Mister and Missus By E L James - 58

Alessia gasps and stares back into bright green eyes, totally blindsided. “A baby?” she squeaks.

He plants a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth. “Yes. A boy.” He kisses her again. “Then a girl.” Kiss. “Then another boy.” Kiss. “And another girl.” He kisses the other side of her mouth.

Alessia giggles. “Four children! I’m not sure it works like that.”

“I know how it works,” he growls, amused.

“ Call of Duty ?”

Maxim laughs. “Oh, my love. Funny and talented. Never change.” He nuzzles her nose with his.

“My backside is covered in flour, and you want babies.”

He nods.

“Can I shower first?”

He grins and looks at the counter beside her, where the dough lies neglected but rising. “I was rather hoping for breakfast.” He kisses her again, and she swats him away.

“Help me down, and I will make you breakfast.”

“Only if you promise not to put your jeans or knickers back on.” He gently lifts her from the counter and slides her down his body until her feet touch the floor. He cradles her head in his hands. “I want babies—lots of them. I thought—” He swallows. “I thought that maybe with Kit… and his…condition. That…”

“Oh, Maxim,” Alessia whispers, realizing that this is another reason he’s been so preoccupied. She leans in, bringing her lips to his, and kisses him, a sweet, remorseful kiss.

All the worry, and she never knew.

“Let’s have breakfast and talk about it.”

“We could go out,” Maxim offers.

“I like making breakfast for you, Maxim. I want to take care of you, like you want to provide for me. That’s a partnership.”

Alessia’s fingers make patterns in my hair as we lie in bed. Spent. Replete. Together. My head on her stomach, I turn and kiss the soft skin of her belly and allow myself a little fantasy that it’s swollen with our child.

Alessia doesn’t have the same sense of urgency as I do. She doesn’t realize that I’m trying to bind her to me in any way I can, but we’ve talked, and she’s right. She’s young and wants to see a little of the world before we embark on babies.

Mate. What were you thinking?

I wonder what my mother would make of being a grandmother.

I sigh. I have no idea how I’ll repair that relationship.

Do I want to?

“What is it?” Alessia asks.

“I’m just thinking about my mother.”

Alessia stiffens beneath me.

Shit. “Did she say something horribly dreadful to you?”

Alessia is quiet, and her fingers have stopped fiddling with my hair, so I look up.

Eyes gleaming, she swallows. “She wanted to know how much money I wanted to leave you.”

What. The. Fuck?

Sitting up, I lean against the pillows and gather my wife in my arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I was hurt and angry, but she was only acting in what she thinks is your…um…best…um…”

“Interests?”

“Yes. That.”

“It’s not in my best interests at all. The woman wouldn’t know my best interests if she tripped over them and they smacked her bloody arse. You don’t deserve to be spoken to like that. If anything—” I stop because what I’m about to say about my own mother is… un-fucking-becoming. “Who the hell does she think she is?” I shake my head in disbelief and kiss the top of Alessia’s head.

“She did come here and had the courage to tell you and your sister face to the face about your brother.”

“Well, that’s putting a positive slant on what happened. But I suppose you’re right.” I offer her a smile. “And it’s ‘face-to-face.’”

Alessia grins. “There he is—my English teacher.”

“For as long as you need me.”

“I will always need you.” Alessia’s burning sincerity and love is in every syllable of her soft-spoken statement, and it feeds my soul. Curling my fingers around hers, I bring them to my lips. And to think we were at loggerheads last night—and I wonder what would have happened if my mother hadn’t put in her untimely appearance. “I wonder why she came all the way from Manhattan to tell us in such a hostile way.”

“Perhaps she is punishing herself?” Alessia offers.

Wow. “That’s insightful. Do you think so?”

She shakes her head, and it’s plain that this is just Alessia’s hypothesis, but it’s credible. Perhaps my mother is filled with shame.

Who knows? Is she capable of shame?

“Shall we go out for lunch?” I ask, and Alessia grins. “We’ll probably have to dodge the press after that sordid article,” I add.

Alessia shrugs. “We say nothing.”

I grin. “Exactly.”

