Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 787(@200wpm)___ 630(@250wpm)___ 525(@300wpm)
“Alessia, you are not to blame, and neither is your mother. She acted in good faith.”
“She did. And I had to get away.”
“I understand.”
“I told the girls what Dante said. And three of them believed me. Bleriana, she believed me. And when we had the chance to escape, we did. We ran. I don’t know if the others succeeded. I don’t know if Bleriana got away.” There’s a trace of guilt in her voice. “I had Magda’s address on a piece of paper. People here were celebrating Christmas. I walked for days….I think it was six or seven days. I don’t know. Until I reached her house. And she looked after me.”
“Thank God for Magda.”
“Yes.”
“Where did you sleep while you were walking?”
“I didn’t sleep. Not really. It was too cold. I found a shop, and I stole a map.” She lowers her gaze.
“I can’t begin to imagine this horror that you’ve been through, and I’m sorry.”
“You do not have to be sorry.” She gives me a slight smile. “This was before I met you. Now you know. Everything.”
“Thank you for telling me.” I lean over and kiss her forehead. “You brave, brave woman.”
“Thank you for listening.”
“I’ll always listen, Alessia. Always. Shall we go home now?”
Seemingly relieved, she gives me a nod, and I restart the engine and reverse out of the space. I head for the slip road back to the motorway.
“There’s one thing I want to know,” I add, reflecting on the horrid tale she’s just shared.
“What?”
“Does he have a name?”
“Who?”
“Your…betrothed.” I spit the word out. I loathe him.
She shakes her head. “I never say his name.”
“Like Voldemort,” I mutter under my breath.
“Harry Potter?”
“You know Harry Potter?”
“Oh, yes. My grandmother—”
“Don’t tell me, she smuggled the books into Albania?”
Alessia laughs. “No. She had them sent to her. By Magda. My mother read them to me as a child. In English.”
“Ah, another reason you speak such good English. Is she fluent as well?”
“Mama? Yes. My father…he does not like it when we speak to each other in English.”
“I bet.” The more I hear about her father, the more I dislike him, too. But I keep that to myself. “Why don’t you find another song?”
She scrolls through the screen, and her eyes light up when she finds RY X. “We danced to this song.”
“Our first dance.” I smile at the memory. It seems like a lifetime ago.
We settle into a comfortable silence, both of us listening to the music. She seems preoccupied by the rhythm, swaying gently to and fro. And I’m happy to see that she’s recovered her equilibrium after telling her harrowing story.
While she chooses another song, I brood. This man, this fucker who harmed her, her betrothed, I want to know everything about him if I am to protect her from him. I need to sort out Alessia’s legal status, urgently—but I have no idea how. Marrying her would help, but I think she needs to be here legally for me to do that. I resolve to call Rajah as soon as possible.
I smirk as we pass the junction for Maidenhead, and shake my head, amused by my own idiocy. I’m embracing my inner twelve-year-old boy. I glance at Alessia, but she hasn’t noticed. She’s deep in thought, tapping her finger against her lips.
“His name is Anatoli. Anatoli Thaçi,” she says.
What? “He who must not be named?”
“Yes.”
Mentally I file the arsehole’s name away. “You decided to tell me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he has more power without a name.”
“Like Voldemort?”
She nods.
“What does he do?”
“I am not sure. My father owes him a big debt, something to do with his business, I think. But I don’t know what. Anatoli is a powerful man. Rich.”
“Really?” My voice is dry. I hope to God that my bank balance is bigger than his.
“I don’t think his business is…um…legal. Yes?”
“Yep. That’s how we’d say it. He’s a crook.”
“A gangster.”
“What is it with you and gangsters?” I scowl. She chuckles, and it’s the most disarming and unexpected sound. “What’s so funny?”
“Your face.”
“Ah.” I grin. “That’s reason enough.”
“I love your face.”
“I’m rather attached to it as well.”
She laughs once more and then sobers. “You are right. He is not funny.”
“He’s not. But he’s far away. He can’t hurt you here. We’ll be home soon. Can we listen to the Rachmaninoff again?”
“Sure,” she says, scrolling through the screen once more.
* * *
I pull the F-Type up outside the office, and Oliver comes out to greet me and hand over new keys for my flat.
“This is my girlfriend, Alessia Demachi.” I lean back, and Oliver reaches through the car window to shake Alessia’s hand.
“How do you do,” he says. “I’m sorry we’re not meeting under better circumstances.” He gives her a warm smile.
Her answering smile is dazzling.
“I hope you’ve recovered from your ordeal.”
Alessia nods.
“Thanks for sorting all this out,” I say. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.” He gives me a wave, and I ease the Jag into the traffic.