Mister and Missus By E L James - 61

“That was a good meeting. You’re getting a handle on all of it, Maxim.” Oliver’s smile is benevolent as he gathers his papers, so I don’t think he’s being sarcastic—just sincere. It’s humbling and heartwarming at the same time. We’ve just concluded a discussion with the managing agents for the residential and commercial property divisions, and I’m pleased that all is well, though they’re keeping a watchful eye on the retail sector—online shopping has much to answer for—and the churn on our retail property is up.

“I felt it went well. In fact, so much so, I might bunk off and walk home right now.”

“Good plan. You’re off to Cornwall, yes?”

“Hoping to throw off the press.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Have a good weekend. And thanks, Oliver. For everything.”

“I’m just doing my job, my lord. Have a great weekend.”

He exits my office, and I remember when I thought he might not have my best interests at heart. Well, I was wrong. He’s an asset to me and the estate.

I bounce down the steps into a brisk March afternoon. I’ve decided to walk home, as I have plenty of time and I want to stretch my legs. I’ve only managed two runs this week, and I resolve to do better in Cornwall.

Alessia will conclude her course today and mentioned going for drinks afterward with her classmates. I’m tempted to join her, but I haven’t been invited, and I have to drive this evening.

Mate. Let her be.

As I walk through Berkeley Square, a nagging, skittering itch travels up my spine, and I find myself glancing behind me.

Am I being followed?

Reporters? Paparazzi?

I can’t see anyone acting suspiciously, but I quicken my pace.

Mate. Get a grip.

I hurry on, tempted to grab a cab—but I need the exercise.

The uneasy feeling follows me to Chelsea Embankment, and I’m relieved that my building is press-free when I arrive home. I stride through the doorway and jog up the stairs, grateful to be home.

Alessia is seated beside Tabitha and two of her course colleagues at the bar in The Gore, enjoying a glass of champagne. The atmosphere among them is fizzing with celebration.

“I think my father will find my manners vastly improved. He’ll be pleased. I hope,” Tabitha purrs. “He wants me married off as soon as possible, like my sisters. You wouldn’t think we’re in the twenty-first century. Did your husband send you on this course?”

Alessia smiles. “No. It was my decision. I’m thankful. I’ve learned so much. And the first banquet that we host, you must come.”

“Complete with minstrels? I’ll be there!”

Alessia giggles. “I am not sure about minstrels, but Maxim has guitars, though I’ve never heard him play. We are moving to a new place soon. I hope we entertain there.”

“Oh! A housewarming party. That would be splendid. When and where are you moving? Tell me all.”

I’m about to head into the shower when the external buzzer sounds.

What now?

It better not be a reporter.

In the hall, I answer the intercom. “Hello?”

“Hello. Alessia. Please,” a soft, hesitant feminine voice rasps.

“Who is this?”

“Friend. Alessia friend. Please.” A quiet desperation in her tone raises the hairs on my neck. English is not her first language. “Sixth floor. Use the lift.” I buzz her in.

We’ll see who this is.

Tabitha hugs Alessia. “It’s been such a pleasure to get to know you these last few days,” she gushes. “Please, please stay in touch.”

Alessia returns her hug. “I will. And yes, it’s been lovely. I feel I have made a friend.”

“And we both know how to sit correctly. Deportment is important,” Tabitha mimics their tutor and Alessia laughs.

“And I know the difference between a salad and dinner fork. My life is now, um…complete.”

Tabitha grins.

“I have to go. Maxim will be waiting.”

“Don’t stay in Cornwall forever. Please keep in touch.”

“I will. Goodbye.”

Alessia gives quick farewells and handshakes to her other classmates, and she’s out the door and onto the street. There she waves down a cab and gives the cabbie her address.

I open the front door and wait for the lift to arrive. When it does, a young, slight woman steps out onto the landing. She has long, dark hair and dark eyes that regard me warily, and I suspect they’ve seen too much of the world.

