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)
When she sees us in the doorway, Shpresa announces what I assume is our arrival rather loudly, and several pairs of eyes turn to stare at us as the noise level rises exponentially. There must be at least a dozen women, aged from fifteen to fifty, gathered in the room, and they surge toward us. The older women look a little like Mrs. Demachi and are dressed more traditionally with scarves on their heads and full skirts. The younger women are in more casual contemporary clothes. Alessia squeezes my hand and starts to make introductions as her relatives kiss and hug her. She manages to keep hold of my hand throughout as they kiss and hug me too. By all accounts, they are delighted to meet me. None of the older women speak English, but the youngest two are pretty fluent.
After fifteen minutes of continuous smiling to the point I might get rictus in my cheeks, I manage to extricate myself with the excuse that I have calls to make, and I head down to the guest room.
* * *
Alessia is overwhelmed with the attention of her aunts and cousins. He’s so handsome. Where have you been? What happened to you? We thought you were marrying Anatoli Thaçi. He’s a count! Let us see the ring. So European. Is he rich? The questions come thick and fast, and Alessia fends them off with the help of her mother.
“I did not wish to marry Anatoli,” she says as the women hang on her every word.
There are gasps of dismay.
“But your father’s besa?” Her father’s sister tuts.
“He was not for me.” Alessia raises her chin in defiance.
“Alessia has captured the heart of a fine man. She’s in love. She will be happy,” her mother declares. “And what’s more, he’s come all the way from England to claim her.”
* * *
I place my luggage on the bed and withdraw my phone from my jacket, pleased to be out of the limelight and the rapt attention of so many curious women—though I can still hear them chattering and laughing above me through the ceiling. Ignoring them, I switch on the phone.
First, I call Oliver, the chief operating officer of the Trevethick Estate.
“My lord—I mean Maxim. How are you? Where are you?”
I quickly fill him in on all he needs to know. “…And we’ll need to press on with a visa for Alessia. Let Rajah know. Alessia and I are getting married.”
“Oh! And, um—congratulations. When?”
“Thank you. Saturday.”
I hear Oliver’s gasp and then his silence. It speaks volumes.
“Yes. Sudden, I know.” I break the awkward silence.
“Do you want to place an announcement in The Times?”
“People still do that?” I’m unable to keep the incredulity from my voice.
“Yes, my lord. Especially as a peer of the realm.” He sounds disapproving.
“I think under the circumstances, we’ll draw a veil over that. No announcement. Can you give the keys to my flat to Joe Diallo? He’ll come round and collect them from the office.”
Well, I hope he will.
“Of course,” Oliver breathes. I think he’s still in shock. “I’ll chase Rajah about visas.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve also had news today from the Met Police. Alessia’s assailants have been charged with trafficking offenses.”
Fuck. Good.
“They’ve not been granted bail. They’re a flight risk, and I believe other individuals have been charged too.”
“I’m glad. That’s a relief.” I hope Alessia’s not called upon to be a witness in court. That could get tricky. But she’ll be my wife by then.
Don’t dwell, dude.
Cross that bridge as and when.
“Any estate business I need to know?” I ask to change the subject.
Oliver fills me in on what’s been happening back home. Fortunately, not much. “I’ve sent you a couple of emails that need attention, but nothing serious.”
“Thanks, Oliver.”
“My lord… um… is everything okay?”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling that same sense of panic I felt when we arrived back at the house. I tamp it down. I don’t want to tell him that my marriage might be illegitimate. I’ll deal with that later once we’re back in the UK. “Yes. Everything’s fine.”
“Righto. I’ll report back on where Rajah is with visas.”
Next, I call my friend and sparring partner Joe Diallo.
“Bruv,” he says. “Where you at?”
“Albania. I’m getting married. On Saturday.”
“What the fuck! This Saturday?”
“Yeah. Can you come?”
“Mate. Wait. Really?”
“Yes.”
“Your daily?” he squeaks, several octaves above his normal voice and I roll my eyes.
“Yes,” I hiss with exasperation.
“You’re sure. She’s the one?”
I sigh. “Yes, Joe.”
“Okay,” he says, his uncertainty ringing in his voice. “I’ll look into flights.”
“Can you be here on Friday? And bring one of my suits?”
He sighs. “Only for you, mate.”
“I’m going to need you to go to Boodles too.”
* * *
There’s a loud knock on the front door, and as Alessia is near the doorway, she extracts herself from the crowd to find out who’s calling. She’s delighted to see her relatives but is grateful for the distraction and a moment of peace as she strolls down the hall. She’s forgotten what it’s like to be surrounded by her noisy and inquisitive family.