On Monday morning, Alessia and Maxim leave via the fire escape to avoid the cluster of reporters outside the building. Maxim hails a cab, and together, feeling pleased with themselves, they settle into the back seat and head to the London Academy of Social Etiquette and Graces.

“What’s that place?” Alessia asks, pointing with her chin at an enormous, ornate, gothic building.

“That’s the Natural History Museum. We should go. Beside it is the Science Museum. Many a Saturday afternoon was spent there. Our nanny at the time had a passion for science. But it has a great place for kids to play and explore.”

Alessia grins. “One day, we will take our children.”

Maxim glances at her. “Or the nanny will.” He finds and fondles her knee.

“Nanny?” Alessia had not thought that they might have help with childcare.

“Just a thought. I had one. Well, several, actually. And look how I turned out.”

Alessia laughs. And Maxim scowls, pretending to be offended. “What are you implying? Am I not the epitome of well-bred manhood?”

“Of course you are.” She giggles. “You have the best manners. And after this week, so shall I.” She pats his knee, suppressing her laughter.

The cab pulls up outside an impressive white building in Queen’s Gate, South Kensington. “We’re here.” Maxim opens the taxi door and steps out while the cab idles. Alessia follows him, staring up at yet more imposing architecture. “Do you want me to come in with you?” Maxim asks.

Alessia tries to suppress her smile. He’s been fussing like a mother hen all morning, and it’s a side of him she’s not seen before. “I’ll be okay.”

“Text me if you need anything.” He kisses her quickly and climbs back in the cab, and Alessia strides up the stone steps to the glossy black door.

So many shiny black doors in London.

She rings the brass bell, ignoring the fluttering of nerves in her stomach, and the door buzzes open. Alessia steps inside a wide hallway painted a brilliant white, and from behind a reception desk, a young woman in a gray suit looks up, an open, expectant expression on her face.

“London Academy—” Alessia asks.

“Up to the first floor. Registration is through the door on the left.”

“Thank you,” Alessia says, surprised to be interrupted. She heads up the wide staircase that creaks beneath each footfall to the first floor and turns left toward a door with a discreet sign that reads: L A S E G. Inside the white, high-ceilinged room, she’s greeted by an older, smartly dressed woman with pearls at her ears and her neck, carrying a clipboard.

“Good morning,” the woman says pleasantly, her smile reaching her bright brown eyes.

“Hello,” Alessia replies.

“My name is Belinda Donaldson, I’m the administrator, and I’ll be checking you in. We use first or given names for our delegates here at the Academy to protect everyone’s identity.”

“Alessia,” Alessia replies.

“Excellent. Welcome, Alessia. You’re the first to arrive. Punctuality is the politeness of kings… and queens. Please help yourself to tea or coffee, and do take a seat.”

Alessia pours coffee into one of the delicate cups and takes a seat. She watches as women arrive and are greeted in a similar fashion by Belinda. They’re all elegant, some in dresses, some in pants like her, and most are young, like Alessia, but there’s one older lady who must be in her fifties. Alessia is grateful to be wearing her new black pants, white shirt, and tailored jacket; knowing she’s well-dressed has boosted her confidence. For the first time, she feels like she belongs with these women.

A breathless young woman with flowing red hair stumbles into the room. “Hello,” she says, gasping for air. “I thought I was going to be late.”

Belinda regards her coolly. “Good morning. Take a moment. You have time.”

“Great. Thanks. My name’s Tabitha, Lady—”

“I’ll stop you right there, Tabitha. We operate on a first-name basis only. Please. Come and sit down and help yourself to tea or coffee. We will begin shortly.”

After a delicious pub lunch yesterday afternoon, Alessia and Maxim had attended an exhibition of pre-Raphaelite art at Tate Britain, a gallery not far from their apartment. With her long red hair and flowing chiffon dress, Tabitha reminds Alessia of one of the subjects in the paintings.

The assembled women resume their quiet chatter among themselves as Tabitha sits down beside Alessia. “Hi, I’m Tabitha,” she introduces herself. “I thought I’d be late!” She makes a face, and Alessia smiles, feeling a little more relaxed as she introduces herself. She’s drawn to Tabitha’s bright grin.

