Page 2 of Forced Arrangement

She reached out and gently squeezed my hands, her grip firm despite the tremor in her fingers. “You’re so brave, Sophia. So much braver than I ever was.”

I shook my head, not wanting to believe that my mother could ever be afraid of anything. “But you’re the bravest person I know, Mama.”

She let out a shaky laugh, brushing a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. “We all have to be brave sometimes, my love. Now, let’s get ready.”

She stood up and rifled quickly through our bags with a speed and efficiency that told me she had done this before—too many times, perhaps.

I watched in silence as she carefully refolded our clothes and tucked them away, reorganizing our already packed bag, her movements quick and practiced. It was as if she was racing against some invisible clock, trying to stay ahead of whatever was chasing us.

As she worked, she spoke in a low, urgent voice, explaining the rules of our game. “From now on, you’re not Sophia Agostini anymore,” she said, glancing over at me as she locked the suitcase. “You’re Sarah Lacey. Can you remember that?”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. “Sarah Lacey,” I repeated, the name feeling strange and foreign on my tongue.

“And I’m your mother,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly, “Jennifer Lacey. We’re just two ordinary people from England, traveling through Europe.”

I swallowed hard, the enormity of what she was asking me to do starting to sink in. “But what about Papa?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

The mention of my father made her pause, her hands hesitating as she bent to pick up the bag. For a moment, I thought she might cry again, but she quickly blinked back the tears and forced another smile. “We won’t be seeing Papa anymore, sweetheart.”

“Why not?” I pressed, my confusion growing. I barely knew my father—he was always busy, always away on business. But he was still my father and the thought of never seeing him again filled me with a strange, hollow sadness.

“It’s complicated,” she said, her voice tight. “But it’s for the best.”

I didn’t understand, but I didn’t argue. I could see how much this was hurting her and I didn’t want to make it any harder.

Once the bags were organized, she took my hand and led me out onto the street, her grip so tight that it almost hurt. We walked through the bustling streets of Paris, the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air as tourists milled about, oblivious to the fear that was gnawing at my insides.

I kept glancing up at her, searching her face for any sign that this was just another one of our adventures, but all I saw was the tension in her jaw, the way her eyes darted around, as if she was expecting someone to leap out at us from the shadows.

We arrived at a small, unassuming café, where a man in a dark suit was waiting for us.

He looked ordinary enough, but there was something about him that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Maybe it was the way his eyes never seemed to settle on one spot for long, or the way he kept glancing at the door as if he was expecting trouble.

My mother greeted him with a tight smile, her voice clipped as she exchanged a few words with him in Italian. I didn’t understand most of what they were saying, but I caught afew words here and there—enough to know that this man was helping us escape.

He handed her a small envelope and a package, nodding once before slipping away into the crowd without another word. My mother watched him go, her expression unreadable, before turning her attention back to me.

“Let’s go, Sarah,” she said, her voice firmer now.

I took her hand, letting her lead me out of the café and back onto the busy street. The sun was shining, but it felt cold—colder than it should have been. I shivered, clutching my mother’s hand as if it were the only thing keeping me anchored to the ground.

As we walked, she began talking to me about our new life in England, painting a picture of a world that seemed far removed from the one we were leaving behind.

“You’re going to love London,” she said, her voice lighter now, as if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was convincing me. “There are so many things to see—the Tower of London, Big Ben, the red double-decker buses…”

“And the queen!” I added, trying to match her enthusiasm, though my heart wasn’t in it.

“Yes, the queen,” she agreed, her smile a little more genuine this time. “We’re going to have so much fun, Sarah.”

But even as she spoke, I could see the worry etched into her features, the way her eyes kept flicking back over her shoulder as if she expected someone to be following us.

I tried to imagine what our new life would be like, but it was difficult. England was just a place on a map to me, a distant land that I’d only ever heard about in stories. But now, it was going to be my home. A place where I would have to forget about Sophia Agostini and become Sarah Lacey, a girl with a different name and a different life.

I clung to her hand as we made our way to the train station, my mind racing with questions I didn’t know how to ask. Whatwere we running from? Why couldn’t we stay in France? Why couldn’t we go back to New York, to the life we’d always known?

But I didn’t ask any of those questions. I was too afraid of what the answers might be.

At the train station, she guided me to a quiet corner where we sat on a bench, waiting for our train. The envelope and package the man had given her lay on her lap and I watched as she slowly opened the envelope, revealing a set of passports and documents.

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