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“What?” says Maxim as he sits beside Alessia and reaches for her hand. He gives it a reassuring squeeze.
“Trevethick, may I remind you: you’re getting hitched tomorrow.”
“How could I forget?”
Maryanne and Caroline exchange glances.
“So tonight,” Tom continues, “we’re going to hit Kukës with all we’ve got.”
“Bruv,” Joe says. “I’m game.”
“Thanas?” Tom asks.
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”
“What is this?” Jak asks, looking toward his daughter for an explanation.
“The men are going out tonight in Kukës. I think it is a Western tradition,” Alessia informs him.
“Out where?”
“To the bars.”
“I must go with them. I know the best places.” Her father beams at Maxim.
“I will tell him.” Alessia looks uncertainly at Thanas, then at Maxim.
“Your father wants to join us,” Maxim guesses.
“Yes.”
“Oh boy.” Maxim smiles and shakes his head. “Okay.”
“I will let my brothers know. And my cousins and uncles,” her father says.
“What about us? Maryanne and I?” Caroline asks, staring at Maxim with huge blue eyes. She cannot seem to tear her gaze away from him.
Oh.
“Stags only!” Tom insists.
“Maybe we should take Alessia out,” Maryanne offers.
“I have too much to do,” Alessia says quickly.
“Well, in that case, we’ll help you. Won’t we, Caro?”
“Oh, no. You are guests,” Alessia protests.
“We’d be honored to help if we can,” Caroline responds, but she gives Maxim a lingering look of anxiety, or is it devotion? Then Alessia remembers she’s not long lost her husband—and Maryanne, her brother; they are bonded in their grief.
* * *
Joe and I are now sharing the guest room. It’s not the first time we’ve bunked together. We’ve done it at school and on school trips, and more recently when utterly hammered at the end of a good night.
He’s unpacking his bag, and I’m hanging the two suits he brought with him.
“Mate, how have you been, really?” he asks.
“Okay. A little stir-crazy if you want the truth.”
“Maxim. I need to ask you. This marriage. Is it you? Is it what you want?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a player. Are you ready to saddle yourself with one woman?”
I gape at him. “I wouldn’t be going through all this fucking grief if I wasn’t!”
“Mate. I’m just asking.”
I blow out a breath, keeping a rein on my temper. “It’s what I want. It’s what she wants. Why is that so hard to believe?”
He raises his hands. “Okay, okay. I believe you.”
“But enough of that. What happened?”
“I thought I’d bring two suits. Give you a choice.”
“No. I mean about my family, whom you’ve brought along for a jolly.”
“Yeah. Sorry about that. I met Caro as I was coming out of your building. I had your suits.”
“Ah.”
“I was dead in the water. She wanted to know what the hell I was doing.”
“I see.”
“She’s pissed, bro. At you.”
“I know. I didn’t tell them. I didn’t want the fuss. But I’ve managed to talk Maryanne down and round. Caro will have to wait.”
“Does Alessia know about you and her?”
“What do you mean?”
“Before Kit.”
“Um… No.” And, of course, there was the grief-fucking after Kit’s death.
Hell.
“Do you think I should tell her?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I have no idea.”
“We’ve not talked about… any of that.”
“Save it for the honeymoon.”
I laugh a little nervously. “Yeah. Good idea.”
“Have you planned to go away?”
“Yeah. Arrangements have been made. It’s a surprise for Alessia.”
“Cool. Here are the rings.” He hands me a small bag, within which are two pink gift-wrapped boxes.
“Great. Thanks.” I sit on the bed and start unraveling the ribbon.
Joe sits beside me. “So tell me how a wedding works here.”
* * *
Later Maxim and Joe step into the kitchen. Alessia looks up from the worktop where she’s beating eggs and inhales sharply, drinking in the sight of her fiancé. His green eyes gleam with a seductive promise and his hair shines, the golden highlights glinting beneath the overhead lights. She still finds it astonishing that this attractive man will be her husband. In his jacket, white shirt, and jeans, he looks edible. His gaze finds hers, and he smiles and saunters over to her.
“How are you doing?” he asks so only she can hear.
“I’m good. You?”
“Good.” He kisses her forehead, and she inhales a trace of his scent—soap and shaving foam—and her favorite fragrance, Maxim. He tucks a stray hair behind her ear. “You look delectable.”
She laughs, basking in his attention. “I look like your cleaner.”
He takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently tilts her head up, and drops a lingering kiss on her lips. “No. You look like a countess.”
She gasps at his shimmering, intense expression, but her mother clears her throat, interrupting them both. He turns and grins at Shpresa, then at the two women sitting at the table.
“I see you’ve been set to work,” he says to Caroline and Maryanne, who are slicing spinach and sorrel at the table.
“We want to help,” says Maryanne with a bright smile.
