Mister and Missus By E L James - 67

We walk hand in hand back to the flat, with the wooden box tucked under my arm, as I refused Mrs. Blake’s offer of a Waitrose bag.

“We survived the evening,” I mutter to Alessia.

“It was… extra.”

I laugh. “It was!”

“Your mother was kind to me over dinner.”

“My mother has seen the error of her ways. She seemed like a different person at dinner after she’d aired all her dirty laundry to the family.”

Alessia makes a strangled noise of disapproval.

“Sorry, was my mother’s laundry an analogy too far?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “What did you discuss with Caroline?”

“Kit.”

Alessia nods. “I worry because I think Caroline is still in love with you.”

“I’m not so sure. Caroline and I were never a good match. We were good friends. Are good friends. And that’s where she belongs. In the friend zone. She knows I only have eyes for you. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

Alessia grins. “I’ve never loved anyone but you.”

“Not even the Arsehole?”

She laughs, horrified. “Especially not the Arsehole!”

“I wonder if he murdered those men. Your traffickers.”

“I have wondered the same thing.”

“Does he have that kind of… reach?”

“I don’t know,” Alessia says.

“It’s best not to know.”

“Yes. Like you say… I don’t want to be mixed up in that world.”

“No. But we should do something. To help women like Bleriana. I’m going to discuss it with Maryanne. In fact, you should join our board of trustees for the charitable trust. And we can find a charity that helps women like your friend.”

“I would like that.” She squeezes my hand, and we walk in companionable silence along the Embankment. Alessia is not one of those women that needs to fill all the spaces with chatter.

And I love her all the more for it.

“What’s in the box?” she asks eventually.

“Some of Kit’s things. I’ll have a look tomorrow. Right now, I’m having to reevaluate my opinion of him.”

“Why? Because he’s only your half-brother?”

“No. That’s not the reason. He’ll always be my brother. It’s because of how he treated Caro. And me, actually… He wasn’t a kind man, and he had a dark side that he kept well hidden. But not so much from Caroline.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Caro and I talked about that too. But that’s her story to tell, not mine.”

We reach the building, where Alessia unlocks the front door, and we head inside.

“I will miss this place,” I mutter as we wait for the lift.

“So will I. I found happiness here.” Alessia leans up and kisses my cheek.

It’s not enough. I snake my free arm around her waist and haul her against me, walking us into the lift when the doors open. “So did I. I found you.” My lips meet hers, and I lean her into the wall as we kiss all the way to the sixth floor. Tongues and teeth and lips and love. It’s all there—in our kiss. We’re breathless when the doors open.

“Take me to bed, my lord,” Alessia whispers, her sweet breath mingling with mine.

“You read my mind, my lady.”

Once I’ve switched off the alarm and placed the wooden box on the console table, my wife takes my hand and leads me into the bedroom. Her dark eyes on mine, she removes my jacket and places it on the sofa.

She stands beside it and removes her jacket, laying it on top of mine—keeping her dark eyes on me the whole time. Her fingers move to her blouse, and she starts to unbutton it as she watches me.

Oh. I can play this game.

I raise my hand, remove one cuff link and then the other, place them on the bedside table, and shake my cuffs loose.

Alessia licks her upper lip, and it might as well be my dick.

Fuck.

She peels off her shirt and lets it fall free onto the sofa, so she’s in her lacy cream bra, her dusky nipples straining against the gossamer material. She stalks toward me, tall in her heels, and swats my fingers away where they’ve frozen at my shirt buttons while I gawk at her.

“Let me,” she says, eyeing me from beneath her lashes.

“Be my guest,” I whisper.

Who is this siren?

She gently tugs my shirt from my trousers and continues to unbutton it.

Bloody slowly.

Each button.

From the top. It’s driving me crazy, my dick extending and hardening with each unfastening. When she’s reached the bottom, with a flourish, she pulls my shirt apart, leans forward, and plants a soft, wet kiss on my chest.

Fuck this.

I clasp her face between my palms and bring her lips to mine.

Oh, baby.

Her lips taste sweet, and they’re eager. Eager to please me. And it’s hot as hell. Our tongues caress each other, consuming and stoking our desire as I walk her back toward our bed. She comes up for air, runs her hands across my shoulders, and pushes my shirt off, so it falls to the floor. She runs her fingers down my stomach, through my happy trail, to the waistband of my trousers.

