Page 65 of Take the Sub and Run

Sofie jerked her attention back to the view, cheeks hot.

“I think my father first came to visit the orphanage when I was five, because I remember sitting at a desk, so I was school-aged. I remember the grown-ups pointing and looking at something on the wall, and then they came over to me. He handed me a piece of paper and a single pencil and asked me if I could draw God.”

“What did you draw?” Landon asked.

“The night sky, but in reverse.” She had to stop and think about the word in English. “Inverted. So the stars were black in the white, and the swirls of the galaxy looked like wings. Then I told them to take a picture of it, and use the filter—I don’t know why or how I knew about camera filters—to invert the colors.

“He came back again, at least twice that I remember. One of those times he called me Vermeer—a forgotten Dutch artist. He must have asked them to encourage my art even more, because when the other children had to do math, I got to paint. When the other children learned their sounds, I watched a video on color theory.”

“That's a unique kind of neglect,” Landon said dryly.

Sofie laughed, and it felt good to have her story acknowledged but not pitted. “Then when I was six or seven, they told me I was adopted. That’s when my name became Sofie Vermeer.

“My father brought me here, to Amsterdam. To my house. I had nannies who stayed with me—one for day, one for night. And art tutors. Every type of visual art. Every medium.”

“But surely those people knew who adopted you? Your father’s identity can’t be a secret,” Colette said.

Sofie waited for Andrei to speak. When he’d had the police officially arrest her, she’d given them her name, which meant they’d have looked her up. No doubt as an Interpol agent, Andrei also got that information.

But he didn’t say anything, leaving it to her.

“Legally, I was never adopted—Catholic priests are discouraged from full legal adoptions. I guess you would say that he is my foster father. The church was my legal guardian. Everything was paid for by the church, though I don’t know exactly how.”

She took a minute, letting herself breath before continuing. “I didn’t go to school. I know that's not common, and I don't know what exception was used to allow it, but I was taught by my nannies at home.”

“Did you get to…leave the house?” Colette’s expression was worried.

“Of course. We went to museums. That's where the art is.”

Beside her, Andrei started to laugh, though it was an oddly humorless sound.

“My childhood was not bad. One of my nannies was too strict, and her punishments would not have been allowed if I’d had anyone to tell.” She shrugged. “But they let me do what I love. Had I had a normal life I would never have been able to spend most of my day creating.”

“That might be true, but it doesn't make the childhood you did have any less problematic,” Colette said gently.

Sofie shifted uncomfortably, and Andrei sat up. She could feel him watching her.

“Get to the good part,” Colette said with forced brightness, clearly seeing Sofie’s discomfort. “When did you start…” Colette grinned. “…allegedly…creating forgeries.”

“If I just say allegedly, he can’t arrest me again?”

“Yep,” Landon said with a grin.

“No. That is not how it works,” Andrei grumped.

“You’re going to start following both the letter and spirit of the law?” Landon raised his brows at Andrei.

Andrei ignored him. “Technically,” he told Sofie, “you’re still in custody.”

“I’m still arrested?”

“Technically.”

“Okay, then I’m not going to tell you.”

Andrei’s head thumped back onto the couch. “Just tell us. I arrested you for your own protection, not because you committed a crime.”

“But if I confess to a crime, the arrest will be real.”

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