“Hello,” I offer cautiously. “Can I help you?”

“Alessia?” She’s a little breathless. From nerves? I don’t know. She’s pretty in an understated way, but stands awkwardly in mismatched clothes at a distance from where I am, and I recognize the same reticence that Alessia used to have with me… with men.

Christ, where did that thought come from?

“She’s not here, but she’s on her way home.”

She frowns, and I step aside and gesture toward the inside and the hallway. “You can wait in here. What is your name?”

“Me?” she asks.

“Yes. Your name. I am Maxim.” I place my hand on my chest.

“Bleriana,” she says.

“Bleriana!” I exclaim, beaming. “Alessia has been looking for you. Come in.”

She tightens her fists as if she’s steeling herself and regards me with dark eyes that hint at harrowing secrets beneath their sheen.

Fuck.

I offer her a reassuring smile because I don’t know what else I can do while she takes a moment to decide whether or not to come in, and whether or not to trust me. Nervously, she licks her lips, and it’s either curiosity or desperation that wins, and she steps past me and into the flat. I stand well back, not wanting to freak her out in any way, and close the door. In the hallway, I fish out my phone and call Alessia. Her phone rings and rings, then goes to voicemail.

Damn.

I text her under Bleriana’s watchful gaze.

I have a surprise for you.

Come home.

Mx

PS—A good surprise.

“I think Alessia is on her way home. She shouldn’t be too long.”

Bleriana stares with dark, haunted eyes, a little like my wife used to.

What has this young woman been through?

“Do you speak English?”

She nods, then shakes her head in response.

“Okay. Do you want a drink?” With my hand, I motion a cup at my lips.

“No. Thank you.” Her voice is hesitant and soft, and her arms are crossed in front of her—I suspect to try to make her already slight frame look smaller. She’s trying to be invisible.

Oh, sweetheart. I see you.

“Come. You can wait in here.” I head down the hall, hoping that she’ll follow, which she does, and I motion her into the drawing room. “Sit.”

Bleriana perches on the edge of the sofa, stiff and scared, radiating a tension that I can’t even imagine. She clutches her hands in her lap while her wide eyes dart everywhere, taking in her environs. I wonder if she’s looking for an escape route.

I stand in the doorway, wondering what the hell to do or say.

“Um. Are you hungry?” With my hands, I motion eating.

She frowns, then nods, and then shakes her head.

Of course—she’s Albanian.

“Yes. No?”

“No.”

I check my watch. “Alessia. Here soon.”

The cab pulls up outside the building, and Alessia steps out and pays the cabbie. In the foyer, she has to wait for the elevator, and Alessia suspects that Mrs. Beckstrom has returned from walking Heracles, judging by the time it takes to come from the top floor. While she waits, she fishes her phone from her bag. There’s a missed call and text from Maxim.

A surprise?

Alessia smiles to herself, intrigued, as she finally steps into the elevator. She’s excited to get to the Hall. Perhaps the surprise is something to do with Cornwall.

She opens the front door, and Maxim is standing at the end of the hallway, dressed in suit pants and a white shirt. His hair is tousled, his eyes bright green, and he smiles, relieved to see her.

“There you are. You have a friend here!” he says.

“Alessia!” Her name echoes with such hope down the hall, and a young woman comes to stand in the living room doorway. They gape at each other, neither quite believing what they are seeing.

Bleriana!

“O Zot! O Zot! O Zot!” A well of emotion bubbles from Alessia’s chest into her throat, and she dashes down the hall, scooping Bleriana into her arms. “You’re here. How are you here? Are you okay? Did you escape?”

Bleriana starts to cry, and Alessia’s tears push past the hope and joy and incredulity that’s knotted in her throat, as they hug and sob, together.

Hell. Weeping women. Weeping women chattering fast and furious in Albanian.

Their emotional reunion chokes me for a moment.

Alessia turns a teary face to mine. “How?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. She found me. I think she might have followed me from my office. Ask her.”