My girl is impatient.

I like.

And as she undoes the button on my waistband, I’m breathless, my dick hot and heavy. Pining. For her.

Alessia wants to taste him.

All. Of. Him.

She lowers the zipper on his pants and slips her hand inside. He hisses with satisfaction when she palms his thick erection.

She steps back. “Take them off.”

He grins in obvious delight that she’s taking the lead. “As you wish, wife,” he growls and slides off his shoes and socks, then removes his trousers and underwear in one swift move—so he’s standing gloriously naked… and ready.

Very ready. For her.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he whispers and drops to his knees, gently unfastening her shoes and slipping them off. He gazes up at her and unzips her pants, removing them with a gentle tug, leaving her in her bra and panties.

Slowly, like a green-eyed panther, he rises to his feet and kisses her once more, his tongue wet and demanding. Alessia breaks free and moves them around so he’s standing by the bed.

“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” he murmurs.

“Let’s see what I can do about that.”

She grins, and planting her hands on the warm skin of his chest, she pushes him onto the bed. He laughs as he falls, startled by her sudden move, but props himself up on his elbows to enjoy the floorshow. She stares down at him and takes a moment to appreciate the beauty that is her naked husband sprawled before her. From his broad shoulders to the smattering of hair at his chest and his tight, taut stomach, to the hair lining his belly that she wants to lick. He looks delectable, his skin still sporting a faded tan. And he’s all hers.

His erection swells under her overt admiration.

Slowly, she shimmies out of her lace panties. Then, without taking her gaze off his glittering green eyes, she carefully removes her bra, one strap at a time.

“Tease,” he mouths, his eyes growing darker with desire.

Alessia relishes the effect she has on him.

She drops her bra to the floor and runs her hands over her breasts, still pinning him with her gaze. His mouth drops open, slack with needy lust, and she cannot resist a sensual smile of triumph. He’s panting when she crawls onto the bed, over and above his body. She grabs his wrists, holds them to the bed, beside his head, and peers down at him so they are almost nose to nose. “You are mine. I want you.”

“Back at you, baby,” Maxim breathes, and as she bends to taste his lips, she releases him.

His hands skim down her back, to her waist and then her backside, where he grabs and kneads her flesh with strong hands while they consume each other.

“Lady Trevethick, you have a fantastic arse,” he whispers, and she grins, nipping his chin before trailing kisses down his sternum, his stomach, over his navel and belly. His breathing shallows, and he tenses with anticipation when she sheaths her hand around his rigid erection.

With her eyes on his, she runs her tongue around him before drawing him into her mouth.

He closes his eyes and falls back on the bed, his breath hissing between his teeth in sheer pleasure. Gently, he places a hand on her head as she takes him. Up. Down. Again. Her lips sheath her teeth while he eases himself farther into her mouth with a groan.

She’s relentless.

Taking him. Higher.

“Enough,” he breathes. “I want to come inside you.” He’s hoarse. With want.

Alessia moves to straddle him, guiding him inside her in one swift move.

“Ah!” she cries out, relishing the fullness of his invasion.

And she starts to move up and down, cradling her husband and picking up her rhythm, in perfect counterpoint to Maxim as he meets her rise and fall. She leans forward, resting her hands on his chest. His eyes blaze a fiery forest green, the pupils large and dark. Full of love. Full of lust. Full of need.

“I love you.” Alessia’s lips hover over his.

He jerks his hips up, craving more. “I want you.” And he moves suddenly, surprising her and twisting them both, still linked, so he’s on top of her—his weight pressing her into the mattress as he drives into her.

He folds his arms around her head, cocooning her as he moves with an intensity and passion that leaves Alessia breathless and near…near…

She cries out as she comes, and Maxim buries his head in the crook of her neck and follows, calling her name as he climaxes.

Alessia returns to earth, surprised at the speed and intensity of her orgasm. She holds him tight against her, loving that they are still intimately connected. Her heart overflows with emotion as she nuzzles his hair.

She cannot believe that this is her life now, as she lies with the man she loves.

Her loving husband.