“I was too early,” Alessia confesses. “I am nervous.”

Tabitha beams as if she’s met a long-lost friend. “You’ll be fine,” she says and Alessia feels lighter, buoyed by Tabitha’s warmth.

On Sunday, my phone had blown up with texts about Dimitri’s party and the photos of Alessia and bloody Charlotte. I’d ignored the messages, choosing to spend quality time with my wife. And what a wonderful day we had—we seem to have turned a corner. We’ve survived our first major argument, my mother’s interference and her revelations, and some extremely unwelcome press attention.

And Alessia finally seems to be standing up for herself.

If you kiss anyone else, I will remove this organ.

I shake my head, smiling at my possessive, jealous wife.

But as I sit at my desk and try to read up on the rules for distilling alcohol in the UK, I’m finding it impossible to concentrate. My brain continues to pick over my mother’s disclosure like it’s carrion. I’ve called and left messages for Maryanne so we can compare notes on the drama, but she’s not returned either.

Is she angry with me?

I suppose I prompted the fallout and didn’t tell Maryanne about Kit’s genetic counseling.

Hell.

And I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel after Rowena’s shocking news.

Numb?

Distracted?

Angry?

Yeah, all those feelings.

Dude, get a grip.

My second meeting of the day is at the Mayfair mansion block refurbishment with Oliver and Caroline. We’re going through design and décor plans for the foyers, the common areas, and the show apartment. Caroline and Oliver are already in the foyer, making what sounds like awkward small talk. Oliver, for some reason, looks a little flustered while Caroline observes him with cool detachment.

“Maxim!” Caro brightens, greeting me with a quick peck on my cheek.

“So, what do you think?” I ask.

“This is a light, airy space, and we can do a great deal with it. What, is up to you. What do you want this space to say? What do you want to achieve?”

I’m not sure if she’s mocking me or not—we’ve never had a professional conversation before. “What I want is something classic that doesn’t date and doesn’t need redecorating every year.”

Oliver smiles in approval. “Yes. Pragmatic,” he pipes up.

“You sound just like Kit,” Caroline huffs, and a tangle of conflicted emotions fill my throat. Kit. My half-brother.

And Caro doesn’t know. “Thank you,” I mutter. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

She smiles. “It was meant as such.”

“Let’s see the common areas so you can have an idea of the extent of the work required,” Oliver says, his gaze intent on Caroline.

She offers him a polite, cool smile. “I can sketch some plans and take a few photos as we walk through.”

Alessia is paying attention to Jennifer Knight, their social etiquette instructor and the owner of the school. “And our mission is to empower all of you to present your best selves. You’ll have the confidence to walk into any room and know exactly how to behave. From the boardroom to the banqueting hall, you’ll be equipped to handle any work and social situation. We’ll start with the basics: introductions—both formal and informal—what forms of address you should use, and while mainly focusing on British etiquette, we’ll touch on cultural differences that you should be aware of to make those you meet and greet feel respected and comfortable in your presence.” Jennifer gives the class a broad smile. “If you’ll turn to the first page in your workbook, we can begin.”

Alessia does exactly that, while Tabitha is trying and failing not to look bored.

“I think I have all I need,” Caroline says.

“Excellent.” Oliver gives us a rare, relieved smile.

“Do you have a budget in mind?” Caro looks to me.

“Do the designs and give us options,” I state, and Oliver nods with approval again—I think—which is heartening.

“Okay. That shouldn’t be too difficult. If we’re done, can we grab a coffee, Maxim?”

“Sure. There’s a café across the road. Oliver, I’ll see you back at the office.”

“Of course. I’ll wait to hear from you, Caroline,” he says stiffly.

What is it with these two?

“Something troubling you?” I ask, watching Caroline slide into the banquette.

“Yes. Rowena. Have you managed to track her down and ask her?”

I take the chair opposite Caro as I struggle to find something to say. “Ask her what?”

“About Kit! The genetic stuff.”

I clear my throat. “Yes. Of course. I did. And she said there was nothing to worry about.”

Caro narrows her eyes, pinning me with her most intrusive gaze. Inside, I’m flailing. This is not a conversation I expected to have just yet. I’m still coming to terms with my mother’s bombshell.

