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)
“Maxim! This is my father.” Alessia grabs my arm, a look of horror on her face, as I lay into her so-called father. But I’m on a roll, and Thanas sounds like he’s keeping up with me.
“How can you speak of honor if this is the way you treat her? And, what’s more, she may be carrying your grandchild—and you threaten her with violence?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Alessia’s mother, who is clutching her apron, her expression full of horror. It’s chastening.
Demachi is staring at me as if I’m completely crazy. He looks to Alessia and then back to me, his fury and disgust clear in his dark eyes. “How dare you come into my house and tell me how to behave? You. You who should have kept his pecker zipped in his pants. Don’t talk to me of honor.” Thanas blanches as he translates. “You dishonor us all. You dishonor my daughter. But there’s one thing you can do,” he growls through gritted teeth, and in one swift move he cocks his shotgun with a loud click.
Shit.
I’ve gone too far.
He’s going to kill me.
I feel rather than see Tom tense in the doorway.
Demachi points the gun at me and shouts, “Do të martohesh me time bijë!”
The Albanians look flabbergasted. Tom is ready to pounce. And all eyes are on me: Mrs. Demachi’s. Alessia’s. Thanas’s. They all gape in shock. And Thanas quietly translates, “You’re going to marry my daughter.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Oh, Babë, no!
Alessia realizes that she hadn’t thought through her lie about the pregnancy. In a panic she whirls away from her shotgun-wielding father, desperate to explain the truth to Maxim. She doesn’t want to force him into marriage!
But Maxim is sporting the biggest grin.
Joy shines in his eyes, evident for all to see.
His expression takes her breath away.
Slowly he sinks onto one knee, and from the inside pocket of his jacket he produces…a ring. A beautiful diamond ring. Alessia gasps, and her hands fly to her face in utter amazement.
“Alessia Demachi,” Maxim says, “please do me the honor of becoming my countess. I love you. I want to be with you always. Spend your life with me. At my side. Always. Marry me.”
Alessia’s eyes fill with tears.
He brought a ring.
This is what he came here to do.
To marry her.
She’s breathless with shock.
And then it hits her. Like a freight train. Her elation. He really does love her. He wants to be with her. Not Caroline. He wants her with him, always.
“Yes,” she whispers, tears of joy running down her face. All watch, speechless and as amazed as Alessia, while Maxim slides the ring onto her finger and kisses her hand. Then, with a whoop of happiness, he springs up and sweeps her into his arms.
* * *
“I love you, Alessia Demachi,” I whisper. Setting her down, I kiss her. Hard. Closing my eyes. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care that her father is still holding his shotgun pointed in my direction or that her mother is still in the kitchen wide-eyed and weeping. I don’t care that one of my closest friends is looking at me in shock and alarm as if I’m crazy.
Right now. Here. In Kukës, Albania, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
She said yes.
Her mouth is soft and yielding. Her tongue caressing mine. It’s been only days, but I’ve missed her so much.
Her tears rub off on my face. Wet and cooling.
Fuck. I love this woman.
Mr. Demachi coughs loudly, and Alessia and I surface, winded and giddy from our kiss. He waves the muzzle of his shotgun between us, and we both step back, but I grasp her hand firmly. I’m never letting her go. Alessia is grinning and blushing, and I’m light-headed with love.
“Konteshë?” her father, his brow creased, asks Thanas. Thanas looks to me, but I have no idea what Demachi said.
“Countess?” Thanas clarifies.
“Oh. Yes. Countess. Alessia will be Lady Trevethick, Countess of Trevethick.”
“Konteshë?” her father says again, and it seems like he’s feeling his way around the word and its meaning.
I nod.
“Babë, zoti Maksim është Kont.”
Three Albanians turn to stare at me and Alessia as if we’ve each grown an extra head.
“Like Lord Byron?” Thanas asks.
Byron?
“He was a baron, I think. But he was a peer. Yes.”
Mr. Demachi lowers his gun, continuing to gape at me. No one else in the room moves or says anything.
Well, this is awkward.
Tom shuffles forward. “Congratulations, Trevethick. Didn’t expect you to propose on the spot.” He puts his arms around me and claps me on the back.
“Thanks, Tom,” I reply.
“This’ll make a great story for the grandchildren.”
I laugh.
“Congratulations, Alessia,” Tom adds, giving her a little bow, and she rewards him with a glorious smile.
Mr. Demachi turns to his wife and barks an instruction. She heads deeper into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of clear spirits and four glasses. I glance at Alessia—she’s radiant. Gone is the harrowed woman who walked into this room earlier.