Mister and Missus By E L James - 68

February. The following year.

Cheyne Walk

“How is this?” Alessia steps out of her dressing room and slides her hands down the black satin of the long, body-skimming skirt she’s wearing. She gazes intently at me—and I know she’s looking for my approval.

She doesn’t need my approval.

She’s a fucking goddess.

“Wow.”

“You like?”

The fitted bustier is leather and strappy, so I can see skin beneath the bodice before it meets the skirt. I motion with my finger that she do a twirl, and she laughs and obliges. The back is held together by three separate straps that are unfastened. “Would you like me to strap you into this stunning dress?”

Alessia giggles, and I suspect it’s with nerves. “Please.”

“You look sensational.” I kiss the soft, fragrant skin of her naked shoulder. “Has your father seen this dress?”

“No. Is it too much?”

“No. It’s perfect. You look like you could conquer the world in this.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s Alaïa.”

“It suits you.”

“Caroline thought so. She’s a djinn to shop with.”

Deftly I strap my wife into her dress, and when she turns to face me, I notice she’s wearing her gold cross, and Trevethick diamonds at her ears.

“I’m a very lucky man, Lady Trevethick. Now, let’s go and shock your parents.”

Alessia is thrilled that her parents are visiting for this special occasion. They’re staying with us in Cheyne Walk, and they love it. Especially Alessia’s mother, who has blossomed in Chelsea. Her English has improved, and she’s beyond grateful to see her mother’s brother, Toby, again.

We’ve settled into our new home. After a great deal of negotiation between Alessia and me, we have a cook-cum-housekeeper who likes to be called Cook, and whose husband lives with us and works part-time as a driver and a handyman.

And then there’s Bleriana, who is staying with us for another two months. Alessia is delighted to have her with us.

Me, I’m not so sure.

But, while she’s studying English, she’s earning her keep by helping Cook around the house.

Like Alessia used to do.

I just haven’t told Oliver because I know he’d want her on the payroll.

And Bleriana prefers cash.

She’s still nervous around me, and that makes me nervous, but she’s making progress with her therapy, so we’re hopeful that Bleriana will, one day, be less anxious. Alessia has been instrumental in restoring Bleriana’s relationship with her parents. She hopes to return to Albania and teach, but in the interim she’s been helpful in setting up our charitable trust for women who have escaped trafficking. Personally, I think her skills will lend themselves to this line of work once her English improves.

Jak and Shpresa will leave tomorrow, and Alessia and I will be heading down to Cornwall. Our wedding anniversary is on Sunday, and I’ve booked the Hideout for the weekend where we can celebrate, just the two of us.

It’s a surprise for my wife and I can’t wait.

I have plans.

I follow her down the stairs to the drawing room on the first floor.

“My darling, you look beautiful,” Shpresa says when Alessia enters the drawing room. She hugs her daughter. “I am so happy for you,” she whispers against Alessia’s ear, speaking in Albanian.

“Thank you, Mama. You look lovely too.” Alessia kisses her cheek.

Alessia’s father frowns and looks at Maxim. “You think this is acceptable?” He waves in Alessia’s direction, and it’s obvious he disapproves of her dress.

“She looks stunning,” Maxim says, even though he’s not understood a word her father has said. Maxim’s eyes heat as he stares at her, and his lips lift, either amused by her father or with a wicked, salacious thought.

Alessia grins at him.

“Like I keep saying, my daughter is your problem,” Jak mutters, and Alessia grasps her father’s hand. He gives her a reluctant smile, and Alessia notices the ill-concealed pride reflected in his eyes. “Your husband doesn’t seem to mind you are half-dressed.” He shrugs and gives her a quick peck on her cheek.

“Baba, it’s not up to my husband what I wear. It’s up to me.”

Maxim intervenes. “Are you ready? We have to go. The cars should be here.”

The Trevelyan family have had a grand tier box on level one of the Albert Hall since it was built, or so I’m told. I usher in our guests, and I’m delighted to find Tom and Henry, glowing with newlywed happiness, in situ with Caroline, Joe, and Alessia’s friend Tabitha. I introduce them all to Alessia’s parents, and I’m pleased Bleriana is with us, as she can help translate for Jak.

Her English is definitely improving.

I offer champagne to everyone.

“I say, Trevethick, I bet you never envisaged this when you first met Alessia?” Tom says as we look down at the stage where the orchestra has started to assemble.

I laugh. “No. I did not. Who would have thought?”

“We’re thrilled for her,” Henry adds.

“Is she wearing the Alaïa?” Caroline interjects.

“She is. She looks sensational.”

Caroline’s smile is smug. “It was perfect. I’m so glad. She’s going to rock this concert.”

“Mate,” says Joe.

“Yep. Who knew?” I swallow down my nerves. My wife is performing at the Royal Albert Hall.

From our box I survey the great hall as it fills with patrons and wonder if I ever foresaw this moment. I’m transported back to that day when I first heard her play.

Bach.

And I tiptoed up my hallway to peer around the drawing room door and spy on her.

Maybe I did foresee this. I knew then that her playing was concert standard, and since enrolling at the Royal College of Music, Alessia’s skill and technique has grown exponentially.

She’s a classical rock star.

She’s also a draw for the press. Her rags-to-riches story is irresistible to tabloid editors—we’re occasionally hounded by paparazzi on a slow news day. I suspect that’s one reason why the seats below us are filling up and the Hall is almost sold out.

I shake my head in awe and wonder, and there’s a knock on the box door. Joe opens it and welcomes my mother, who enters with Maryanne and Tobias.

“Hello, darling,” she says, and offers me her cheek.

“Mother.” I give her and Maryanne a quick peck, then shake Toby’s hand, delighted to see him again. His palms are clammy, and I suspect he’s nervous for his great-niece too.

Alessia is performing as part of the RCM’s special program.

There are three other performers, but Alessia will be last—she’s the highlight of the entire evening.

I can’t wait.

But that’s not the only reason I’m so nervous. I don’t want her to be stressed in any way… but she’s probably stressed right now. This morning—she told me she’s pregnant. And I’m giddy with joy, but we have to keep it quiet for a few more weeks.

I’m going to be a father.

Me. A dad.

I’m fucking thrilled.

I take a gulp of champagne and blow out a breath, and in the distance, a bell rings.

The performance is about to begin.