Her reformed rake.

Will it always be like this?

This intense.

This passionate.

She hopes so… forever and ever. Feeling beyond replete, she takes Maxim’s left hand and threads her fingers with his and raises his hand to her lips.

“This is the sexy thing… sexiest thing,” she whispers, correcting herself.

“What? My hand?” Maxim grins, his eyes reflecting her love.

“No.” She kisses the shining platinum ring. “This means you’re mine.”

“Always,” he murmurs against the corner of her mouth. He tightens his arms around her and they lie together, entwined, skin against skin. “I just want to hold you. Until the end of time.”

“Will that be long enough?” Alessia whispers and kisses his chest.

“Never…”

When Alessia wakes, she’s alone. It’s Saturday morning, and she’s had a busy week. Lying back on the soft silk, she revels in the quiet but listens to see where Maxim might be—but the apartment is silent. She calls out his name, and there’s no reply. Perhaps he’s gone for a run or maybe to fence with Joe.

She smiles, remembering their evening. They’d been out with Tom, Henry, Caroline, and Joe to celebrate her acceptance into the Royal College of Music. Their evening had started at a new restaurant in Mayfair, where Maxim and Caroline knew the chef—the Mediterranean food was terrific—and they’d ended the night in the small hours at Maxim’s club. It had been a relaxing, cheerful evening—a perfect way for Alessia and Maxim to decompress after the stress of Rowena’s revelations earlier in the week and Alessia’s taxing auditions.

Today she’ll start packing up the apartment, as they hope to move within a week. She’ll need to go shopping for food because her great-uncle and Bleriana are joining them for lunch tomorrow, and she wants to cook her favorite Albanian dish for them. She checks the time, and it’s after ten. It’s not like her to sleep in. She climbs out of bed and heads into the wet room.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in tight jeans and a white T-shirt, she enters the hallway and notices the red light.

Oh.

Maxim is in his dark room. She’s never known him to use it. The only time she’s been in there was the first time he kissed her. Walking up to the door, she presses her ear to it and hears him humming tunelessly to himself and moving around inside. Tentatively she knocks on the door.

“Don’t come in!” he shouts.

She smiles. She had no intention of going in. “Coffee?” she calls.

“Please. I should be finished in about five minutes.”

“Have you had breakfast?”

“No.”

She grins and heads into the kitchen, deciding that avocado on toast will be on the menu, one of Maxim’s favorites. Maybe with some smoked salmon.

I have been waiting all week to develop my photographs from our time in Cornwall, and I’m thrilled with the results. I pin the last of the pictures to dry and admire my work.

It’s my wife. Smiling. Beautiful. Tresyllian House is a stunning backdrop behind her. Next, Jensen and Healey gamboling up the lane, Alessia in the background, the evening light at magic hour. And the photograph is just that…magic. Alessia on the beach, staring out to sea.

Man, she’s beautiful.

Then one of the deer on the horizon—this might be print-worthy, and it can be added to the collection of my prints we sell in the gallery in Trevethick.

But my favorite is the photograph I took in the lambing shed. Alessia’s hair is escaping her braid, tendrils framing her beautiful face, and her eyes are shining with pure excitement—but it’s her smile of joy, her smile at me that would light up the world if we let it, that I love. I grin back like an idiot at her infectious, intoxicating smile, pleased with my handiwork. I want this framed, and on every desk I own.

My stomach rumbles, and I switch off the red light and step out into the hallway.

I lean against the doorjamb and watch Alessia move gracefully through the kitchen as she makes breakfast.

Avocado on toast.

I approve.

Finally, she looks up and rewards me with that same smile that I’m blessed to have captured on film.

“Good morning, husband.”

“Good morning, wife.”

Alessia abandons the avocado mix she’s spreading on toast, circles her arms around my waist, and offers me a brief kiss.

I run my nose along hers as I hold her. “I’m feeling very virtuous.” I kiss her. “I’ve been for a run.” I kiss her. “I’ve showered.” I kiss her again. “And developed the film I had in my camera when we were in Cornwall. I can’t wait to show you the prints. I feel I deserve my breakfast.” I kiss the corner of her lips.

“You do and so much more,” she whispers, her arms sliding over my chest as she peeks up at me from beneath her lashes with a coy, provocative look.

