12. Sophie

12

SOPHIE

S oren is fascinating. All of my attention is taken away from my family and put on to him. How am I supposed to ask how a boring drive was when I’m watching a serial killer blossom like a crowned prom princess? He’s on cloud nine while pulling luggage up the stairs, getting people settled in rooms, and running into closets to pull out extra blankets. He’s even scheduling plans for everyone to go tubing in the morning and promising fresh pastries and coffee from the Shenandoah Valley Bakery down the street.

“How long has she been staring at him?” My aunt asks.

“The whole time,” Mom sighs. I snap my head away from watching Soren. He’s marching across the upper floor balcony, dragging more luggage while laughing at my Uncle’s bad joke.

“I just haven’t seen him around family before. It’s a new side to him I wasn’t expecting.” Because he kills people . A psychopath who loves family visits. I don’t know if that’s worse or better. I look around at everyone getting settled and realize he’s taken charge, and I haven’t had to do anything.

“He’s handsome,” Mom comments.

“I know,” I sigh. That’s what started the whole mess. I went out with an asshole who looked like Soren. And then Soren killed him.

I can’t say anything about that, though. I stare at my mom like a deer in the headlights, waiting to get hit by the car.

“She looks shell-shocked. Told you we shouldn’t have just showed up,” Aunt Carol says.

“Well, imagine how I felt when her assistant had to tell me my own daughter was married.” She shoots me a look. “Explain that to me.”

“Uh…”

Soren suddenly breezes past us and goes into the kitchen. The sound of pots and pans banging around indicates he’s starting to cook.

“I think he needs my help.” I dart away from them and throw myself into the kitchen. Soren’s pulling half the groceries I bought out of the fridge.

“Does your family like meatballs?” His eyes settle heavily on me a moment before he’s halfway across the kitchen, inspecting his seasonings. I watch him quickly whip up meatballs and then begin working on a sauce. Or gravy, I guess. I don’t know much about Scandinavian meatballs. There’s a smile on his face.

“Everyone seems excited to go tubing,” he says. The sauce smells exquisite, like Thanksgiving. I see sage beside the stovetop.

“I’m going to get cleaned up,” I sigh. This is a very new side to Soren for me. I open the freezer to grab a face mask and see a hand. I shut it back. Then I open it again. Yep, the hand is still there.

“Soren, honey ?”I bite out.

“Yes, wifey?” He calls over his shoulder.

“I think you left something in the freezer.” He walks over and peers inside.

“Shit, I was looking for that,” he sighs. I watch him root around in the freezer, rearranging the hand under frozen bags of vegetables. When I see another body part poke out, I decide to leave the room. This is officially a shitshow, so I’m taking a bath. Eucalyptus salts can cure anything, right?

“Sophie,” Soren calls. I turn, and he crooks a finger at me. I shuffle back to the freezer. When I see a bag full of teeth, I sigh.

“Remember to use the master bathroom. We’re living in the same room now.”

“Right,” I whisper. Then I march out of the kitchen and past my mother and aunt.

“Sophie,” she calls.

“Need to freshen up,” I say quickly.

“ Yeah , she does,” my brother laughs. He’s leaning over the upstairs banister. I shoot him the bird and hear my mom gasp. Next, I escape into Soren’s room and close the door behind me.

Okay, first things first, get cleaned up. I will not have a panic attack. I will manage what I can. Nothing I can do about corpses in the freezer with the fucking Christmas ham. But I can re-do my makeup, at least.

I freshen up in the bathroom, take a deep breath, and then emerge back into the house to the smell of sage, butter, meat, and bread. There’s a loud ruckus in the kitchen. As I move across the living room, I see half my family sitting at the big dining room table, eating meatballs and bread.

My mom and aunt move from the kitchen to the dining room table, bringing napkins and more silverware. Soren is sitting at the head of the table, but once he sees me, he excuses himself from the conversation and comes over to me.

“Everyone was wondering if you were coming back out,” Soren says with a smile. It took him thirty seconds to become more a part of my family than I am. I’m baffled and impressed, to be honest.

It’s such a great example of the complexity of psychopaths. Of him. He’s genuinely enjoying this, soaking it in with delight. He likes families. It’s throwing me for a loop. In theory, I knew this. I’ve heard him interact with his kids and admit depression from being apart from them. But I’d never seen the evidence of it with my own eyes. And I never realized just how much he thrives with company.

“What are you thinking?” He asks me quietly.

“You’re fascinating, Soren.” This strange duplicity he’s showing is the heart of my interest—the focus of what I want to pick apart. I need to know more about him—his childhood, his family, his medical history.

“I know that look,” he says. His eyes flick to my family, and he slides his arm around my waist. “But we need to convince your family we’re happily married. So you’ll need to take your psychologist hat off and have dinner with me.”

“Oh god,” I groan as he pulls me into the dining room. He takes a seat and pulls me down into his lap.

“We’ve run out of chairs,” he tells me with pride, as if this is an accomplishment. I give him a panicked look as my ass settles high on his thigh. Then I turn and see my entire family staring at me.

“How’d you two meet?” My brother asks. So it begins. I look at Soren in a panic.

“It’s okay to tell them,” he says.

“He came in for therapy,” I say tentatively. My aunt rushes in from the kitchen with a gasp.

“A client! Oh my.” She has a wide smile on her face, eating this up. My mom wanders in with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Therapy for what?” My dad asks in suspicion.

“I’m divorced,” Soren says. Everyone’s eyes widen and I feel like rolling mine. Wait until they hear about the murders.

“I was struggling with adjusting to the change,”

“Do you have kids?” My dad asks.

“Yes.”

“You’re a stepmom?” My aunt asks with wide eyes, sending a look to my mom. I’m absolutely baffled by the question. I’d never thought about what getting married might mean for our families. Soren nods.

