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Where are you? He sounds angry. Hurt. Confused.
The man doesn’t even know he’s behaved badly!
Maybe he doesn’t think he has!
Alessia storms out of the elevator and, using her key, opens the apartment door, slamming the door behind her.
The alarm is off.
Did they not set it when they left?
The familiar cloying scent of expensive perfume hangs in the air, and the hairs on Alessia’s neck stand to attention. The click, click of high heels alerts her to the end of the hallway, and standing in the doorway of the living room is Maxim’s mother.
Rowena.
* * *
In the back of the cab, my anger mounts. What the hell was she thinking? Abandoning me at a party? But why? I don’t understand what’s happened. Did Grisha say something? Did Caroline?
I check my phone. There’s the missed call from Oliver, but still nothing from Alessia.
Did she meet Arabella or Charlotte?
My scalp tingles.
Fucking Charlotte. That kiss.
Alessia must have seen us. That’s the only reason I can think of that could explain why she left without so much as a goodbye.
My relief is monumental.
That’s it. I lean back in the cab, feeling I finally have a handle on what’s going on.
But wait. Charlotte kissed me. Not the other way around. I have zero designs on my ex. I have zero designs on any other women. Surely Alessia should know that… Why would she doubt me? And the fact that she does doubt me grinds my gears. She’s punishing me for something that’s not my fault—and punishing me with the worst of my fears.
It’s aggravating.
Actually. I’m fucking furious.
Why the hell would she think I’d be interested in anyone else?
And from nowhere, loud and clear, the thought rings like a klaxon through my head.
Because of your past.
Your reputation.
Fuck.
My mood plummets even further. I’m going to have to convince my wife—again—that my past is in the past.
* * *
Alessia’s reeling and stands immobilized in the hallway while Rowena gawks at her.
Why is she here? How is she here?
Her mother-in-law purses her lips. “On your own, in Trevethick diamonds, I see. You’ve not wasted any time getting your little hands on our trinkets. Those earrings were one of my favorites back in the day. They’re a little de trop, now, don’t you think?”
Alessia finds her voice. “Hello, Rowena. May I help you? If you’re looking for Maxim, he’s out.”
Maxim’s mother folds her arms, remaining in the doorway, unmoving, unwavering, unwelcoming.
Hostile.
O Zot.
“You look very… nice, dear. But you’ll never make a countess. There’s a saying that we have in this country—you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. How much money do you want to walk out of my son’s life?”
Alessia feels like she’s been gut-punched. “What?”
“You heard.” Rowena slowly advances on Alessia. “My friend Heath has been doing a little investigation. Turns out you haven’t followed the correct procedure in this farce of a marriage to my son. It can easily be annulled.”
Not for the first time this evening, Alessia feels a little light-headed.
Heath? Her mother-in-law’s lover?
Rowena smiles. A smile so chilling that a shiver runs down Alessia’s back. “I’ll write you a check, and you can go. Lead the life you were meant to lead. Not this one—it’s not for you. And it’s not for Maxim either. He’ll need someone with a gentility and refinement that you couldn’t possibly achieve. Someone with breeding who won’t bring scorn and embarrassment to the Trevethick legacy. He needs someone worthy. Someone who can offer him more. And that’s not you, my dear. What could you possibly give him?
“He’s only married you to spite me. He’s a man who likes a good time; I’m sure you’re aware of what I mean by that. It won’t be long until he strays. He doesn’t want the job of the earldom, and he’s set himself up to fail by marrying you. You can see that, can’t you?
“So, how much?”
“I want nothing from you,” Alessia whispers, her heart beating a frantic tattoo. “And maybe, if you’d been a better mother, your son might have a better respect for women, and chosen someone with all the qualities you wish for in a daughter-in-law. But maybe, because you are his mother, he didn’t. He chose me. And I am glad to say I am nothing like you.”
Rowena gasps, shocked.
Alessia walks to the door. “I think it’s time you left.”
The key rattles in the lock, and Maxim appears on the threshold.
* * *
When I open my front door, I’m met by my mother and my wife facing off in the hall, in an atmosphere so frigid, it might freeze my nuts off. My relief that Alessia’s home and safe is tempered by my anxiety.
What in the name of hell is going on here?
Chapter Twenty
Rowena and Alessia stare at me—my mother cold and brittle in black Chanel, my wife magnificent in red Alaïa—and I know in my soul they’ve exchanged heated words. Alessia’s eyes shine with unshed tears, and I suspect my mother has been a complete and utter bitch.
