The Mister

by James, E L

  “You fucking arsehole!” I roar, and punch his face, smacking his head to one side as I sit astride him. I hit him again as he struggles, taking a swipe at my face, which I dodge. But he’s strong, and he writhes beneath me, so I close my fingers around his throat and squeeze. He grabs my hands, trying to shake me off. He puckers his lips and spits at my face, but I dodge that, too, and his spittle falls back onto his cheek, so he’s covered in his own slime. This only enrages him more. And he bucks and bucks. He’s shouting at me in his own language. Words I don’t understand—but I don’t fucking care.

  I squeeze harder.

  Die, you fucker.

  His face reddens. His eyes bulge.

  I lift my hands, bringing his head up, and then slam it down on the kitchen tiles. Grateful to hear the loud thud.

  Somewhere behind me I hear a scream.

  Alessia.

  “Get. Off. Me!” the arsehole gasps in broken English.

  And suddenly there are hands on me, trying to pull me away. Fighting them off, I lean in close, close enough to smell his stale breath. “You touch her again and I’ll fucking kill you!” I snarl.

  “Trevethick! Trevethick! Maxim! Max!” It’s Tom. He’s grabbing my shoulders, hauling me off. I drag air into my lungs as I stand, my whole body vibrating with fury and a lust for revenge. The arsehole glares up at me, and I find Alessia’s father standing between us holding his shotgun. With a venomous look, he waves the barrel, motioning for me to back off.

  Reluctantly I oblige.

  “Calm down, Maxim. You don’t want to cause an international incident,” Tom says as he and Thanas tug me back. The arsehole scrambles to his feet, pure loathing in his scowl.

  “You’re like all Englishmen,” the arsehole snarls. “You’re soft and weak, and your women are hard.”

  “Soft enough to beat the shit out of you, you piece of crap,” I snap.

  As the red mist clears, I can hear Alessia fretting behind me.

  Shit.

  * * *

  Alessia’s father stands between the two men, looking at each of them in consternation.

  “You come into my house bringing violence? In front of my wife and my daughter?” he addresses Maxim and his friend Tom.

  Where did Tom appear from? Alessia wonders. She remembers meeting him in Brentford and recalls him in Maxim’s kitchen with the scars down his leg. Tom runs a hand through his rust-red hair as he gazes at her father.

  The translator leans forward and murmurs her father’s words to Maxim in English. Maxim holds up his hands and steps back. “I apologize to you, Mr. Demachi. I love your daughter, and I don’t wish to see any harm come to her. Especially at the hands of a man.” Maxim gives Baba a pointed look. Baba frowns and turns his attention to Anatoli.

  “And you. You bring her back to me covered in bruises?”

  “You know how spirited she is, Jak. She needs to be broken.”

  “Broken? Like this?” Baba points to her neck.

  Anatoli shrugs. “She’s a woman.” His tone implies that she’s of no consequence.

  As the words are translated for Maxim, his jaw tightens and his fists clench. He bristles with tension and anger.

  “No,” Alessia murmurs, reaching out and touching Maxim’s arm to calm him.

  “Quiet, you!” her father snaps, whirling around to face her. “You brought this shame on us. You run. And you return a whore. Spreading your legs for this Englishman.”

  Alessia hangs her head, her cheeks ashen.

  “Babë, Anatoli will kill me,” she whispers. “And if you want me dead, I’d rather you shot me with that gun you’re holding, so I might die at the hands of someone who is supposed to love me.”

  She glances at Baba, who blanches at her words while Thanas quietly translates them.

  “No,” Maxim says, with such heartfelt conviction that all eyes turn to him. He moves quickly, ushering Alessia behind him. “Don’t touch her. Either of you.”

  Baba stares at him, but Alessia doesn’t know whether her father is outraged or impressed.

  “Your daughter is soiled goods, Demachi,” Anatoli says. “Why would I want another man’s leftovers and her bastard? You can keep her, and kiss good-bye to the loan I promised you.”