Oh… like that, is it?

My body responds, and I fold her more tightly in my embrace and continue to kiss her, tugging her lips gently with my teeth. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer as she slides her tongue into my mouth, challenging me with hers. Closing my eyes, I groan and deepen the kiss, tasting her sweet, sweet mouth, my tongue meeting her challenge. I move one hand to her nape, cradling her head, the other cupping a cheek of her well-formed, denim-clad arse. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer, and I turn and press her against the wall, pushing my hips to hers to find some friction for my hardening dick.

Fuck breakfast.

“God, what you do to me, my lady,” I breathe against her jaw.

“What you do to me, my lord.”

“Shall we skip—”

The doorbell rings twice, and I place my forehead against hers. “Fuck.”

“Not right now, it would seem.” Alessia giggles and wriggles out of my embrace to answer the intercom phone in the kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Alessia! Good morning. Let me in!”

“It’s Caroline,” Alessia says.

Damned cockblocker.

“Hi. Okay!” Alessia answers with an apologetic smile at me.

I grin. “Rain check.” I kiss her nose.

She glances at the front of my jeans. I laugh. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll deal with this.”

Giggling, she leaves me to get a handle on myself and my erection while she opens the front door to welcome Caroline.

“Good morning, Alessia,” Caroline says, giving her a quick hug and a kiss on each cheek in greeting. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No. Come in. We’re about to have breakfast. Are you hungry?”

Caroline is wearing jeans, brown leather boots, and her tweed jacket over a cream cashmere sweater. She looks as elegant as ever, but Alessia is no longer intimidated by her, even though she’s barefoot and in her softest, most worn jeans.

“Sounds great.” Caroline smiles a genuine smile. Alessia reflects that Caroline has been much friendlier and more relaxed since dinner earlier in the week, and she wonders if what she and Maxim talked about after dinner is the reason.

“We are having avocado on toast.”

“Yum. Hello, Maxim,” Caroline says as they join Maxim in the kitchen.

“Caro.” He kisses her upturned cheek. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“Sit,” Alessia says, directing her to the kitchen table she’s already laid for two.

“You two are so domestic. Are you getting any staff?”

Maxim glances at Alessia, and before she can say anything, “When we move, yes,” he says.

Alessia frowns. She’s not sure they need staff in London, but she doesn’t contradict him, and she retrieves a place setting and arranges it on the table, followed by coffee cups and saucers.

“When do you move?” Caroline asks.

“End of this week.”

“We are starting to pack today,” Alessia says, principally to remind Maxim that he needs to think about what he wants to take. She pops another slice of sourdough bread into the toaster and continues to spread the avocado-and-smoked-salmon mix onto the toast that’s done.

Caroline’s forehead creases with doubt. “Isn’t your removal company doing that?”

“Yes. But personal items. And we may have an opportunity to…what is the word. Declutter.”

Caroline laughs while Maxim eyes Alessia with alarm.

“Good luck with that!” Caroline says as Maxim joins her at the table with a cafetiere full of strong coffee. “That smells good.”

Alessia places breakfast in front of Caroline and Maxim and waits for the toaster to pop up with her slice of toast.

“Hmm… this looks great, Alessia. Thank you. And I have some good news for you two.”

“Oh? What?” Maxim asks.

“I spoke to my father about Alessia and her visa.”

Alessia’s scalp prickles and Maxim’s head jerks up. “Now that Alessia’s been accepted into RCM, she can get a student visa… and we can go from there,” he says.

“But Daddy will expedite indefinite leave. He just needs the forms.”

“What?” Alessia breathes.

“He’s a senior director at the Home Office. This is within his gift. I had dinner with him and the Stepsow on Thursday—oh, sorry, my stepmother—and told him that you needed to jump through all these ridiculous hoops. For God’s sake—you’re married to a peer of the realm. He agreed with me. That doesn’t happen often. Anyway, he called me this morning, with a plan.”

“Caro, that’s…” Words fail me. On the one hand, it would be great to stop worrying about Alessia’s legal status in the UK. On the other hand, this feels like… cheating.

“Darling, title has its privileges.” Caroline correctly interprets my frown. “Wealth too. Of course,” she adds.

