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“I know.”
“You do?”
“They have been ringing the bell outside. Asking for you. Asking me questions.”
“What did you do?”
“I said I was your cleaner and that you weren’t here. And then I stopped answering.” She bites her bottom lip looking impish.
I laugh out loud. “Brilliant. Apparently, our marriage appears to be in the public interest.”
“Are they still outside the building?”
“Afraid so.”
“We can escape through the utility room and go that way.”
“Of course! Let’s go.”
* * *
Standing outside on the fire escape, Maxim locks the utility room door and grins down at Alessia. “I can’t remember the last time I was out here!”
She laughs, then sobers. The last time she used it was to escape Dante and Ylli when they came to Maxim’s apartment. And she’s used it often to empty Maxim’s trash.
“I’ll follow you,” he says, and gingerly they make their way down the six flights to the side alley.
As they pass the bins, Alessia remembers throwing up beside them. Maxim grabs her hand and threads his fingers with hers. “What is it?” he asks.
She shakes her head, reluctant to tell him and to rid herself of that awful recollection. An image of Bleriana’s sweet face imprints on her mind. The poor child. Did she evade their captors? Did the others?
Maxim says nothing, letting her be, and together they make their way to the gate at the side alley. Maxim opens it and peers out. The street is empty.
“This is how you got out and away when those thugs showed up.”
“Yes.”
“You must have been so scared. Come on. Coast is clear. Let’s grab a cab.”
Hand in hand, they walk briskly up the street, unhindered by the press, and Maxim hails the first cab he sees.
* * *
The offices of Lockhart, Waddell, Mulville, and Cavanagh are on Lincoln’s Inn Fields. An office junior shows us into a conference room. “May I fetch you tea or coffee?” he asks, blinking rapidly.
“I’m good. Alessia?”
“No, thank you.”
“Very good, Lord, Lady Trevethick. Ticia Cavanagh will be with you shortly.” He exits, and I usher Alessia to a seat at the table. Ms. Cavanagh is a partner in the firm, and she comes highly recommended by Rajah—she’s an expert in her field.
The door opens before I’ve sat down, and Ticia Cavanagh enters. She’s wearing an expensive black suit and a white silk blouse. In her hand, she clutches a legal paper pad, her scarlet nails vivid against the canary yellow.
Oh, shit.
We stare at each other in instant recognition. The last time I saw her, I’d just untied her from my bed.
Could this day hold any more surprises?
I clear my throat. “Leticia, how nice to see you again.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Lord Trevethick,” Leticia says in her soft Irish lilt, stressing my title. “How do you do? And your wife”—she emphasizes the word wife—“Lady Trevethick.” She steps forward, her face etched in disdain as she holds out her hand in greeting, and as she grasps mine a little too tightly, I feel the need to defend myself.
“Recent. Wife. We married. Recently.”
Alessia frowns, her eyes darting to me and then back to Ticia Cavanagh as they shake hands. “How do you do?” Alessia murmurs as if her throat is dry, and she casts another glance at me, her eyes wide with insight.
Damn. She knows.
My heart sinks, and I briefly close my eyes, summoning some resolve while realizing I’ll have to explain myself later.
Had I known… hell.
I’m confused by Leticia’s use of a nickname. “Ticia?”
“Here. Yes,” she says, her tone terse, and I realize she’s not going to offer any other explanation, which is, of course, her prerogative. I wonder if she’ll ask us to leave or hand our case to a colleague. “Now, how can I help you and your… recent wife?” Her lips curl into a professional smile that’s almost a snarl as she takes a seat at the head of the table, but her eyes remain arctic.
I take a seat beside Alessia. “Alessia and I recently married in Albania, and she needs indefinite leave to stay here.”
Leticia taps scarlet nails on the table, and I remember her brandishing them as a weapon.
Mate! I banish that thought. Pronto.
“Tell me. How did the two of you meet? And when?”
I glance at Alessia with what I hope is a reassuring smile, but she doesn’t return it. She swallows and stares down at her hands, which are knotted in her lap. With a sigh, I turn my attention back to Leticia.
“Alessia worked for me…”
* * *
While Maxim summarizes the last few months’ events to the attractive lawyer, Alessia is trying to stay afloat. She feels like a block of cement sinking beneath the weight of Maxim’s past liaisons, and she’s struggling to breathe.
Darling, he’s slept with most of London.
It appears that Caroline was not exaggerating.
Ticia, Leticia—whatever her name is—is older, a mature, elegant woman with intelligent hazel eyes that give nothing away as she makes notes on the lined paper pad. Her voice is soft with an accent Alessia doesn’t recognize. She seems to be a woman who does not suffer fools gladly and has something of her nana’s spirit—an underlying grit—that’s attractive.
