The Mister

“We’re going.”

“It’s too early!”

“I don’t care. I can’t stay cooped up here waiting. I’d rather wait with her folks.”

* * *

At 7:40 we return to the Demachi house.

Time to be a grown-up.

Tom waits in the car once more with Drita while Thanas and I walk down the driveway. “And remember, I’ve not been here before. I don’t want to get Mrs. Demachi into trouble?” I say to Thanas.

“Trouble?”

“With her husband.”

“Oh. I understand.” Thanas rolls his eyes.

“You understand?”

“Yes. Life is different in Tiranë. Here it’s much more traditional. Men. Women.” He grimaces.

I wipe my sweaty palms on my coat. I haven’t felt this nervous since my interview for Eton. I have to make a favorable impression on Alessia’s father. I need to persuade him that I’m a better option for his daughter than the arsehole he’s chosen.

That’s if she wants me.

Shit.

I knock on the door and wait.

Mrs. Demachi answers the door. Her eyes flit from Thanas to me.

“Mrs. Demachi?” I ask.

And she nods.

“Is your husband at home?”

She nods once more, and in case we’re overheard, I replay the introduction I made to her earlier in the day as if it hadn’t happened. “Come in,” she says. “You must speak to my husband.” Once we’ve removed our shoes, she takes our coats and hangs them in the hall.

Mr. Demachi stands when we enter a larger room at the back of the house. It’s an airy, spotless kitchen–cum–living room, the two areas separated by an arch. A pump-action shotgun hangs ominously on the wall above Mr. Demachi’s head. I note that it’s within easy reach.

Demachi is older than his wife; his face is weather-beaten, his hair more gray than black. He wears a somber dark suit that lends him the air of a Mafia don. His eyes give nothing away. I’m glad he’s half a head shorter than me.

As Mrs. Demachi quietly explains who we are, his expression becomes more and more mistrustful.

Shit. What is she saying?

Thanas whispers a running commentary. “She’s telling him that you wish to speak to him about his daughter.”

“Okay.”

Demachi gives us both an uncertain smile as he shakes our hands in turn, then waves at an old pine couch, inviting us to sit. He appraises me with shrewd eyes the same shade as Alessia’s, while Mrs. Demachi wanders through the arch into the kitchen.

Demachi looks from me to Thanas and starts to speak. His voice has a rich, deep timbre that’s almost soothing to listen to. Thanas immediately starts to translate for both of us.

“My wife tells me you are here because of my daughter.”

“Yes, Mr. Demachi. Alessia worked for me, back in London.”

“London?” He looks impressed for a moment, but the shutters come down quickly. “What did she do, exactly?”

“She was my cleaner.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, as if this news is too painful to hear, which surprises me. Or perhaps he thinks this is beneath her…or maybe he misses her, I don’t know. I take a deep breath to calm my spiraling nerves and continue. “I have come to ask for her hand in marriage.”

His eyes pop open in surprise, and he scowls. It’s an exaggerated expression. But I don’t know to what end. “She’s already promised to another,” he says.

“She does not wish to marry that man. He is the reason that she left here.”

Demachi’s eyes widen at my outspoken candor, and I hear a small gasp from the kitchen.

“Did she tell you this?”

“Yes.”

Demachi’s expression is inscrutable.

What the hell is he thinking?

The creases in her father’s forehead deepen. “Why do you wish to marry her?” He seems perplexed.

“Because I love her.”

* * *

Kukës is achingly familiar. Even in the dark. Alessia is both excited and apprehensive about seeing her parents. Her father will beat her. Her mother will hold her in her arms, and they will cry together.

Like they always do.

Anatoli drives over the bridge to the Kukës peninsula and turns left. Alessia sits up, straining to catch a first glimpse of home. Less than a minute later, she sees the lights of her parents’ house and frowns. There’s a car parked near the end of the drive with two people leaning against it, facing the river and smoking. Alessia thinks it’s odd but dismisses the thought, too preoccupied by her imminent reunion with her parents. Anatoli steers the Mercedes around the parked car and down the driveway.

