Yeah. That’s the plan.

  I reach for my phone and notice a couple of texts from Caroline left last night.

  Where are you? Did you find her?

  Call me. I’m worried about you.

  Surprised that my thumbs are cooperating, I send her a quick text, knowing she’ll probably send out a search party if I don’t respond.

  All good. Found her. Will call later.

  She’ll lose her shit over this wedding; I know it in my bones. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell her until I see her.

  Coward.

  My head throbs, and I rub my temples, trying to calm the squall that rages between them. If I tell Caroline, I’ll have to tell Maryanne and my mother, and that’s a conversation I’m actively avoiding, especially with a hangover. I’m not ready for that yet. I need to know where Alessia and I stand legally, then, maybe, I’ll tell the Mothership, but perhaps I’ll leave telling her until the day before we do the deed.

  I drag on a T-shirt and pocket my phone. All that can wait; I need pain relief and coffee, preferably in that order.

  * * *

  Alessia and her mother are sitting at the dining table, drinking coffee.

  “Mama, do you have my ID card?”

  “Of course, my heart. I’ve treasured it since you left.”

  Alessia is taken aback at her mother’s words, and an aching void forms in her throat as she reaches across to squeeze Shpresa’s hand. “I thought of you often while I was gone,” she says, her voice husky with emotion. “I didn’t have any of my photographs or my phone. The men… They took everything. Including my passport. I’m glad I left my ID with you. I need to get another passport.”

  “I’ll fetch it for you shortly. I’m glad that the scrape on your face has almost healed. And the bruises. They look much better.” Her mouth thins as she examines her daughter. “I would like to box Anatoli Thaçi’s ears.”

  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.”

  “I see.” It was his revenge! “Thank you,” I offer.

  “You are most welcome.” She gives me a coquettish smile, and I wonder if she’s talking about the tablets or undressing me. Grinning, I down the painkillers and wonder if Tom and Thanas will be in a similar state to me.

  Following our lengthy discussions yesterday, and with the marriage formalities supposedly settled, Mrs. Demachi and Alessia had prepared a lavish meal and kindly invited my friend Tom, our translator Thanas, and Drita, his girlfriend. While they prepared the meal, Alessia taught me some Albanian words—my pleases and thank yous.

  She laughed.

  A lot.

  At my pronunciation.

  But it’s always a joy to hear her laugh.

  Alessia’s mother had been in her element, happy to have a house full of guests, even though she didn’t say much. She left that to her husband, who regaled us with stories of the turbulent 1990s as Albania transitioned from Communism to a democratic republic. It was fascinating—his family was caught up in a terrible pyramid scheme, and they’d lost what money they had. It’s how they’d found themselves in Kukës during those dark times. While he talked, his generous but heavy hand poured and poured the raki. Tom and Thanas matched me shot for shot, I’m sure. They’ll be meeting us at the town hall, provided they’ve survived the Ordeal by Raki. I check my watch. I have an hour to get it together.

  The town hall is a nondescript modern building a stone’s throw from Hotel Amerika where Tom and Thanas are staying. Hand-in-hand, Alessia and I stand in the reception area waiting for them to join us, and despite the dull ache in my head from my hangover, I cannot help my smile. Alessia’s so buoyant since our earlier stop at the police station that she lights up the dreary foyer. Her new passport will be ready to collect on Friday—I paid for it to be expedited—and one would think I lassoed the moon she’s so jubilant, but Alessia having a passport gives us options.

  “Just the sight of your joy is easing my hangover.” I try to contain my smile, but I fail. She is a joy.

  “I think it is the tablets I gave you.”

  “No. It’s you.”

  She laughs, peering at me through her lashes, and I lift her hand and skim her knuckles with my lips.

  God, I wish I could whisk her away from this drab little town.

  Soon, dude. Soon.

  Tom and Thanas appear, Thanas looking how I feel—disheveled and hungover.

  “Well, Trevethick, you look like hell. What are we doing here?” Tom asks, bright as a fucking button. Raki appears to agree with him.

  “I am sorry we’re late,” Thanas mumbles. “I took Drita to board the bus to Tirana. She has to get back to her studies.”

  “We’re here to visit the clerk who will officiate our wedding.”

  “The registrar. I’ll go check where we must go,” Thanas says and wanders toward the reception desk to wait in line. Alessia joins him.

  “So,” Tom hisses, keeping his voice low and sounding conspiratorial. “I never congratulated you about the baby.”

  The baby?

  It takes me a moment in my befuddled state to realize what he’s talking about. I laugh and stop suddenly as my head throbs. “Alessia’s not pregnant. She told her father she was so she wouldn’t be forced to marry that wanker Antonelli or whatever his name is.”

  “Ah.” Tom looks relieved. “Well, I suppose that’s good. Too early in a relationship for sprogs.” He leans into me while watching Thanas and Alessia and hisses, “But you know you don’t have to marry her, old boy.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  “Tom.” My voice warns him off the subject. “We’ve had this conversation already. For the last time, I love Alessia and want her to be my wife. Understand?”

  “Frankly, no. She’s a beautiful girl, I’ll give you that, but I can’t imagine you’ve got much in common. But the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  I’m in no mood for an argument, so when he holds a conciliatory hand up at my scowl, I blow out a breath. “Should I humor the old goat, marry her here? Or wait until we return to the UK? I’m stuck here until she gets her passport and a visa, and I’m not leaving her on her own.” I glance over to where she’s standing patiently beside Thanas, who’s talking to the receptionist.

