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)
And suddenly, I want to laugh. She runs off to meet her uncle without saying a word. And here she is, demanding answers. “You really want to know?”
“Yes. And why are you smiling?”
“Because you’re making me smile.”
“Tell me!”
“Your father wants me to handle my mistresses more discreetly.”
Alessia pales, gaping at me as if I’d just slapped her.
Shit. I was joking!
“Hey. It’s nonsense. Anatoli had a clipping from an Albanian newspaper with Charlotte.” And I’m suddenly inspired. Reaching out, I take Alessia’s hand. “Let me show you something.”
I guide her into the drawing room, sit at my desk, and seat Alessia on my lap. Grasping my iMac’s mouse, I wake the computer. On Instagram, I find Grisha Egonov’s reel of Alessia at the piano. “Watch,” I say, and switching on the sound, I listen to my wife’s exquisite performance of Bach. She squirms on my lap, unused to watching herself. “It’s good, don’t worry,” I murmur.
* * *
Alessia watches the recording, noting her finger work and the sound from the piano. It’s good. The tone is mellow yet bright. As she finishes the piece, there’s a burst of applause from the audience. Maxim pauses the video. “See?” he says, and with the cursor, he circles some blurred figures in the background, then presses Play. Alessia’s scalp tightens. There’s Maxim, leaning back from Charlotte as she kisses him. He twists his head, grabs her hands, and eases her gently away from him.
He stopped her.
Alessia slides her gaze to him. “She kissed you.”
“I told you. She kissed me.”
“I believed you.”
“Did you, though?” he says, with a sideways look, his lips curved into a teasing smile.
Alessia laughs and throws her arms around his neck. “Yes. A thousand times, yes. Of course I believed you.”
“So you should. Shall we Netflix and chill?” He kisses her, his hands in her hair, his tongue invading her mouth, stealing away her breath and making her heart sing.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“That was a good meeting. You’re getting a handle on all of it, Maxim.” Oliver’s smile is benevolent as he gathers his papers, so I don’t think he’s being sarcastic—just sincere. It’s humbling and heartwarming at the same time. We’ve just concluded a discussion with the managing agents for the residential and commercial property divisions, and I’m pleased that all is well, though they’re keeping a watchful eye on the retail sector—online shopping has much to answer for—and the churn on our retail property is up.
“I felt it went well. In fact, so much so, I might bunk off and walk home right now.”
“Good plan. You’re off to Cornwall, yes?”
“Hoping to throw off the press.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Have a good weekend. And thanks, Oliver. For everything.”
“I’m just doing my job, my lord. Have a great weekend.”
He exits my office, and I remember when I thought he might not have my best interests at heart. Well, I was wrong. He’s an asset to me and the estate.
I bounce down the steps into a brisk March afternoon. I’ve decided to walk home, as I have plenty of time and I want to stretch my legs. I’ve only managed two runs this week, and I resolve to do better in Cornwall.
Alessia will conclude her course today and mentioned going for drinks afterward with her classmates. I’m tempted to join her, but I haven’t been invited, and I have to drive this evening.
Mate. Let her be.
As I walk through Berkeley Square, a nagging, skittering itch travels up my spine, and I find myself glancing behind me.
Am I being followed?
Reporters? Paparazzi?
I can’t see anyone acting suspiciously, but I quicken my pace.
Mate. Get a grip.
I hurry on, tempted to grab a cab—but I need the exercise.
The uneasy feeling follows me to Chelsea Embankment, and I’m relieved that my building is press-free when I arrive home. I stride through the doorway and jog up the stairs, grateful to be home.
* * *
Alessia is seated beside Tabitha and two of her course colleagues at the bar in The Gore, enjoying a glass of champagne. The atmosphere among them is fizzing with celebration.
“I think my father will find my manners vastly improved. He’ll be pleased. I hope,” Tabitha purrs. “He wants me married off as soon as possible, like my sisters. You wouldn’t think we’re in the twenty-first century. Did your husband send you on this course?”
Alessia smiles. “No. It was my decision. I’m thankful. I’ve learned so much. And the first banquet that we host, you must come.”
“Complete with minstrels? I’ll be there!”
Alessia giggles. “I am not sure about minstrels, but Maxim has guitars, though I’ve never heard him play. We are moving to a new place soon. I hope we entertain there.”
“Oh! A housewarming party. That would be splendid. When and where are you moving? Tell me all.”
* * *
I’m about to head into the shower when the external buzzer sounds.