Before the car has come to a complete stop, Alessia flings open the passenger door and flies up the path and through the front door. Without taking off her shoes, she races down the main hallway.

“Mama!” she calls, and she bursts into the living room, expecting to see her mother.

Maxim and another man she barely notices stand. They had been sitting with her father, who is now staring up at her.

Alessia’s world stops, and she freezes as she tries to process what she’s seeing.

She blinks a couple of times as her empty, aching heart kick-starts back into life. She has eyes for only one man.

He’s here.

Chapter Thirty-One

My heart is beating a frantic tattoo. Alessia stands in the middle of the room. Astounded.

She’s here.

She’s finally here. Dark, dark wide eyes stare back at me in disbelief.

Yes. I came to get you.

I’ve got you. Always.

She looks stunning. Slender. Sweet. Her hair wild. But her skin is pale. Paler than I’ve ever seen her before, and she has a graze on one cheek and a bruise on the other. There are dark circles beneath her eyes that are shining with unshed tears.

A lump forms in my throat.

What have you been through, sweetheart?

“Hello,” I whisper. “You left without saying good-bye.”

* * *

Maxim is here. For her. Everyone else in the room disappears. She can see only him. His hair is tousled. He looks pale and tired, but relieved. His startling green eyes drink her in, and his words touch her soul. The same words he used when he came to find her in Brentford. But there’s a question on his face, beseeching her. It’s asking why she left. He doesn’t know how she feels about him. But he came anyway.

He’s here.

He’s not with Caroline.

How could she doubt him? How could he doubt her?

She lets out a small, sharp cry and races into his waiting arms. Maxim cradles her against his chest, holding her tightly. She inhales his scent. It’s clean and warm and familiar.

Maxim.

Never let me go.

A movement at the periphery of her vision catches her attention. Her father has risen from his seat, and he’s gaping at the two of them. He opens his mouth to say something—

“We’re home!” calls Anatoli from the hall, and he swaggers into the room carrying her duffel bag, expecting a hero’s welcome.

“Trust me,” Alessia whispers to Maxim.

He stares into her eyes, his face full of love, and he kisses the top of her head. “Always.”

Anatoli halts at the doorway. Stunned into silence.

* * *

Alessia turns to her father, who’s looking from us to the arsehole who kidnapped her. Anthony? Antonio? I don’t remember his name, but he’s a good-looking bastard. His glacial blue eyes a

re wide with bewilderment at first, but they narrow, coolly assessing me and the woman in my arms. I tuck Alessia under my arm, protecting her from him and her father.

“Babë,” Alessia says to her dad, “më duket se jam shtatzënë dhe ai është i ati.”

There is a collective gasp of shock that rattles through the room.

What the fuck did she say?

“What?” roars the arsehole in English, and he drops her bag as his face contorts with anger.

Her father glowers dumbfounded at her and me, his complexion becoming more florid.

Thanas leans toward me and whispers. “She’s just told her father she thinks she’s pregnant and that you’re the father.”

“What?”

I feel a little dizzy. But wait…She can’t possibly…We only…We used…

She’s lying.

Her father reaches for his shotgun.

Fuck.

* * *

“You told me you were bleeding!” Anatoli screams at Alessia, and a vein in his forehead pulses with wrath.

Mama starts crying.

“I lied! I didn’t want you to touch me!” She turns to her father. “Babë, please. Don’t make me marry him. He is an angry, violent man. He will kill me.”

Baba stares at her, both bemused and angry, while beside Maxim a man Alessia doesn’t know quietly translates everything she’s just said into English. But she has no time for this stranger now. “See,” she says to Baba, and opening her coat, she yanks down the neck of her sweater, revealing the dark bruises around her throat.

Mama sobs out loud.

“What the fuck!” Maxim bellows, and he lunges at Anatoli, grabbing him by the neck and throwing them both onto the floor.

* * *

He’s fucking dead.

Adrenaline coursing through my body, I take the fucker by surprise, knocking the breath out of him as he hits the floor with me on top of him.