  Baba scowls at him. “You would do this to me?”

  “Your word is worthless,” Anatoli growls.

  The translator quietly relays the words in English. “Loan?” Maxim says. He turns his head slightly and speaks so that only Alessia can hear him. “This arsehole paid for you?”

  Alessia flushes.

  Maxim faces her father. “I will match any loan,” he says.

  “No!” Alessia exclaims.

  Her father glares at Maxim, furious.

  “You dishonor him,” Alessia whispers.

  “Carissima,” Anatoli declares from the doorway. “I should have fucked you when I had the chance.” He uses English so that Maxim can understand.

  Maxim lurches at him, bristling with anger once more, but Anatoli is ready this time. From his coat pocket, he whisks out his pistol and takes aim at Maxim’s face.

  “No!” Alessia shrieks, and she darts quickly in front of Maxim, shielding him.

  “I don’t know whether to shoot you or him,” Anatoli snarls at her in his mother tongue, and he looks to her father for permission.

  Baba stares back at Anatoli and then at Alessia.

  Everyone quiets. The tension is a thick blanket over the whole room. Alessia leans forward. “What are you going to do, Anatoli?” She jabs her index finger at him. “Shoot him or me?” Thanas translates.

  Maxim grabs her arms, but she shakes him off.

  “Who hides behind a woman?” Anatoli sneers in English. “I have enough bullets for both of you.” His look of triumph makes her nauseated.

  “No, you don’t,” Alessia retorts.

  Anatoli frowns. “What?” And he measures the weight of the gun in his hand.

  “This morning in Zagreb, I took the bullets out while you were sleeping.”

  Aiming the gun at Alessia, Anatoli tightens his finger on the trigger.

  “No!” roars her father, and he rams Anatoli with the butt of the shotgun so hard that he falls to the floor. Seething, Anatoli takes aim again, this time at her father, and pulls the trigger.

  “No!” Alessia and her mother shout in unison. But nothing happens. The hammer clicks and echoes against an empty chamber.

  “Fuck!” Anatoli shouts, and he glares up at Alessia, a bizarre combination of admiration and contempt on his face. “You are one fucking annoying woman,” he mutters, and he staggers to his feet.

  “Go!” Baba bellows. “Go now, Anatoli, before I shoot you myself. You want to start a blood feud?”

  “Over your whore?”

  “She is my daughter, and these people are guests in my house. Go. Now. You are no longer welcome here.”

  Anatoli gazes at her father, his fury and impotence written in every tense muscle on his face. “You’ve not heard the last of this,” he snarls at Baba and Maxim. Turning on his heel, he pushes past Tom and heads out of the room. Moments later they hear a loud bang as he slams the front door.

  * * *

  When Demachi slowly turns to face Alessia, his eyes are blazing. Ignoring me, he concentrates his menacing look on his daughter. “You have dishonored me,” Thanas translates. “Your family. Your town. And you return here in this state?” Her father waves a hand up and down her body. “You have dishonored yourself.”

  And I watch Alessia hang her head with shame, and a tear slides down her cheek. “Look at me,” he growls. When she looks up, he pulls back his arm to backhand her face, but I grab her and tug her out of his reach. She’s shaking.

  “Don’t you dare touch a hair on her head,” I snarl, towering over him. “Th
is woman has been through hell. And all because of you and your shit choice of a husband for her. She’s been kidnapped by sex traffickers. She’s escaped. She’s gone without food. She’s walked for days with nothing. And after all that, she was resilient enough to get herself a job and hold body and soul together with barely any help. How can you treat her this way? What kind of father are you? Where is your honor?”

  “Maxim! This is my father.” Alessia grabs my arm, a look of horror on her face, as I lay into her so-called father. But I’m on a roll, and Thanas sounds like he’s keeping up with me.

  “How can you speak of honor if this is the way you treat her? And, what’s more, she may be carrying your grandchild—and you threaten her with violence?”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Alessia’s mother, who is clutching her apron, her expression full of horror. It’s chastening.