“What are you not telling me?” Caro’s tone is terse. She’s irritated.

“Nothing.”

“Maxim, you’re lying. I can always tell. Your whole face becomes completely immobile while your brain frantically works out what to say.”

“It does not! And I told you. She said there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It was all a false alarm?”

I make a noise in my throat that I hope passes for agreement. I don’t want to lie to her.

“I’m trying to organize Kit’s memorial service, and you won’t confirm the date, and Rowena is not taking my calls.”

“Oh.” Hell. Kit’s memorial had slipped my mind.

“It’s not like her,” Caro continues. “I don’t know if I’ve offended her. But it must be something. Can you talk to her?”

“She’s not talking to me either.”

“Really? Why? Do you think she’s okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you talk to her?”

“Over the weekend.”

Caroline huffs. “Maryanne’s disappeared too. Perhaps they’ve found some late winter sun together.”

“Maybe. Do you have a guest list for the memorial service?”

“Yes. I’ll send it over, and you can add people. I’m waiting for your mother’s additions.”

“I told Rowena I’d write the eulogy.”

“Can we discuss readings?”

“Of course. Whenever. We’re around. Alessia is on that etiquette course this week.”

“Good. She’ll feel a lot more confident afterwards. And she should make some friends.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you worried?” Caroline scoffs. “For heaven’s sake, Maxim. She’s a grown woman.”

“I know. I know. But the kidnapping. I… I…” I shrug. What can I say? Alessia’s safety is my priority.

“Of course. But she’s here now. With you. She’ll be fine.”

“Incidentally, what did you say to Charlotte Hampshire at Dimitri’s party?”

“Nothing!” she says far too quickly and holds my gaze, but I’m not sure I believe her.

“Caro?” I arch a brow in warning.

What did you say?

“Is this about the photograph? It’s everywhere. Are you in trouble?”

“Was that your intention? To cause trouble between Alessia and me?” I glare at her, and the temperature between us drops to below zero.

Caroline’s eyes widen. “No! Why would I do that?” she says in a gush of faux indignation. “Is that what you think?”

“Caro, I don’t know what to think. But Alessia and I are fine. Stop inter-fucking-fering, or there will be consequences.”

She bristles but stays silent, and I know she said something to Charlotte.

“And what’s with you and Oliver?” I ask to change the subject.

“What do you mean?” she snaps.

“I don’t know, but there’s some weird energy between you.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. You’re coming across all woo-woo. I’d better go and get on with this work.” She stands. “Let me know if you hear from Rowena.”

“And that’s a wrap for today, ladies,” Jennifer says. “Tomorrow, we’ll be covering communication. Everything from texting to writing letters. Thank you for your time and attention today.” She smiles, and Alessia almost sags with relief but stops herself as she’s endured a whole afternoon of deportment lessons and learned about correct posture.

“I am desperate for a drink,” Tabitha hisses beside her. “Please say you’ll come.”

“Um…” Alessia is hesitant. This is a first for her—a stranger asking her to come for a drink. But she likes Tabitha. A woman her own age. Maxim won’t mind.

Will he?

“Don’t tell me you have to get back to your husband, Alessia.”

“How did…?”

“Your ring. I assumed you were married. But you seem awfully young to be wed.”

Alessia smiles. “In my country, it is normal to marry young.”

“Tell me all over a drink! Please.”

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Maryanne. Finally.

I’m in Seattle.

Will text when home.

Are you okay?

No. Still reeling from dear Mama’s revelations.

Here for some R&R.

How did you get the time off?

Skillz!

What! Her response makes me laugh. It’s a most un-Maryanne text. But I’m glad that she’s still speaking to me and that she’s getting some rest. Has she gone to see that guy she met when she went skiing? I daren’t ask.

Enjoy yourself.

Oh. I am.

Are you okay?

Of course.

Maxie, it was you all along.

Not Kit.

What?

The earldom.

It was yours.

My scalp prickles.

It was me all along.

I was the viscount. Then the earl.

Not Kit.

That’s hard to hear.

I know

But it was you, Maxie.

It was always you.

Remember that.

Poor Kit. Finding out like that.

