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)
* * *
In the trunk of the Mercedes, Alessia clutches the flashlight as the car lurches to a stop. They must have reached the border with Croatia. She closes her eyes, pulls Anatoli’s coat over her head, and switches off the flashlight. She doesn’t want to get caught. She just wants to get home. She hears voices—they’re quiet and in control. And the car starts to move. She breathes a sigh of relief and flicks on the bright beam once more. She’s reminded of the makeshift hideaway beneath the sheets that she shared with Maxim and the little dragon. They were sitting and talking on his vast, baronial bed, their knees touching and…Her pain is swift and sudden. She aches to the bottom of her soul.
Before long the Mercedes slows and stops. The engine idles, and moments later Anatoli opens the trunk. Alessia switches off the flashlight and sits up, blinking in the darkness.
They are on a deserted rural road; a small bungalow squats darkly opposite them. Anatoli is lit by the car’s tail-lights, his face cast in demonic red, his breath an ominous cloud around him. He offers his hand to help her out, and because she’s tired and stiff, she accepts. She stumbles as she steps out of the trunk, and he yanks her forward, into his arms.
“Why are you so hostile?” he breathes against her temple. Tightening his hold around her waist, he grasps the back of her head with his hand and grips her hair. In spite of the cold, his breath is hot and heavy between them. As Alessia registers what’s happening, his lips swoop down hard on hers. He tries to force his tongue into her mouth, and she struggles, fear and loathing careening through her body in a potent mix. She pushes ineffectually at his arms and frantically twists, trying to struggle out of his hold. He leans back to look down at her, and before she can stop herself, she slaps him across his face, her palm ringing from the blow, and he retreats. Shocked. She’s breathing gulps of air, adrenaline coursing through her veins, chasing away her fear and leaving anger in its stead. Anatoli glares at her, rubbing his cheek, and before she can blink, he slaps her hard across her face. Once. Twice. Her head jerks from the right to the left, and she staggers at the force of each blow. With little care he picks her up and drops her back into the trunk so that she hits her shoulder, her backside, and her head. And before she can protest, he slams the lid shut.
“Until you learn to behave and be civil, you can stay in there!” he shouts. Alessia clutches her throbbing head as anger burns in her throat and behind her eyes.
This is her life now.
* * *
I take a sip of Negroni. Tom and I are in a bar next door to the hotel. It’s contemporary, sleek, and comfortable, and the staff are friendly and attentive, but not overly so. What’s more, they serve a bloody good Negroni.
“I think we fell on our feet with this place,” Tom says as he takes another slug of his drink. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Goats and wattle-and-daub shacks, I think.”
“Yes. I had the same idea. This place exceeds all expectations.”
He eyes me speculatively. “Forgive me, Trevethick. But I have to know. Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Chasing this girl all over Europe? Why?”
“Love,” I state, as if it’s the most understandable reason in the world.
Why doesn’t he get this?
“Love?”
“Yep. It’s that simple.”
“For your daily?”
I roll my eyes. What is it about the fact that Alessia used to clean for me? And still wants to clean for me! “Just deal with it, Tom. I’m going to marry her.”
He splutters into his drink, spitting red liquid over the table, and I wonder again at the wisdom of bringing him on this journey. “Steady on, Trevethick. She’s a pretty girl, from what I remember, but is that wise?”
I shrug. “I love her.”
He shakes his head, bemused.
“Tom, just because you haven’t got the nerve to do the decent thing and pop the fucking question to Henrietta—who is a saint to put up with you—don’t judge.”
He frowns, and a pugnacious gleam lights up his eyes. “Listen, old boy, I wouldn’t be doing my duty as a friend if I didn’t state the fucking obvious.”
“The fucking obvious?”
“You’re in mourning, Maxim.” His voice is surprisingly gentle. “Have you considered that this sudden infatuation is part of your way of dealing with your brother’s death?”
“This has nothing to do with Kit, and I’m not fucking infatuated. You don’t know her like I do. She’s an exceptional woman. And I’ve known countless women. She’s different. She’s not bothered by trivial shit….She’s smart. Funny. Courageous. And you should hear her play the piano. She’s a fucking genius.”