  Demachi is staring at me as if I’m completely crazy. He looks to Alessia and then back to me, his fury and disgust clear in his dark eyes. “How dare you come into my house and tell me how to behave? You. You who should have kept his pecker zipped in his pants. Don’t talk to me of honor.” Thanas blanches as he translates. “You dishonor us all. You dishonor my daughter. But there’s one thing you can do,” he growls through gritted teeth, and in one swift move he cocks his shotgun with a loud click.

  Shit.

  I’ve gone too far.

  He’s going to kill me.

  I feel rather than see Tom tense in the doorway.

  Demachi points the gun at me and shouts, “Do të martohesh me time bijë!”

  The Albanians look flabbergasted. Tom is ready to pounce. And all eyes are on me: Mrs. Demachi’s. Alessia’s. Thanas’s. They all gape in shock. And Thanas quietly translates, “You’re going to marry my daughter.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Oh, Babë, no!

  Alessia realizes that she hadn’t thought through her lie about the pregnancy. In a panic she whirls away from her shotgun-wielding father, desperate to explain the truth to Maxim. She doesn’t want to force him into marriage!

  But Maxim is sporting the biggest grin.

  Joy shines in his eyes, evident for all to see.

  His expression takes her breath away.

  Slowly he sinks onto one knee, and from the inside pocket of his jacket he produces…a ring. A beautiful diamond ring. Alessia gasps, and her hands fly to her face in utter amazement.

  “Alessia Demachi,” Maxim says, “please do me the honor of becoming my countess. I love you. I want to be with you always. Spend your life with me. At my side. Always. Marry me.”

  Alessia’s eyes fill with tears.

  He brought a ring.

  This is what he came here to do.

  To marry her.

  She’s breathless with shock.

  And then it hits her. Like a freight train. Her elation. He really does love her. He wants to be with her. Not Caroline. He wants her with him, always.

  “Yes,” she whispers, tears of joy running down her face. All watch, speechless and as amazed as Alessia, while Maxim slides the ring onto her finger and kisses her hand. Then, with a whoop of happiness, he springs up and sweeps her into his arms.

  * * *

  “I love you, Alessia Demachi,” I whisper. Setting her down, I kiss her. Hard. Closing my eyes. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care that her father is still holding his shotgun pointed in my direction or that her mother is still in the kitchen wide-eyed and weeping. I don’t care that one of my closest friends is looking at me in shock and alarm as if I’m crazy.

  Right now. Here. In Kukës, Albania, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.

  She said yes.

  Her mouth is soft and yielding. Her tongue caressing mine. It’s been only days, but I’ve missed her so much.

  Her tears rub off on my face. Wet and cooling.

  Fuck. I love this woman.

  Mr. Demachi coughs loudly, and Alessia and I surface, winded and giddy from our kiss. He waves the muzzle of his shotgun between us, and we both step back, but I grasp her hand firmly. I’m never letting her go. Alessia is grinning and blushing, and I’m light-headed with love.

  “Konteshë?” her father, his brow creased, asks Thanas. Thanas looks to me, but I have no idea what Demachi said.

  “Countess?” Thanas clarifies.

  “Oh. Yes. Countess. Alessia will be Lady Trevethick, Countess of Trevethick.”

  “Konteshë?” her father says again, and it seems like he’s feeling his way around the word and its meaning.

  I nod.

  “Babë, zoti Maksim është Kont.”

  Three Albanians turn to stare at me and Alessia as if we’ve each grown an extra head.

  “Like Lord Byron?” Thanas asks.

  Byron?

  “He was a baron, I think. But he was a peer. Yes.”

  Mr. Demachi lowers his gun, continuing to gape at me. No one else in the room moves or says anything.

  Well, this is awkward.

  Tom shuffles forward. “Congratulations, Trevethick. Didn’t expect you to propose on the spot.” He puts his arms around me and claps me on the back.

  “Thanks, Tom,” I reply.

  “This’ll make a great story for the grandchildren.”

  I laugh.

