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I make a face. “Like mother like son.”
She has the grace to laugh.
“But not anymore,” I add, relieved that she still has her sense of humor.
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. I’ve seen it. You light up like fucking Christmas when she walks into a room. It’s nauseating.”
“No, Caro. It’s love.”
“You were never like that with me.”
“No.”
“She’s a lucky girl.”
“I’m a lucky man.”
“Are you going to give me the journal?”
“Do you really want to know what it says?”
“No. I just hope he didn’t hate me.”
“I never got the impression he hated you, Caro. You two had a fine time in Havana and Bequia last Christmas.”
“We were making an effort. Don’t get me wrong. There were good times too.”
“Dwell on those, darling.”
She nods sadly. “I try.”
“We should get back.”
“Yes.” She rises, and I rise too. She leans over his desk and grasps a wooden box. “These are some of his things I thought you might like.” She hands it to me.
“I’ll check this out when I’m home.”
“Okay.”
With the box in one hand, I give her a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, Caro.”
“I know.”
“And well done for not crying.”
She laughs. “Let’s get back to the family.”
Family. Yes. My family. My fucked-up family.
Sheesh.
Thank God for Alessia.
Chapter Thirty-Two
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.
