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)
O Zot. Bleriana was only seventeen.
Alessia frowns and tries to dampen her anxiety and guilt.
Did Bleriana escape too?
Did Dante and Ylli catch her?
The notion is terrifying.
“Hey, what’s up?” Maxim says.
She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the thought. She’ll reflect on it later when she’s on her own and not worry Maxim right now.
He’s done enough.
“I think I am clean again.” She smiles.
He laughs. “Are you hungry?”
She nods.
“Good. Let’s go out to eat.”
Chapter Eleven
It’s early on Sunday morning: the air is cool and crisp, the trees still dormant and leafless as I run through Battersea Park. It’s that particular time of day when this place belongs solely to dogwalkers and runners. The sky is gray and threatening rain, but there’s an energy in the chilly breeze—the park is waking up from the long winter, spring is on the horizon. As I find my rhythm, placing one foot in front of the other, my mind clears. It’s great to be outside with upbeat lo-fi house bouncing off my eardrums while I take deep gulps of London air. I’ve missed it.
I left Alessia curled up asleep, and we have the whole day stretched before us to enjoy—all we have to do is unpack and settle back into the flat.
As I run, I realize that for the last few weeks, I haven’t thought beyond finding Alessia, then the wedding, then our honeymoon. Now, I need to figure out what our married life looks like.
And I have no idea.
I don’t think Alessia does either.
Do we stay in London?
We’ll need to keep a base here. But we could move to Cornwall or Oxfordshire—though I’m not sure how Alessia will like Angwin, as the estate employs more staff there than at Tresyllian Hall because it’s open to the public.
Maybe we should make babies.
An heir and a spare.
A little boy like Alessia?
A little girl like Alessia?
Fuck. Not yet.
We’re both still young.
Tomorrow, we’ll see the lawyer who will help us with our visa situation. Then we can make some decisions.
Yeah.
Tomorrow will be all about decisions. Let’s just enjoy today.
* * *
Alessia wakes to find herself alone. There’s a note on Maxim’s pillow.
Gone for a run.
Back soon.
I love you. Mx
Alessia smiles, remembering how she would have to pick up his sweaty gym clothes from the floor after he’d been running. And then there were the notes she found screwed up on the floor. Usually phone numbers. From women?
O Zot. She frowns and tries to banish the thought.
Don’t dwell, Alessia.
She stretches, feeling well rested, then rises from the bed. It’s time to unpack and clean the apartment.
Same old, same old.
She grins, her good mood restored.
And she can cook Maxim some breakfast, maybe some bubble bread, provided Mrs. Blake has been as good as her word and stocked up on essentials they requested while on their honeymoon. Happy, she strolls into the wet room for a shower.
Maxim returns as she’s unpacking her case in the spare bedroom. Grinning, because he’s finally home, she stops to listen as he walks into his bedroom, and then she hears him jog up the hall with some urgency to check the kitchen, then the living room.
“Alessia!” he calls, panic evident in his voice.
O Zot! No!
“Maxim. I’m here!” She steps out of the spare room and stares at him standing at the end of the hallway. His shoulders drop in relief, and he runs a hand through his damp hair.
“Don’t do that to me. I thought—I thought you were gone.” His voice fades as he strides toward her, a wary expression etched on his face.
“I…” Alessia is lost for words. She did not mean to worry him, and her heart melts that he would be so concerned for her. But why would he think she would leave? She’s confused, but he doesn’t wait for her explanation; he pulls her into a tight, sweaty hug.
“Don’t do that to me again,” he repeats, each word a staccato, and he kisses the top of her head. “Last time you weren’t here, that fucker had kidnapped you.”
Oh!
He blows out a breath as if he’s releasing his tension, but his lips are a thin line, so she suspects he’s a little annoyed too. “I’m going to shower,” he says sulkily, and stalks off in the direction of the bedroom, leaving Alessia wrestling with her guilt in the hallway.
O Zot. O Zot. O Zot.
The last thing she wants to do is upset him—but she didn’t think.
“Fuck,” she says under her breath and decides to abandon her unpacking and heads into the kitchen.
Using a wine bottle because there’s no rolling pin, she rolls out the dough she prepared earlier, then cuts it and forms small balls, placing them on the only baking tray she can find. They will need to shop for more culinary equipment if she’s to cook in this kitchen. She frowns, unsure if Maxim will be willing to pay for such things. They haven’t discussed money at all—she has her cleaning money, but that’s it, and it’s dwindling. During their honeymoon, Maxim paid for everything. She knows she’ll need to raise the issue with him at some point, but she’s unsure how to go about doing it.