“I have twins; they’re six. A boy and a girl. They’re with their mom right now, but they’ll be here for the summer.”

“What?” I yell. Everyone looks extremely interested in their food all of a sudden. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper to him. My family all leans in closer to eavesdrop while nibbling absentmindedly on meatballs.

“I was nervous to tell you,” he says bashfully.

“You? Nervous?” I scoff. He ignores me.

“My brother is bringing them here for me. He’s flying with them.”

“Brother?” I ask. He has a brother? My Uncle coughs politely, trying to remind me there’s an audience.

“He’s still not a client, is he?” My brother asks in confusion. I almost say yes until I feel Soren’s fingers slide across my thigh and squeeze. I squeal in shock, and everyone looks at me bug-eyed.

“Of course, he’s not.” I chuckle nervously.

“How did he go from client to husband?” My mom asks. Well, he killed my fucking date and told me I had to marry him.

“Right, well, um.” They say the best lies stay closest to the truth. “I couldn’t get him out of my head after the first appointment.”

“Can’t blame her,” my aunt says. I notice she’s drinking wine, and her cheeks are rosy enough to indicate she’s not on her first glass.

“And I knew that was unprofessional, so I redownloaded my dating app.”

“Ugh, those things are terrible,” my sister-in-law says.

“Yeah,” I agree, thinking about the mess that was. “Well, I was swiping, thinking I needed to start dating again so I could stop thinking about my patients.”

“ Dating ,” my brother says with air quotes. I shoot him a deathly glare.

“And Soren was on there?” My aunt asks, leaning closer with rapt attention to my story.

“No, but someone who looked like him. I didn’t think about much more than that when I swiped right,” I admit. Soren chokes on his meatball.

“I didn’t know that,” he wheezes once he’s finished coughing. Ugh.

“Anyway, it was a terrible date, and I was trying to figure out how to shake him loose, but he wasn’t having it. Then Soren showed up.” The table gasps.

“To the date?”

“Yes, by chance,” I say.

“Did he beat up the guy?” My aunt asks with a dreamy look. “He looks like he could kill a guy.” A hysterical laugh comes barking out my throat. Everyone looks alarmed.

“This guy? No way. He’s a teddy bear. Harmless. I mean, look at him.” Everyone looks at the six-foot-four Nordic nightmare. “Incapable,” I rasp before grabbing hold of Soren’s glass of apple cider and knocking it back.

“Good lord,” I wheeze. My eyes water. He was drinking straight scotch.

“So yeah, then we got married,” I rush out. The liquor hits me fast since I chugged the damn thing. “He asked me at a tree farm.” Suddenly, another glass of scotch shows up in front of me, courtesy of my mom. Oh god, she’s getting me drunk, so I get loose lips.

I grab hold and knock it back.

“A tree farm?” She asks. “Where’s the tree?”

“In the garage with all the presents.” I laugh again. Soren attempts to peel the glass from my hand, but I quickly throw the rest back.

“We should put it up for y’all. You must have been distracted with the marriage and other things .” I stare at my sister-in-law. She’s talking about sex. Everyone knows it because they’re all looking at each other in humor, remembering the way I answered the door.

“We haven't had—” Soren’s had slaps over my mouth before I can insist we haven’t fucked.

“You all look tired. How long is it from the beach?” He asks politely.

“It’s about three and a half hours,” my mother says.

“So you must visit a lot.”

“Sophie’s always very busy with work.”

“Well, luckily, she has me to help host family now. You’re all welcome to come stay as often as you’d like.” I start talking behind his hand, trying to ask him what the hell he’s saying.

“What do you do for work?” My father asks. Soren peels his hand from my mouth. He quickly shoves a meatball in before I can talk. It’s delicious.

“I work for the ski patrol as a paramedic.”

“Sounds seasonal.”

“I’m working something out with the resort for full-year employment,” Soren says.

“Rather nice house,” my dad continues. “Especially for a divorced man.”

“I bought this with family money. My ex owns the house we lived in back in Washington.”

“Family money?” My aunt pipes up. I look at Soren. How is there still so much I don’t know about him? I’ve been asking him constant questions, but I’m realizing I skipped over the basics.

“My parents passed away when I was young, so I had some money I could use to buy this home.” My dad hums and stops asking questions. People start finishing food, and suddenly, a glass of water is pushed in front of me. I look up to see my mom. I sigh and gulp it down. It seems this is her truce for now.

“See you in the morning,” she says, meandering out of the dining room and up the stairs with everyone else. Which leaves me and Soren alone. I leap up from his lap.

“Sorry,” I say quickly, getting jittery as the prospect of bed settles over me.

“Come on,” he says, pulling me towards the bedroom.

“I should clean up in the kitchen.”

“Tomorrow. It’s late. You should get to bed. It’s been a long evening.” He drags me into his room. I grab the doorframe.

“Sophie.”

“I should sleep on the couch,” I whisper.

“They need to believe we're newlyweds,” he whispers back. My heart is pounding.

“I think that’s covered already.”

“No. We met and married within two weeks. That’s not normal. We need to convince them a level-headed, strong woman like you would agree to something like that.” He rips me into the room and slams the door.

“Oh,” I say, feeling dazed by his unintended compliments. The scotch is still swimming in my brain a little bit. Soren twists us around and presses me against the wall. The door shakes in the frame, and I give a loud gasp.

“Good, just like that,” he whispers to me, his head hovering above mine. “Did you really go on a date with that loser because he looked like me?”

“Of course not.”

“You’re such a bad liar,” he chuckles. “Which is why I’m going to help you with lying to your family. Bear with it.” He leaves me against the door to go into his en suite bathroom. I hear the shower turn on and drop to the floor. I look at the bed.

What exactly do I need to bear with tonight?