“It does,” I mutter, and turn to my wife, who’s spreading avocado and salmon on her toast.

“That’s great. Thank you, Caroline,” Alessia says with enthusiasm, and it’s obvious she has no reservations at all.

“I’ll talk to our immigration lawyer about it.” And also my wife. I’m not sure I want to cheat our way to citizenship for Alessia. After all, deep down, that’s how I feel about our wedding. We didn’t follow the rules, which led to awkward press questions, and I don’t want to end up in the press because we circumvented the visa system. I’d like to do this properly, but perhaps keep Caro’s father in reserve.

“This is really tasty, Alessia,” Caroline says. “No wonder you don’t go out as much as you used to!”

Alessia joins them at the table. “Lime juice and ricotta. My secret ingredients.”

The beauty of launching my wife at Dimitri Egonov’s party is that we are plagued with invitations for social engagements. I mean, I used to get my fair share of invites, but now we’re inundated. Everyone wants to meet my wife.

I put the correspondence aside. I’ll go through it with Alessia when she returns from her shopping expedition. Tobias Strickland, young Bleriana, and now Caroline are joining us tomorrow for Sunday lunch, and she’s out somewhere on the hunt for ingredients—to say she’s excited about this is an understatement.

I have offered to take us out, but she wants to cook.

And far be it for me to get between an Albanian woman and her cooking.

I sit back in my chair and eye the wooden box Caroline gave me at the beginning of the week, standing unopened on my desk. I don’t know what’s stopping me.

Dude. Open the box.

Reaching for it, I set it in front of me and lift the hinged lid. Neatly coiled on the top of a scrap of blue velvet is Kit’s old Iron Maiden belt. I laugh out loud—Caroline knows I loathed Kit’s taste in music.

Petrol Head.

Metal Head.

He loved, loved, loved his heavy metal bands.

I pick up the weighty belt. The leather has seen better days. The buckle, on the other hand, is as fearsome as the day Kit acquired it. Made of pewter, it depicts a beast’s head, with one red jeweled eye over a skull and crossbones, with 1980 and 1990 carved on small plaques on either side. Between the dates, E DDIE is engraved on a scroll. Kit was fourteen when he bought this, and it was his pride and joy. I remember at ten years old being so envious… Odd to think I spent so much of my early life envying my big brother.

I put it to one side, reach into the wooden box, and pull out another box—this one clad in green leather. It looks vaguely familiar… The crown on the front should be a clue, but I can’t place it. Opening it up, I find my father’s Rolex.

It’s a gut punch.

Daddy.

I ease it out of the box. It’s chunky. A manly man’s watch made from stainless steel.

My dad’s watch.

R OLEX O YSTER C OSMOGRAPH is written on the face above three dials.

The word D AYTONA appears in red above the third dial.

Fuck. I tear up examining it. I remember as a child—I used to fiddle with the crown and the two pushers while he wore it. I was fascinated by it and loved that he let me mess with it. He seemed to enjoy it. Time is precious, my boy , he used to say, and he was right.

I flip it over, and there’s an inscription on the back.

Thank you.

For everything.

Always your Row.

Whoa. I had no idea this was a present from my mother. He wore it every single day, I imagine, as a testament to her. I shake my head, knowing what I know now.

She was lucky.

He loved her very much.

He gave her respectability and a title, and her son an earldom.

And on the back of this watch, there’s only gratitude. She admitted she was obsessed with another man. A man who didn’t want her or her child.

Maybe this was why I didn’t want to open the wooden box. I knew there would be… feelings. I have to reconcile myself with the fact that my mother married for convenience, not love, and that my father didn’t have the love of a good woman.

Like I do…

But he had her respect. So there’s that. Maybe that was enough for him. I have to take comfort in that.

I place the Rolex back in its case and pull out another dark green velvet box.

Inside, nestled on velvet, are a pair of silver cuff links with the Trevethick coat of arms. These are very Kit, and I’m trying to remember if he had them made or if they were a gift. If they are a gift, they’ll be from Caroline. I’m heartened that she’s decided I should have them, and what’s more, it’s appropriate.

