But then I recall her confession in the car park.
She escaped.
Escaped!
“They wanted us to be clean…we would bring a higher price.”
I exhale.
I hope, for her sake, that she managed to avoid any horror. But somehow I doubt it. The journey alone must have been a nightmare. I try to grasp the magnitude of what she’s been through and what she’s achieved. She escaped. Found a place to live. A job. And she escaped again this afternoon from my flat. While she has nothing, she’s one resourceful young woman: ingenious, talented, courageous, and beautiful. My heart swells with unexpected pride.
“You really are something, Alessia,” I whisper, but she’s lost in the music and doesn’t hear me.
* * *
It’s after midnight when I pull up the gravel drive and park outside the garage of the Hideout, one of the luxury holiday homes on the Trevethick estate. I don’t want to overwhelm Alessia with the Hall—maybe that can happen later. The truth is, I want her to myself. There are too many staff in the great house, and I haven’t figured out what I’ll say about her or to her about the estate. Right now she doesn’t know who I am, what I have, and what my birthright entails. And I like that…I like that a lot.
She’s asleep. She must be exhausted. I study her face. Even in the harsh glare of the garage’s security light, her features are soft and delicate in repose.
Sleeping beauty.
I could look at her for hours. She grimaces briefly, and I wonder what she’s dreaming about.
Me?
I consider carrying her into the house but dismiss the idea. The steps down to the front door are steep and can be slippery. I could kiss her awake. She should be woken with a kiss, like a princess. I’m being ridiculous, and I remember that I’ve vowed not to touch her.
“Alessia,” I whisper. “We’re here.”
Opening her eyes, she regards me sleepily. “Hello,” she says.
“Hello, beautiful. We’ve arrived.”
Chapter Eleven
Alessia blinks the sleep from her eyes and peers through the windshield. All she sees is a piercing light above a large steel door and a smaller wooden door to the side. The rest of the view is shrouded in darkness, though in the distance she hears a faint rumble. With the heater off, the frigid winter air infiltrates the car. Alessia shivers.
She is here. Alone with him.
She shoots him an anxious glance. Now that she’s sitting in the dark, with this man she hardly knows, she wonders at the wisdom of her decision. The only people who saw her leave with him were Magda and the security guard.
“Come on,” Maxim says, and, climbing out of the car, he goes to the trunk to retrieve her bags, his shoes crunching on the gravel.
Dismissing her unease, she opens the car door and steps onto the gravel.
Outside, it’s cold. She huddles into her anorak as the icy wind whistles in her ears. The rumble in the distance is louder. She wonders what it is. Maxim puts his arm around her, in a gesture that she suspects is to protect her from the cold. Together they walk to the gray wooden door. He unlocks it and pushes it open, ushering her ahead of him. He flips a switch inside the gatepost, and small lights embedded in the side of the flagstone steps light the path down to a stone courtyard.
“This way,” he says, and she follows him down the steep steps. An imposing contemporary house lit by uplighters in the ground stands before them. Alessia marvels at its modernity—all glass and white walls, bathed in light. Maxim unlocks the front door and guides her inside. He flips another light switch, and subtle downlighters illuminate the alabaster space with a soft glow. “Let me have your coat,” he says, and she shrugs out of her anorak.
They are standing in an open hallway beside an impressive cloud-gray galley kitchen that’s part of a vast wood-floored room. To the rear there are two turquoise sofas with a coffee table between them, and beyond that shelving stacked with books.
Books! She admires them and notices another door beside the shelves.
This house is so big.
The staircase next to her is enclosed in glass. The wooden steps appear to be suspended in the air, but they are anchored in a massive concrete block that runs down the center of the stairwell and extends to upper and lower floors.
It’s the most contemporary house she’s ever been in. And yet in spite of its modern design, it has a welcoming, warm feel.
Alessia begins to undo her bootlaces as Maxim marches into the kitchen and places her bags and their coats on the worktop. As she removes her boots, she’s surprised by the warmth of the floor underfoot.
“This is it,” he says, gesturing at their surroundings. “Welcome to the Hideout.”
“The Hideout?”
“It’s the name of this house.”
On the other side of the kitchen is the main living area, with a white dining table that seats twelve people and two large dove-colored sofas that stand in front of a sleek steel fireplace.
“It looks bigger than from outside,” Alessia says, intimidated by the scale and elegance of the house.
“Deceptive. I know.”
Who cleans this place? It must take hours!
“And this house, it belongs to you?”
“Yes. It’s a holiday home that we rent out to the public. It’s late and you must be exhausted. But would you like something to eat or a drink before bed?”
Alessia hasn’t moved from her spot in the hallway.
He owns this, too? He must be a very successful composer.
She nods at his offer.
“Do you mean yes?” he asks with a grin.
She smiles.
“Wine? Beer? Something stronger?” he asks, and she steps closer. Where she’s from, women generally don’t drink alcohol, though she’s sneaked a raki or two, but only in the last couple of years, on New Year’s Eve. Her father doesn’t approve of her drinking.
Her father doesn’t approve of many things…
Her grandmother had given her wine. But Alessia had not cared for it. “Beer,” she says, because she’s only ever seen men drink it—and to spite her father.
“Good choice.” Maxim grins, and from the fridge he removes two brown bottles. “Pale ale okay?”
She doesn’t know what that means, so she nods.
“Glass?” he asks, as he pops off both tops.
“Yes. Please.”
From another cupboard he takes out a tall glass and deftly pours one of the bottles into it. “Cheers,” he says as he hands Alessia her drink. He clinks her glass with his beer bottle and takes a swig, his lips circling the bottle’s neck. He closes his eyes, savoring the taste, and for some reason she has to look away.
His lips.
“Gëzuar,” she whispers. He raises his eyebrows, surprised to hear her speaking her native tongue. It’s a toast, mainly made by men, but he doesn’t know that. She takes a sip, and the chilled amber liquid runs down her throat.
“Mmm.” She closes her eyes in appreciation and takes another, longer draft.
“Are you hungry?” His voice is husky.
“No.”
* * *
The sight of her enjoying the simple pleasure of a beer is a thrill. But now, probably for the first time ever, I’m a little lost for words. I don’t know what she expects. It’s strange. We have nothing in common, and the intimacy we shared in the car seems to have vanished.
“Come, I’ll give you a quick tour.” I offer her my hand and show her into the larger living space. “Drawing room. Um…living area, I suppose. It’s all open-plan.” I wave my hand in the general direction of the room.
* * *
Now that she’s farther into the room, Alessia notices the gleaming white upright piano against the wall beside her.
A piano!
&nb
sp; “You can play to your heart’s content while you’re here,” Maxim says.
Her heart skips a beat, and she beams at him as he releases her hand. She lifts the lid. Written on the inside is the word:
KAWAI