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Is that what led Maxim to her?
Alessia tries to shake off the thought. She would not want this woman as an adversary, but as an ally—who’s slept with her husband, her crimson nails raking his back.
O Zot. Do not think of this.
Maxim tells the lawyer everything.
The trafficking.
The arrest of Dante and Ylli.
Anatoli. The kidnapping.
His trek to Albania.
The speed at which they were wed and the questionable legitimacy of their marriage.
Leticia holds up her hand, interrupting Maxim. “Were you coerced into this marriage?” she asks Alessia directly. Maxim scowls and opens his mouth to speak, but she silences him with a look. “Let your wife speak, Lord Trevethick.”
“No!” Alessia says. “Not at all. If anything…it’s the…um…other way.”
“You were coerced?” Leticia scoffs, looking at Maxim.
“No,” he says in a rush. “Her father has an intimidating shotgun, but I went to Albania to marry Alessia. For love.”
* * *
Alessia raises her head and, much to my relief, offers me the ghost of a smile. Leticia notices and sits back in her chair, looking a tad more relaxed.
“So, you married within a week.”
“Yes.”
She raises her brows. “I see. Do you have the marriage certificate?”
I fish the documents from my inside breast pocket. “I do. And an apostille.”
Leticia gives them a cursory glance. “Good,” she mutters. “I’ll need a copy of these so we can have them translated. Also, copies of your passports.”
I hand them over.
Leticia looks through her notes. “To be clear,” she says, regarding Alessia, “you were illegally trafficked into the country?”
“Yes. With other girls.”
“Others? Did they escape too?”
“I don’t know,” Alessia says quietly, her voice laced with guilt.
“Lady Trevethick, this is not your fault,” Leticia says, her voice firm. “Now, is there any evidence of the trafficking?”
“The men. They were arrested,” Alessia says.
“It’s an ongoing case,” I add.
“Ah. In the press recently? Part of a ring?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“I’ve read about it.”
“They took everything. My passport…” Alessia’s voice fades.
Leticia eyes her sympathetically. “Well, that could be a fly in the ointment if your old passport surfaces, but we’ll deal with that should it arise.”
“What’s the worst-case scenario?” I ask.
“Well, I suppose there’s a risk that Lady Trevethick could be deported.”
“What!” I glance at Alessia who’s now ashen.
“Lord Trevethick, it’s a slight risk, but I think we’d have a strong case to keep her here, and we’re certainly not there yet.” She looks from me to Alessia, and she seems more predisposed to both of us. “The validity of your marriage might be an issue if any bad actors discover that official protocols weren’t followed.”
“That’s why we’d like to get married again. Here. So there’s no doubt,” I respond.
“That’s not possible. Under English law, there’s only one valid ceremony of marriage that creates the status of marriage, and you have what looks like a legitimate marriage certificate that has been certified with this apostille. If you marry again, your second marriage won’t be legally recognized.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that.”
“You’ll have to have the original marriage annulled to get married again. You could have a blessing here if it’s that important to you. But”—she examines our marriage certificate and the apostille again—“I think we need to trust the Albanian authorities and the certificate you’ve been given. This looks very much in order.”
“Okay.” The skepticism is clear in my tone—this isn’t what I expected. “My only issue is the considerable press interest,” I continue. “I don’t want any zealous reporters digging around and finding out about the speed at which we got married.”
“Is that likely?”
“There was a flock of press outside our building today.”
“Ah. I see. Okay, let’s cross that bridge should we need to.” She turns to Alessia and addresses her directly. “First, we need to switch you from your visitor’s visa before we can contemplate applying for a family visa for you. Unless you’d consider returning to Albania and applying for the spousal visa from there?”
* * *
“No,” Maxim says immediately.
Ticia’s lips press together. “Lord Trevethick, I was addressing your wife.”
Maxim scowls but clamps his mouth shut and remains silent.
“How long would I have to go for?” Alessia asks.
“Well, if it’s fast-tracked, you can usually get a visa within thirty or so days. You’ll have to do an English test, and Lord Trevethick has to meet a minimum income threshold.” Ticia glances at Maxim. “I think we can safely assume that you do that and have adequate accommodation in the UK.”
“I do,” Maxim snaps.
“So, do you want to return to Albania?”
“No. I’d rather stay with Maxim.”
“Okay. Then the alternative might be studying in this country. Have you thought about that?”
* * *
Alessia is pensive in the cab back to Chelsea. She’s not said a word since we left Leticia’s offices. The traffic is sluggish at Westminster, and I check the time. It’s 5:30—the height of rush hour. I have more missed calls and texts, including one from Caro, that I’m ignoring. Joe has forwarded a short article from one of the London evening tabloids. It’s speculation about our marriage and it’s illustrated with a photograph of me entering my building from earlier today. Since when did I become so interesting? It’s pissing me off.