Finally, at the bottom of the wooden box, I find a silver-framed photograph of Kit, Maryanne, and myself as children. Kit stands proudly between us, taller than us because he’s about twelve and Maryanne and I are seven and eight, respectively. My father took the photograph among the dunes on Trevethick beach in Cornwall. Kit’s arms are draped possessively over us, and he’s beaming with pride. He was always king of the castle. His blond curls shimmer in the Cornish sunlight that burnishes our tawny hair, and we stand in dark contrast to our golden elder brother. I remember our father encouraging us to smile, and he must have said something funny, because Maryanne and I are both laughing—even though we’d probably just been playing a game that Kit devised, where we were at his capricious mercy.

The light is wonderful. Hold still, progeny.

That was Dad’s collective noun for the three of us.

And his love is clear to see in the frame.

I don’t remember seeing this photograph anywhere in Kit’s house, but it must have meant something to him if he had it framed. And that gives me a warm but melancholy feeling of homesickness.

Kit. Kit. Kit.

I’m so sorry.

I trace my finger over his image…

You bastard. You let your anger get the better of you.

A lump forms in my throat.

Even though you were sometimes an arsehole, I loved you and I miss you.

I hear the rattle of a key in the front door, and I abandon the box to help my wife.

Alessia shuts the door behind her using her foot, as she’s laden with shopping bags—only to put them down as Maxim comes barreling toward her.

“Hey,” she says as he wraps his arms around her and holds her tight. “What’s wrong?” she asks, folding him in her arms.

“Nothing. I missed you. That’s all.” He holds her for several seconds, his nose buried in her hair.

“I am back. In one piece.”

“I know. I know. I’m glad you’re back.”

I release her and remember that I have a duty to perform. “I need to show you something.”

“Okay. Can I put the shopping away first?”

I laugh. “Of course. Let me help you.”

“So this is the safe, which you know. But this is the number.” I hand her a piece of paper. “Memorize that and eat it afterwards.” I raise my brows.

She laughs. “Tasty.”

We’re in my walk-in closet, and since I found out that Kit didn’t give Caro access to any of the safes, I thought I’d need to make sure my wife isn’t ever put in that position. I twist the dial to the numbers: 11.14.2.63. Then I turn the handle and open it. Alessia peers inside, fascinated.

“See?”

“Yes. What’s in there?”

Kit’s journal. “Important documents. My birth certificate. Passport. You should give me yours. The jewelry you wore when we went to Egonov’s, which I should take back to the bank.”

“The bank?”

“Yes. The good stuff is stored there. We have a vault, and we should go and look. There might be something you like.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“If something happens to me.”

Alessia eyes widen in alarm. “What’s going to happen to you?”

I chuckle. “Nothing, I hope. I just think it’s important for you to know where everything is. There’s also one at Angwin and the Hall. And when we’re there, I’ll show you those. You need to know what’s in them and where they are.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” I grin, feeling… relieved.

“Now that we’re in here. Are there any clothes in here that you’d like to donate to charity?”

“I like my clothes.”

“Maxim, nobody needs this many clothes. I’ll fetch a black plastic bag.”

I sigh, examining my overstuffed wardrobe. Maybe Alessia has a point, but this wasn’t how I wanted to spend the afternoon.

“There, I’ve filled one bag.” I step out of my wardrobe, feeling inordinately pleased with myself.

Alessia looks up. She’s on the floor beside my bedside drawers, with a cardboard box and a black plastic sack. She holds up a pair of handcuffs and swings them around her finger. “Yours?”

“Ah.”

“Ah,” she repeats and grins as I feel a fucking flush creep up my cheeks.

Why am I embarrassed?

I laugh, because I can’t think what else to do, and sidle up to her.

“I thought you would have been through that drawer when you were cleaning.”

“No. But I’ve seen these before. Once. And this ribbon was tied to the headboard.” She holds up the ribbon.

Damn. That was to restrain Leticia and her talons.

“You know all my dirty secrets.”

Alessia nimbly gets to her feet. “Do I?”

“Maybe not all of them.” I step closer and stroke her cheek. “But we could make our own.”

“Dirty secrets?” Her eyes light up and she skates her fingers down my chest to the waistband of my jeans. “How about the rain check?” She glances up at me through her lashes with her most come-hither look.

Fuck, yes.