  “Well,” Tom says. “If it’s what you want, I think you should go along with it. It’s a civil ceremony at the town hall. You’ll keep the old chap happy, and then you can abscond with his daughter and do it properly in London, Cornwall, or Oxfordshire. Wherever.” He frowns. “If you can.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if you can get married more than once to the same woman, old boy. I’m sure there are rules. What do you have to do here?”

  “I have to show my passport, and apparently that’s it, though that’s not what the official government website says.”

  Tom’s brow furrows once more. “You think something’s off?”

  I nod. “But we’ll find out with Thanas. Will you stick around until then? And… you know, help out?”

  “Of course, Trevethick. Wouldn’t miss this high drama for the world.”

  “High drama?” My scalp itches. Has he guessed we might abscond?

  “You’ve traveled to the back of beyond to save your lady. If that’s not the definition of drama, I don’t know what is.”

  I laugh. He has a point. “And, um… will you be my best man?”

  Tom is momentarily speechless, and when he finds his voice, it’s gruff. “I’d be honored, Maxim.” He pats me on the back, and we turn to find Thanas and Alessia heading over to us.

  “This way,” Thanas says, and we follow him up the stairs to the next floor.

  The brass nameplate on his desk reads F. TABAKU. He’s the registrar who will officiate at our civil ceremony. He’s a similar age to Demachi and wears the same dark suit and impenetrable expression. He rises as we enter his office, greets Alessia cordially, gives me a curt nod, then waves us to the small table where the five of us take our seats.

  Thanas translates as we quickly establish that he needs to see a copy of Alessia’s birth certificate and ID card, and my passport. I fish mine out of my coat and open it up to the correct page, realizing that I, too, will have to get a new passport. At present, mine is in the name The Hon Maximillian John Frederick Xavier Trevelyan.

  We hand over our documents, and he gives Alessia’s a cursory glance. My passport receives a more thorough examination. Tabaku frowns and says something to Thanas. Alessia interjects. “Vëllai i Maksimit ishte Konti. Ai vdiq në fillim të janarit. Maksimi trashëgoi titullin, po nuk ka pasur ende mundësi të ndryshojë pasaportën.”

  Tabaku seems satisfied with whatever Alessia has said and rises from the table to a small desktop photocopier. While he makes copies, I ask Alessia, “What did you say?”

  “I told him that you have only recently…um…inherited your title.”

  He turns and addresses us both. Thanas translates. “Spouses, when entering into marriage, have the right to choose to keep one of their surnames as a common surname or you keep your own. You need to decide.”

  I turn to Alessia. “What do you want to do?”

  “I would like to take your name.”

  I smile, pleased. “Good. For your purposes, Alessia’s name is Alessia Trevelyan. Her formal title will be Alessia, The Right Honorable the Countess of Trevethick.”

  “Please write that down,” Thanas translates.

  I oblige on the notepaper provided and hand my scribble to Tabaku.

  Tabaku responds, and Thanas says, “I will name Alessia as Alessia Demachi-Trevelyan; your passport says nothing about Trevethick.”

  “That’s fine,” I grumble and turn to Thanas. “Ask him about the certificate of no-impediment that I’m supposed to provide.”

  Thanas does, and Alessia glances anxiously at me.

  The registrar’s eyes widen, and he spits an answer back at Thanas, who turns to me as he reels off Tabaku’s response. “He says that because time is an issue,” his eyes dart to Alessia, “he is expediting your marriage. He has the power to do so in special circumstances. Alessia’s father is a close and trusted friend, and that’s why he’s offering this service.”

  The registrar continues in his low voice, his eyes not leaving mine, and it dawns on me that he’s doing Demachi, and thereby us, an enormous favor.

  “He says the marriage will be legal. It’s all you need,” Thanas translates. “You will have a marriage certificate.”

  “And if we want to do it with all the correct paperwork?” I ask.

  Tabaku retakes his seat, hands our documents back, and responds to Thanas’s question. “That will take between two to three months.”

  “Okay. I see. Thank you.” Even though he’s doing us a favor, I’m still uncomfortable. It feels like a sham and that thought is unsettling.

  The registrar says something to Alessia and Thanas. Alessia nods and starts speaking to him in Albanian. I look hopefully at Thanas. “He’s asking for your profession, place of residence, and where you’ll live once you’re married.”

  Profession!

  I give Thanas my address in Chelsea and tell him that’s where we’ll live when we’re married. Alessia glances at me with a shy smile.

  “And profession?” Thanas inquires as the words my father used to adopt when asked this drift conveniently into my head.

  “Farmer and photographer,” I state quickly, though it’s not the entire truth. Now, I’m a landowner and a landlord—the CEO of the Trevethick Estate.

  “And DJ,” Tom interjects rather unhelpfully, and when I glare at him, adds, “You know, spin the decks.” He mimes the action. “And peer of the realm, of course. Heavy is the head and all that.”

  “Thanks, Tom.” I ignore Alessia’s stifled giggle while Tabaku finishes scribbling his notes. He places his biro on his notepad and, leaning back into his chair, says something to Alessia and me.

  “He has all he needs to write the contract,” Alessia says.

  Reaching over, I squeeze her hand. “That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Let’s go back to the hotel and decide what to do next.”

  She nods, and I rise from my seat and give Tabaku a brief nod. “Thank you.”

  Thanas translates his response. “I will see you on Saturday in the afternoon. And you must choose two people to be witnesses.”

  Witnesses? More like accomplices.

  * * *

  Alessia does not know how to gauge Maxim’s mood—or what he’ll do. He was quiet and brooding as he stalked back to the hotel. Is he angry? Does he still want to flee? They’re sitting in the Hotel Amerika bar, a first for her in her home country, and she wonders what he’s thinking.