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It’s you, dude. You’re bothering her.
Your fucking fucking.
I sigh. Caroline spilling the beans didn’t help. I understand why Alessia is sensitive about her. By revealing our sexual past, Caro sowed doubt in Alessia’s mind about my fidelity, and then we met Leticia, which only worsened matters. I rub my face, trying to forget that awkward moment. Alessia has been confronted with my sexual antics since she’s known me.
I blow out a breath, and a thought occurs to me. Maybe it’s our cultural differences that she’s finding difficult. One aspect I observed of life in Kukës was the casual segregation of men and women.
Maybe that’s it. She doesn’t understand that here people can fuck and be friends.
Why so many lovers?
It’s a good question, and I think this is the answer. Sex, here, is a recreational activity for many, including me. It still is, but it’s so much more satisfying with my wife.
Why is that?
Love?
Yes. Love.
Avoiding intimacy has been a way of life for me, and it was never an issue until I found Alessia and fell in love.
There. That’s it. And she doesn’t understand. I grin. Relieved. I think I’ve cracked the code to her anxiety.
Gently I untangle myself from my girl, stand, and strip.
Before I head into the bathroom, I remove the two photographs from my wall and place them in the walk-in wardrobe.
Shame. I like these photographs.
Some of my best work.
And yes, I knew them both in the biblical sense, or should I say recreational sense?
When I emerge from the bathroom, I feel much calmer. Carefully I undo Alessia’s jeans and gently peel them off. I drape the duvet over her, clamber into bed, and snuggle up to her sleeping frame. “What are you thinking about, baby?” I kiss her hair, and she mumbles my name.
Me?
The thought pleases me far more than it should.
Maybe she’s overwhelmed by being here. A new life with an ex-player—a rake.
Maybe that’s what this is about.
She needs to understand that all that is behind me.
Yeah. That’s it.
I close my eyes, and with Alessia’s scent invading my senses, I drift off to dream about my love.
Chapter Sixteen
The smell of fresh coffee rouses me from my beguiling dream.
Alessia.
Blue nylon housecoat.
SpongeBob pajama bottoms.
Pink knickers.
Opening my eyes, I find her standing beside the bed dressed in cream silk, looking her usual beautiful self—except for her uncertain smile. “Good morning,” she says as she sets a cup on the bedside table.
“Morning, my love. Thank you for the coffee.”
“It is after 9:30.”
“Oh dear, I’ve slept in.” I rub my face and haul myself to a sitting position, and she sits on the bed beside me. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay. I had a headache.”
“Better now?”
She nods. “I’m sorry. I did not mean to get so drunk. I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
“Sweetheart, you do not need to apologize. You were fine.” I’m horrified that she feels the need to express remorse. “My friends adored you. How could they not?”
“It was good to meet them.”
“I hope you liked them. I have to confess that used to be me most nights—drunk in a club, somewhere. Meeting you has probably saved my liver.”
Her eyes soften. “I liked your friends. They were entertaining. And I liked the gin. Maybe too muchly.” She looks down at her hands in her lap.
“You did? Good. Maybe friends and gin in moderation next time.” I run my fingers beneath her chin, turning her face to mine. “You said some things last night. I’ve been consumed with my own problems, and I haven’t asked you if everything’s okay or if there’s anything I can do to make settling into this new life easier for you.”
“We have only been back from our honeymoon for a few days.”
“I know. But still.”
She swallows and steels herself as if garnering some inner strength, and I don’t know what she’s going to say. From nowhere, my apprehension beats fast, furious wings in my gut.
“Maxim, I want to see if I can find one of the girls who was trafficked with me.”
My relief is instant. “Oh. Okay,” I respond cautiously. “But how the hell would you start to search for someone who could be anywhere?”
“I spoke to Ticia Cavanagh.”
Shit. The apprehension returns full force.
“And?”
She smiles, and I think she’s reading me like the open book I am. “We did not talk about you. Though maybe we should…um, compare notes?”
She’s teasing me! “Alessia!” I don’t know if I’m warning her to back the fuck off or congratulating her on her gumption.
“She gave me a number of a private investigator,” Alessia says hurriedly, “who might be able to help. I need to find her.”
I stare blankly back at her as my anxiety returns.
This seems an impossible task.
“Bleriana’s only seventeen,” she says, her voice low.
“Oh, God. That’s awful.” I close my eyes, not wanting to wrap my head around the horror that Alessia and her young friend have endured. “Did she run when you did?”
