Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Alessia’s heart skips a beat. “I love Cornwall,” she says breathlessly. “Especially the sea.”
“Me too.” Maxim kisses her hair. “That’s settled then. We can go on Friday evening. And between then and now we can stay at home and watch films. You know, Netflix and chill.”
“I thought that was another way of saying sex on the couch.”
Maxim laughs. “We can do that too.” He kisses her quickly.
“Play some more Interstellar.”
“I feel a little self-conscious playing for you.”
She laughs. “Why? Don’t, please. I love your compositions.”
“Well, this isn’t mine. But if you listen, you’ll probably be able to play it better than me.”
“Maxim. Play.”
He grins. “Yes. My lady.”
With the music from Maxim’s performance still ringing in her head, Alessia fetches her phone to FaceTime her mother. There are several messages from Maxim; he sounds more frantic and annoyed with each one, and she swallows down her guilt. She didn’t mean to worry him.
There are emails from four of the colleges she sent applications to—the one she reads first is from the Royal College of Music.
She has an audition!
They are keen to see her.
Uau! She runs back into the living room. Maxim looks up. “I have an audition at the Royal College of Music!”
He grins and applauds, rising slowly to his feet. “My talented wife. That’s fantastic news!”
Alessia opens the other emails and finds they all want to see her.
She gapes at Maxim. “All of them want me to audition!”
“Of course they do! They’d be fools not to.” He cups her head in his hands. “You’re beautiful. Talented. And I’m so glad you’re my wife.” He brushes his lips against her. “Go. Tell your mother.”
Alessia beams and heads back into the kitchen to FaceTime Shpresa with the good news.
* * *
Maybe I worry too much. Alessia’s fine. She came back in one piece. She’s a functioning adult, for heaven’s sake.
Who has been abducted.
Twice.
Fuck.
I thought… What did I think? She’d left? She’d been abducted again?
Mate. Let it go.
She’s fine. She’s here.
I take a sip of the extremely satisfying Bordeaux, which has had a chance to breathe now, and I briefly wonder if I should raid the cellar at Trevelyan House before Caroline drinks it all.
The doorbell rings. From outside the front door rather than the outside of the building.
Who the hell is that?
Rowena?
A dark shadow looms outside the front door. It’s a man, not a woman. I open the door.
Fuck. It’s him.
All slicked-back hair and expensive camel coat and brogues.
Ana-fucking-toli. Arsehole.
“Hello, Englishman,” Anatoli says, with an arrogance and swagger that makes me want to deck him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to see you.”
Me! “Why?”
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
“No. I’m going to tell you to fuck off.”
“And they say the English are so polite.” He steps in, and contrary to how I feel, I let him.
What the hell?
In the hallway, he stops and turns to address me. “Where’s your wife—the woman who should be my wife? Has she had enough of the upper-class snobbery and left you yet?”
“Do you mean the woman you abused and kidnapped and dragged across Europe?”
Alessia appears in the hallway and pales when she sees the Arsehole.
“I got her out of the country in one piece. She’s back here legally. I did you both a favor,” Anatoli scoffs, eyes like flint.
* * *
“Anatoli,” Alessia whispers. “What are you doing here?”
His expression changes, his pale blue eyes warming as he studies her. “I’m here on business,” he answers in her own language. “It’s good to see you, carissima. You look well. Your father says a journalist called at their home. He sent them away. The press don’t approve of you here, like I told you. The English are such snobs. They say your marriage is not legal.”
“But we know that’s not true!” Alessia exclaims.
Anatoli makes a face. “Jak also told me that you’re not with child. You lie well.”
Alessia flushes.
“Is the Englishman taking good care of you?” he murmurs.
“Enough!” Maxim snaps. “You two speak in English, or I will throw him out.” Maxim glares at Alessia as if it’s her fault that Anatoli is standing in his hallway.
Alessia frowns and moves to Maxim’s side. He slides his arm around her and pulls her close.
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Englishman. It is you I came to see.”
“Me. What the fuck do you want with me? And why would I want to see you?”
“Such language. From an aristocrat too.”
Maxim tenses, and Alessia worries he might explode and hit Anatoli like he did before. She grips his shirt.
“Why are you here?” she pipes up.
“Your father sent me.”
“Baba? Why?”
“I told you. I have a message for the Englishman.”
“And my esteemed father-in-law can’t send a message through his daughter?” Maxim scoffs.
“Jak is not proficient in English. Unlike my good self.” Anatoli’s smug grin is annoying, his mockery unmistakable. “And this is private. For you. Not for his beloved daughter.”