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She opens her eyes and nods. After the wedding, we are out of here.
“Good. Please, go and get ready.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead, closing my eyes.
I do not want to lose you. Again.
I return to the breakfast table, where the conversation is more muted, and I know all eyes are on me. I cannot bring myself to even look at Caro. She’s really crossed a fucking line, and I’m furious.
No. Raging.
How dare she?
Right now, I don’t trust my temper, and for fuck’s sake—it’s my wedding day.
There’s a knock at the front door, and Jak springs up from the table as if he’s expecting the caller.
“Okay, mate?” Joe asks me.
“Yeah.” I glance at my watch. I have time. “I’m going for a run.”
When I come back upstairs in my running gear, it’s a hive of activity. There are more people in the house, presumably to help with the catering and set up. I manage to avoid them; I’m glad I’m leaving for a run. I’ve left Joe in the room to shower, and I’ve no idea where M.A. or Caro are, and frankly, I don’t want to know and I don’t care. I need some time with my own thoughts to calm down.
I step outside into the bright but chilly day to see sunlight bouncing off the glittering green lake. But just at the bottom of the driveway, Demachi is in a full and intense conversation with him!
Demachi and the Arsehole turn to stare as I stand immobilized, glaring at them.
What the fuck is he doing here?
My hands fist, and I’m ready. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than beating this man to a pulp—especially the way I’m feeling at this minute.
“This is not what you think, Englishman,” Anatoli sneers.
Demachi holds up his hands. “Po flasim për punë, asgjë më shumë.”
I have no idea what he says.
“Ha!” Anatoli says, his scorn evident in that one syllable. “If you knew the language, you’d know what he’s said. We’re discussing business. Nothing more. Nothing to do with you.” The Arsehole’s English is impeccable, which is bloody irritating. “We’re not discussing Alessia,” he continues, and his voice catches as he says her name.
What! Does he care for her?
“Mos e zër në gojë Alesian,” Demachi snaps at him.
“I’ll be here, Englishman, waiting, in her homeland, with her family. When you fuck up,” Anatoli scoffs.
“You’ll wait a long bloody time, mate,” I mutter, more to myself than to him. “I hope.”
Fuck this.
“Farewell, Arsehole,” I call, knowing full well my father-in-law won’t understand, and turn and sprint up the driveway, leaving them standing. To my great satisfaction, I see Anatoli’s mouth pressed in a hard line, and I know my gibe has provoked him.
Yes!
Out on the road, I dodge past his Mercedes, stretch my legs, and run.
Run like I’ve never run before.
“You look great, mate,” Joe says as he straightens my tie.
“I’m glad you brought the Dior. It’s my favorite.”
“French navy is your color. Goes with your blood.”
“Very funny, Joe.”
“I’m pissed you didn’t give me time to make you a bespoke suit.”
“You’ll get a chance.”
“For a wedding?” Joe’s brow furrows.
“We’ll do this again in London, or Cornwall. Or Oxfordshire,” I reassure him.
“You and Alessia?”
I laugh. “Yes. Don’t look so alarmed. It’s complicated. But I’ll probably be in full morning dress.”
“Dove gray? Black? Stripes?” Joe’s eyes light up.
“Mate. Let’s get this wedding out of the way first.”
“Buttonhole,” he says and pins the white rose to my lapel. He places his hands on my biceps. “You look like a groom.”
“Thanks, bro.” And I’m suddenly overwhelmed by all that’s happened, by what I’m about to do. I hug him. Hard. “I’m so glad you’re here, mate.”
Joe slaps me on the back. “Me too, Max. Me too.”
I clear my throat. “Now. You know what we have to do.”
“Yep.”
Albanian tradition dictates that the groom should collect his bride and take her to his home for a feast. That’s impossible for us as I don’t have a home here. But I’m to escort Alessia from her front door to the wedding party. It’s the closest we can get to this tradition.
Outside, by the front door, Joe, Tom, and I wait for my bride. Joe’s also in a navy suit, and as ever, he looks sharp and stylish. Tom is in a black dinner suit with a black tie.
It’s all I brought with me, Trevethick.
Both have buttonholes, and I’m relieved they’re here with me. Their friendship and support over the last few years has been everything. And they scrub up well.
Wedding guests are milling around in the driveway, and some are coming out of the house. I think they’re immediate family who have been greeting Alessia inside, as is traditional. Some are filing into the tent beside the garage as it’s warmer in there, and I know the registrar is already inside and set up. Beside this stunning lake and mountain setting, there’s a convivial, festive feeling of a community coming together.
