concocted, I needed answers. Even at seven, I could not stand the thought of being in the dark, on anything.

“What kind of game is this mama? Why are we playing it?”

“It’s the kind where we pretend to be different people,” she explained, her voice faltering slightly. “Just for a little while, until it’s safe.”

I remember how my small fingers twisted in my lap, trying to make sense of what she was telling me. “But why do we have to pretend?”

Her smile wavered, and for the first time, I saw tears welling up in her eyes.

It was the first time I’d seen my mother cry and it terrified me. She was always so strong, so unshakable. But in that moment, I could see the cracks in her armor.

“Because sometimes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “it’s the only way to protect the people we love.”

I didn’t fully understand what she meant, but I nodded anyway. If pretending meant keeping us safe, then I would do it. For her.

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