He must have been furious.

Yes. I can’t stop thinking about that.

I wonder what he had.

What he had?

His genetic condition.

Something awful, I suspect.

I don’t want to know.

Poor man.

Yes. Maybe you’re right.

We loved him.

We did.

I’ll be back later this week.

We can talk then.

I’ve got to get up.

We’re going sailing on a super- duper catamaran.

Be safe.

Mx

I blow out a breath. Maryanne is still speaking to me, unlike my mother. And she’s focused on something that I’ve not thought about. My family has been obsessed with bloodlines since the earldom was created in the 1600s. My mother was driven by legacy too. It was drummed into all of us.

Kit most of all.

How ironic.

And with his death, my mother’s secret has died. And no one need ever know.

She didn’t have to tell us.

She could have claimed that Kit’s genetic issues were all a false alarm. Perhaps Alessia’s right. She’s atoning for her sins.

Her lies.

Hell. I need to talk to her. But after what she said to my dear wife, I’m not sure I want her in our lives.

My phone buzzes again, and I think it might be Maryanne with more pearls of wisdom. But it’s Alessia.

I am going to a bar with a woman I met on my course.

I will try not to be late.

Alarm tightens my chest. I’m not sure how I feel about Alessia on the loose in London with a stranger. Caroline’s words from earlier come back to me.

For heaven’s sake, Maxim. She’s a grown woman.

Yes. But she’s led a sheltered, claustrophobic life. I’ve seen it. I lived it for a week.

Sounds great. I’m finished here.

May I join you?

Yes!!

We are at the Gore.

xxxx

Alessia is fascinated by Tabitha. As they sip gin and tonics, Tabitha divulges that she lives in a castle in Scotland, though Alessia can’t discern a Scottish accent. Tabitha finished her History of Art degree last year at Bristol University and has been on a gap year trekking through Kenya and Tanzania with a friend. It sounds exciting and beyond anything that Alessia’s experienced. Apart from her harrowing journey to England—but Alessia decides to keep that story to herself.

“Oh look, Maxim Trevelyan just arrived, or should I say Maxim Trevethick, now.”

“Oh.” Alessia turns to see Maxim scanning the room.

“I’ve not met him. But my sisters know him. You know. In the biblical sense.”

Alessia’s spirits sink.

“They’re twins.”

Twins!

“I heard he’s married, though I know nothing about the lucky woman who bagged him.”

Maxim spies Alessia, and his face lights up with what she suspects is relief.

“Oh my God, he’s coming over here!”

Alessia turns to Tabitha. “Maxim Trevethick is my husband.”

Tabitha chokes on her gin. “Oh my God.”

“I’m the lucky woman who…um…bagged him.”

“Oh no. I’m so sorry. About what I said.”

Alessia gives her a reassuring smile. “His reputation is… extra.”

“Yes. It is!” Tabitha says quickly, her face flushed.

Alessia stands as Maxim approaches them, and he gives her a sweet, chaste kiss, suitable for public consumption. “Hello, darling. How are you? How was the first day?” Maxim’s husky tone suggests he’s asking her something indecent.

“Good. Thank you.” Alessia is a little breathless. “May I introduce Lady Tabitha.”

“How do you do,” Maxim says.

“Lord Trevethick.” Tabitha offers her hand, and Maxim takes it. “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother.”

“He’s sorely missed. May I join you?”

“Of course.” Tabitha summons the waiter, and Maxim orders an old-fashioned.

“So, what did you learn today?” Maxim turns his intense gaze on Alessia, his expression glowing with curiosity.

“How to sit. Walk. And how to say hello.” Alessia grins.

“Ah. The basics.” He grins back, and he’s breathtaking, a licentious gleam in his eyes.

“I really should be going,” Tabitha says.

“Please don’t leave on my account,” Maxim says.

“I should be getting back to the flat.”

Maxim stands when Tabitha does, and Alessia knows he doesn’t need any lessons; his manners are innate. “I’ll pick up the tab,” he says.

“Thank you. Alessia, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Tabitha gives her an embarrassed wave.

“I look forward to it,” Alessia says.

He sits back down.

“Twins?” Alessia asks.