Alessia poses the question to Bleriana, who turns a now teary but more hopeful face to me and answers her.

“Yes. She did,” Alessia says.

“I thought I was being followed. Look, I’m going to have a shower. I’ll be a few minutes. I’ll let you two reconnect.”

Alessia reaches out and takes my hand. “Thank you,” she mouths.

“As much as I’d like to take the credit, this is not me. She found us.”

Alessia turns back to Bleriana. “Tell me. How did you find us? We have been looking for you. Did you escape?” She takes Bleriana’s hand, and they sit on the sofa, hands clasped tightly together.

“They caught me.” Bleriana whispers the words like she’s confessing a terrible sin and with a fear and horror so deep that Alessia’s revulsion rises with the bile in her throat.

She wraps her arms around Bleriana and holds her like she’ll never let go. “You’re here now. You’re safe.”

Bleriana sobs—a dam bursting within her—and holds on to Alessia like she’s her life raft in a sea of awfulness, horror, and terrible abuse. Alessia rocks her gently, as Maxim has done for her, and they both shed tears and more tears. And more. And yet more.

“You’re safe. I’ve got you,” Alessia repeatedly murmurs, comforting herself and Bleriana at the same time.

This could have been her.

Eventually, Bleriana quiets and wipes her nose and eyes on the tissue Alessia hands her.

“If you want to tell me, I am here. I will listen.”

Bleriana’s bottom lip trembles, and she tells her story in a slow, halting voice while Alessia listens and dies a little inside.

From the safety of the doorway, I watch them talk quietly but intensely. I don’t understand what they’re saying, but Alessia’s calm compassion for this stricken young woman resonates through her entire body. The way she gently holds her hands, strokes her back, her eyes warm with concern. Her concentration is utterly centered on Bleriana and nothing else.

It’s… affecting.

Whatever Bleriana’s telling her, it’s distressing for both of them. I turn away, it’s too painful to watch, and my morbid imagination kicks into overdrive.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“ How did you find us? We had men looking for you,” Alessia asks.

“We were… rescued. By the English police. I am staying with an English family in a safe house. It’s part of a charitable organization. They are kind. And I must wait to find out if I can stay in England. Anyway, I saw the newspapers. And I recognized you.”

“Ah!” And for a brief moment, Alessia forgives the British press for hounding her and her husband.

“The daughter of the family who is hosting me. Her name is Monifa—she is very kind. She went online. And we found your husband and where he worked. And today, I came to London to find you.”

“And you succeeded.” Alessia beams and Bleriana’s answering smile is radiant, even on her tearstained face.

“So tell me. Alessia, Lady Trevethick. How did this happen to you?” Bleriana’s eyes are alight with her curiosity, the dark shadows momentarily hidden behind her joy in her friend’s good fortune.

“It is a long story.”

I return to the doorway when I hear laughter. Under Alessia’s tender, calm care, Bleriana has relaxed and no longer looks like the harrowed young woman I met on the doorstep. Her face has softened, and there’s a trace of the young, pretty girl she is, despite the unimaginable horrors she’s endured.

My only hope is that she doesn’t trigger Alessia’s trauma—her nightmares. I didn’t want her back in that awful world. Yet here we are.

Hell. I’m standing in the shadows as a bystander, feeling utterly useless.

What can I do?

And it dawns on me that this used to be my norm.

This was how I felt all the time. Useless.

It’s only since I met Alessia that I’ve felt worthy and purposeful.

Fuck. I shake off the notion as it’s a little disturbing.

There’s no way we’re going to the Hall this evening, so I head into the kitchen and call Danny to let her know.

“Oh, my lord. That is a shame. We are so looking forward to seeing you and our new countess.”

“We’ll be down tomorrow. Something’s cropped up here. I’ll let you know.”

“Very good, Maxim.”

Next, I call Tom and tell him to call off the search for Bleriana.

“She’s turned up here.”

