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)
“Tomorrow. I hope to be home by tomorrow afternoon.”
They eat the rest of their food in silence.
“Finish up. I want to get going. Do you need to use the restroom?” Anatoli stands over her, keen to move on. Alessia takes her coffee without adding sugar.
Like Maxim.
It’s bitter but she downs it anyway and grabs her water bottle. The service station, with its large parking lot and smell of diesel fumes, is hauntingly familiar and reminiscent of the journey she made with Maxim—but the difference is, she wanted to be with Maxim. Alessia’s heart aches. She is getting farther and farther away from him.
* * *
I’m sitting in the British Airways business-class lounge at Gatwick Airport, waiting for the afternoon flight to Tirana. Tom is leafing through The Times and sipping a glass of champagne while I’m brooding. I’ve been in a state of high anxiety since Alessia was taken from me.
Maybe she went with him willingly.
Maybe she’s changed her mind about us.
I don’t want to believe that, but doubt is creeping into my mind.
It’s insidious.
If that’s what’s happened, at least I’ll get to confront her about her change of heart. To distract myself from my unsettling thoughts, I snap and upload a few photos to my Instagram. Once that’s done, I think back over the morning’s events.
First I’d bought Alessia a phone, which is now in my backpack. I’d met with Oliver and gone through a quick agenda of all estate business; to my relief everything seemed to be running just fine. I’d signed the papers required by the Crown Office for my inclusion onto the Roll of the Peerage, with Mr. Rajah, my solicitor, acting as my witness. I’d given both men a redacted version of the weekend’s events with Alessia and asked Rajah to recommend a lawyer specializing in immigration services, so we could begin the process of securing some kind of visa for Alessia to be in the UK.
Afterward, on a whim, I’d visited my bank in Belgravia, where the Trevethick Collection is secured. If I find Alessia and all is not lost, I will ask her to marry me. Over the centuries my ancestors have amassed quite a haul of fine jewelry crafted by the most prominent artisans of their day. When the collection is not on loan to museums around the world, it is safely stored in the bowels of Belgravia.
I needed a ring, one that would do justice to Alessia’s beauty and talent. There were two in the collection that might have been suitable, but I chose the 1930s Cartier platinum-and-diamond ring that my grandfather, Hugh Trevelyan, bestowed on my grandmother, Allegra, in 1935. It’s an exquisite, simple, and elegant ring: 2.79 carats and currently valued at forty-five thousand pounds.
I hope Alessia likes it. If all goes to plan, she’ll return to the UK wearing it—as my fiancée.
I pat my pocket yet again, checking that the ring is safe, and scowl at Tom, who’s stuffing his face with nuts. He looks up. “Hang in there, Trevethick. I can tell you’re fretting. She’ll be fine. We’ll rescue the girl.” He’d insisted on accompanying me when I called him and told him what had happened. He’s left one of his guys to keep watch on Magda, and he’s here with me. Tom loves an adventure. It’s why, back in the day, he joined the army. He’s up on his metaphorical white charger, ready for the fray.
“I hope so,” I answer. Will Alessia see us that way—as rescuers, not as an inconvenience? I don’t know. I’m itching to get on the plane and get to her parents’ home. I have no idea what I’ll find there, but I hope I find my girl.
* * *
“Why did you leave Albania?” Anatoli asks when they’re back on the autobahn. His voice is soft, and Alessia wonders if he’s trying to lull her into a false sense of security. She’s not that stupid.
“You know why. I’ve told you.” Though as the words leave her mouth, she realizes she doesn’t know what story he’s been told. Perhaps she can embellish the truth. It might make it easier on her and on her mother. But it depends on what Magda said. “What did my mother’s friend say?”
“Your father intercepted the e-mail. He saw your name and asked me to read it for him.”
“What did it say?”
“That you were alive and well and were going away to work for a man.”
“Is that all?”
“More or less.”
So Magda had not mentioned Dante and Ylli. “What did my father say?”
“He asked me to come get you.”
“And my mother?”
“I didn’t speak to your mother. This does not concern her.”
“Of course it concerns her! Stop being prehistoric!”
He gives her a sideways look, taken aback by her outburst. “Prehistoric?”
“Yes. You are a dinosaur. She deserves to be consulted.”