He frowns, then glances at Tabitha’s retreating figure. “Ah. That Tabitha.” He looks back at Alessia. “Do you really want to know?”

Alessia feels her cheeks warm but rolls her eyes. “No.”

He laughs. “Now, that is an appropriate reaction. A good eye roll.”

Alessia smiles, despite her misgivings, and leans forward and kisses him once more.

She’s learning. This is growth. His past is his past.

“Shall we go out to eat?” he asks. “We could eat here if you’d like?”

In the back of the cab, Alessia studies me. “How are you?”

I blow out a breath. “Honestly? A little numb. Dinner this evening was a welcome distraction. And Maryanne has finally texted me back. She’s in Seattle but says we’ll compare notes when she’s back.”

“And have you heard from your mother?”

I snort. “I think that’s unlikely for a while.”

Alessia reaches out and takes my hand. “She is your mother…”

“I know.” I swallow. “It will take time.”

She nods sympathetically. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What’s there to talk about that we haven’t already said? My mother has proved to be as duplicitous as I thought she was, and mean. And a terrible snob.”

“She is… human.”

I laugh, and it’s a hollow sound. “That may be the first time anyone has accused Rowena of being human.”

Alessia smiles. “What do you want to do?”

“Well, I should read up on stills.”

“Stills? More landscape photography?”

I chuckle. “No. Still. For distilling gin.”

Alessia’s expression brightens.

“Yeah. I want to make gin. My wife likes it.”

The cab pulls up outside our building and it’s besieged by photographers.

“Fuck,” I growl under my breath. “Ready?”

Alessia nods.

“Say nothing. Let me clamber out first, and I’ll open your door.”

“Okay.”

I do exactly that and tuck Alessia under my arm as we make our way into the building.

Trevethick! Trevethick!

What about your relationship with Miss Charlotte Hampshire?

What does your wife have to say?

We ignore them, but Alessia stops us at the front door of the building. “What?” I ask.

She grabs my lapels, then slides her hands around the nape of my neck, dragging my lips to hers. To a blaze of flash photography, she presses her body to mine and kisses me properly, her tongue insistent and possessive.

It’s… hot.

And takes me by surprise.

When we move apart, we’re both winded. She pushes open the door, and without a glance at the cheered crowd, she ushers me into the building.

Wow.

In the lift, I pounce, hungry for her, and we kiss all the way to the sixth floor.

“You know, we could play Call of Duty again,” I murmur against the corner of her mouth.

She tips her head back and laughs.

Alessia toys with Maxim’s hair as they lie in bed, fresh from their lovemaking. Her limbs are boneless as her heart rate settles into a satiated, steady rhythm. Maxim rests his head on her stomach, his favorite post-lovemaking position, and draws a faint circle around her navel. It almost tickles, and she knows he’s preoccupied.

“My father was always my champion,” Maxim interrupts their easy silence. “Now it makes sense.”

Alessia stills her fingers, and he turns gleaming green eyes to her. “I’m wondering if my mother overcompensated with Kit because of my father’s… indifference to him. No, indifference is too strong a word. I didn’t notice it then. I was too caught up in my own world, but now, looking back, perhaps he favored me more.”

“No one suspected?”

“No. I don’t think so…” He trails off. “No. Wait. My mother and father had a huge falling-out with my uncle Cameron. Perhaps he knew.”

“He’s never said anything?”

“No. Never.” Maxim rests his head on her belly once more. “He escaped to LA in the late ’80s. But now I think of it, Kit never felt comfortable with Cameron. We didn’t visit him when we were in the Caribbean last Christmas. Now, I know why.”

They’re quiet as they each digest this tidbit of information. Alessia realizes that the only person who can shed any light is Rowena.

“Are you going to talk to your mother?” Alessia asks.

Maxim snorts. “We had a fractured relationship already. I don’t see us coming back from this.”

Alessia says nothing but teases his hair once more. She wants to tell him that, in spite of how he and Alessia feel about Rowena, maybe he should listen to his mother’s side of the story. They don’t know all the details, but she doesn’t think Maxim is ready to hear that yet.

One day.

Soon.

After all, Rowena is still his mother.