“I say, Trevethick. What are the odds!”

“I know.”

When I’m off the phone, I wander back into the drawing room.

“Ladies. Shall we eat?”

Alessia jumps to her feet. “Maxim! I’m sorry. The time has flown away.”

“It’s okay. Talk to your friend. I’ll order us a take-out.”

“No. No. I’ll cook. We are not going to Cornwall this evening?”

“We’ll go tomorrow.”

Alessia turns to Bleriana. “Can you stay? Are you hungry?”

Bleriana’s slight smile signals her agreement.

Alessia makes quick work of preparing some lamb chops with olive oil, garlic, and rosemary for grilling. Then she starts making a salad with feta cheese, onions, tomatoes, and various types of lettuce from a bag. Bleriana helps chop the onions and tomatoes with Alessia. Maxim opens a bottle of red wine for them all to share.

“Alessia, ask Bleriana where she’s staying,” Maxim says, pouring the wine.

“Reading,” Bleriana replies to Alessia’s question.

“Can she stay here tonight?” Alessia asks.

“Darling, you don’t need my permission. This is your home, too, and she’s your friend.”

“I wanted to check you do not object.”

“Why would I?” His forehead creases with a frown. “What I would say—is it okay with Bleriana? Does she need to get back to Reading this evening? Does she need to let anyone know where she is?”

“Good points.” Alessia beams at her husband.

He’s so capable.

And asks the right questions.

Alessia quizzes Bleriana, who tells her that she can stay the night but must call the family she lives with to tell them. “I have a phone. They will be anxious if I don’t call them. I’ll do it now.”

She steps into the hallway to make her call, leaving Alessia and Maxim alone for the first time since she arrived. Maxim folds his arms around Alessia and nuzzles beneath her ear. “Can I tell you how much I love you,” he whispers.

His lips against her skin, the soft words in the shell of her ear send tingles down her spine. “I am very lucky to have you.” He kisses, then nips her earlobe, taking Alessia by surprise and making her yelp. She turns in his arms.

“I am lucky to have you. Thank you for being so understanding about Bleriana.” She leans up and kisses him.

“Why wouldn’t I be? She’s been through hell. If she lives in Reading, we can take her back tomorrow on our way to Cornwall.”

“Okay.” Alessia wants to ask if Bleriana can come to Cornwall with them, but she’ll bide her time and wait for the right moment.

“How is Bleriana settling down in the spare bedroom?” I ask when Alessia eventually glides into bed beneath the covers.

“She is okay now that she has the little dragon.” Alessia snuggles up to me and slips her hand over my torso and belly, bringing it to rest just beneath the waistband of my PJs. “You are dressed,” she murmurs, as her fingers skim the edges of my pubic hair, waking my dick.

“I am. We have a guest. I don’t want to frighten her during the night.”

She removes her hand, much to my disappointment, and trails it over my body up to my chin, where she cups my face. Leaning over me, she whispers, “Thank you.” And she offers me a quick, sweet kiss.

“Oh, no. I want so much more than that.” Pulling her into my arms, I turn us both, so she’s lying beneath me, her dark hair splayed out over the pillow, her dark eyes gazing up at me, her body cradling mine.

I pause, drinking her in.

But something’s off.

“Thank you,” she says once more, but this time it’s with a breathy, quiet plea that’s sobering. She cups my face with her hands, and tears pool in her eyes.

My breath catches in my throat.

Oh, God.

No.

Her soft entreaty almost undoes me and kills my desire. I gather her in my arms and roll back, holding her hard and fast on top of me.

It could have been her.

That’s where she’s gone.

It could have been her.

But she got away.

My girl. My wife. My sweet, sweet wife.

She lets out a gulping sob and starts to cry, and I hold her while she grieves for her dear, young friend and maybe for herself and all she’s endured too.

I kiss her hair and murmur, “I’ve got you. Let it all out. You’re here. You’re safe.” While my own tears stay lodged like a cinder block in my throat.