  “Congratulations, Alessia,” Tom adds, giving her a little bow, and she rewards him with a glorious smile.

  Mr. Demachi turns to his wife and barks an instruction. She heads deeper into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of clear spirits and four glasses. I glance at Alessia—she’s radiant. Gone is the harrowed woman who walked into this room earlier.

  She shines. Her smile. Her eyes. She takes my breath away.

  I’m a lucky guy.

  Mrs. Demachi fills the glasses and distributes them—only to the men. Alessia’s father lifts his glass. “Gëzuar,” he says, and there’s a look of relief in his shrewd, dark eyes.

  This time I know what that means. I raise my own glass.

  “Gëzuar,” I repeat, and Thanas and Tom echo the toast. We all upend our glasses and down our drinks. It’s the fieriest, most lethal liquid that I’ve ever poured into my throat.

  I try not to cough. And fail.

  “That’s great,” I lie.

  “Raki,” Alessia whispers, and she’s trying to hide her smile.

  Demachi sets down his glass and refills it, then refills the rest.

  Another? Shit. I mentally prepare myself.

  Alessia’s father raises his raki once more. “Bija ime tani është problem yt dhe do të martoheni, këtu, brenda javës.” He downs his shot and brandishes his gun with a look of glee.

  Thanas quietly translates. “My daughter is your problem now. And you’ll be married, here, within a week.”

  What?

  Fuck.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  A week!

  I give Alessia a bemused smile, and she grins and releases my hand.

  “Mama!” she blurts, and I watch her run to her mother, who’s been standing patiently in the kitchen. They embrace and cling to each other as if they’ll never let go, and both begin to silently weep in that way that women do.

  It’s…affecting.

  It’s obvious they’ve missed each other. More than missed each other.

  Her mother wipes away her daughter’s tears, speaking rapidly in her native tongue, and I have no idea what they are saying. Alessia’s laugh is more of a gurgle, and they hug each other again.

  Her father watches them and turns to me.

  “Women. They are so emotional.” Thanas translates his words, but Demachi looks relieved, I think.

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice gruff, and I hope I sound manly. “She’s missed her mother.”

  But not
you.

  Alessia’s mother relinquishes her, and Alessia steps toward her father. “Baba,” she murmurs, her eyes wide once more.

  I hold my breath, poised to intervene if he so much as lays a finger on her.

  Demachi raises his hand and gently holds her chin. “Mos u largo përsëri. Nuk është mirë për nënën tënde.”

  Alessia gives him a timid smile, and he leans down and kisses her forehead, closing his eyes as he does. “Nuk është mirë as për mua,” he whispers.

  I look at Thanas, waiting for his translation, but he’s turned away, giving them this moment—and I think maybe I should, too.

  * * *

  It’s late, I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep. Too much has happened, and my mind is racing. I lie awake staring at the dancing, watery reflections on the ceiling. The patterns that form are so comforting in their familiarity that I grin. They mirror my ecstatic mood. I’m not in London, I’m at my soon-to-be-in-laws’, and the reflections are from the full moon, skipping over the deep, dark waters of Fierza Lake.

  I didn’t have a choice about where I stayed—Demachi insisted it should be here. My room is on the ground floor, and though sparsely furnished, it’s comfortable and warm enough and has a splendid view of the lake.

  There’s a rustle at the door, and Alessia sneaks in and closes it behind her. All my senses come alive, and my heart starts pounding. She tiptoes toward the bed, her body swathed in the most virginal, all-covering, Victorian-style nightdress I have ever seen. Suddenly I feel that I’m in a gothic novel, and I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of this situation. But she places her finger to her lips and then in one swift move draws her nightgown over her head and drops it onto the floor.

  I stop breathing.

  Her beautiful body is bathed in the pale light of the moon.

  She’s perfect.

  In every way.

  My mouth dries, and my body stirs.

  I toss back the covers, and she slides into bed beside me, gloriously naked.

  “Hello, Alessia,” I whisper, and my lips find hers.