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Alessia smiles. “I would like to watch you do that.” She releases her and stares anxiously across at her mother. Alessia realizes this is her opportunity. She’s been trying to bring up this subject since she and Maxim discussed it yesterday. “I have to ask you something.”
“Yes, child?”
Alessia swallows, and the thoughtful speech she’d rehearsed so many times in her head dries on her tongue.
“Alessia, what is it?”
“Come with us,” Alessia blurts, suddenly incapable of saying what she’d planned.
“What?”
“Come with me and Maxim to England. Please. You don’t have to stay with him.”
Shpresa gasps, her dark eyes widening. “Leave Jak?”
Alessia hears the dismay in her mother’s voice. “Yes.”
Her mother sits back in the chair and gapes at Alessia. “He’s my husband, child. I’m not going to leave him.”
This is not what Alessia is expecting to hear. “But he’s not kind to you,” she protests. “He’s violent. Like Anatoli. You cannot stay.”
“Alessia, he’s not like Anatoli. I love your father.”
“What?” Alessia’s world shifts on its axis.
“My place is with him,” Shpresa says with steel in her voice.
“But you told me love is for fools.”
Her mother’s eyes soften, and she lifts her lips in a rueful smile. “I am a fool, my heart. We have our ups and downs, I know. Like all couples—”
“I’ve seen the bruises, Mama! Please. Come with us.”
“My place is with him. This is my home. I have a life here. There’s nothing for me in a land I don’t know. Besides, since you left, he’s been more considerate. Contrite, I think. He believes he drove you away. He was so relieved when we got word of you.”
Alessia is shocked. This is not how she viewed her father or, indeed, her parents’ relationship at all.
“You see, my heart,” her mother continues, and she reaches across the table to grasp Alessia’s hand. “This is the life I know. Your father loves me. Baba loves you too. He may not show it like we see in the American television programs—and I see it’s different with your betrothed, but that’s how it is in our house. This is my home, and he’s my husband.” She shrugs and then squeezes Alessia’s hand as if trying to convey the truth of her words through the pressure of her fingers, but Alessia is reeling. She’d always thought her mother was miserable with her father.
Was she wrong?
Did she misread the situation between them?
* * *
I stand unseen on the threshold of the family room and observe Alessia’s mother speaking in urgent, hushed tones to her daughter. They’re sitting at the dining table—the location of Mr. Demachi’s raki attack last night—and their conversation is intense. But the pounding in my brain needs therapeutic drugs, so I stagger in, surprising them both, and slump into one of the chairs.
* * *
Shpresa releases Alessia’s hand. “We can talk more on this later. But my mind is made up, sweet girl. I’m not leaving my husband. I love him. In my own way. And he loves and needs me.” She smiles benevolently at Alessia, then turns her attention to Maxim. “Your count, he had too much to drink last night. Fetch him a couple of painkillers. I’ll make him some coffee.”
Alessia looks anxiously at her mother, surprised and confused by her reaction. “Yes, Mama. We’ll talk later.” She’s bewildered by her mother’s response, but she turns to Maxim, who holds his head in his hands, and her stance softens. “I don’t think my fiancé is used to raki.”
“I understood raki,” Maxim groans, husky-voiced, and he peers at her, bleary-eyed.
Alessia smiles. “I will fetch some tablets for your head.”
* * *
I lean toward her. “Thank you for putting me to bed last night.” I keep my voice low as her mother busies herself with the coffeepot.
“It was interesting.” She stops and checks that Shpresa is out of hearing range. “It was fun undressing you.”
I take a quick, sharp breath as she rises and retrieves a first-aid kit from the pantry, and when she turns back, her dark, provocative eyes dart to mine, her face illuminated with a shy, secret smile.
My heart lurches in my chest.
My girl undressed me, and I was unconscious with drink.
Hell. An opportunity wasted.
But more than the wasted opportunity, she’s not judged me for being inebriated, and now she’s taking care of me. It’s a new and wholly enlightening experience, and I love her for it. I can’t remember anyone doing that for me as an adult—except Alessia when she put me to bed after that crazy drive from Cornwall. She’s kind, caring, and… hot, especially in tight jeans.
I’m a lucky guy.
I attempt a broad smile but my head throbs, and I’m reminded that it was her father who inflicted this damage—and I was only drinking the ghastly beverage to be polite. Alessia places two tablets and a glass of water in front of me. “It was my father who did this to you. I know. And it was our local raki. Made here in Kukës.”
