Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 782(@200wpm)___ 626(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
“There. Are we done?”
Her chin trembles. “You bastard…you…damn Tin Man! You don’t get to tell me what to do with my body. Whether I take Plan B or contraceptives is only up to me. Do you think you have a say in it?”
“No, which is why I gave you the fucking choice, Ava. You think I don’t want to pump you full of my cum, put a dozen children in you, and tie you to me for life? Because I very much do. But we both know you are not ready for that, so I gave you the option. I didn’t force you to take the pill, I only put it on the table in case you want it.”
“Do you want me to take it?” Her voice has lost some of its fire, but it’s still as antagonizing as her entire existence.
“I will offer no say in the matter.”
“But I want to hear your thoughts.”
“You won’t.” Because I do want to fucking tie her to me and offer her no way out.
I hadn’t thought much about it before, but after last night, blind possessiveness has been rushing in my ears and constricting my chest.
There’s no way in fuck I’ll let another man touch her after I put my mark on her. She still has a faint hickey on her neck despite the obnoxious amount of makeup she used to hide it and I’ll make sure that never disappears.
So she’s always stamped with evidence of my ownership.
A kid—or a few—would make her mine for good. Though there are two pesky inconveniences. One, I genuinely dislike kids. They’re messy and illogical—my least favorite characteristics. Two, I’d be forced to share their mother with them.
I’m ready to overlook both. Barely. My dad loathes kids more than I do, but he loves me and Creigh, so I choose to believe I will at least tolerate my own kids. I might even like them if they look anything like their mum.
But even I, and my optimistic plans, know that making Ava pregnant in her current state isn’t only reckless, but it could be catastrophic.
She’s not stable, yet, and a child might wreck all my progress and spill it down the drain.
Last night, I knew she was pretending to be asleep the entire time, which is why I shook my head at Sam so she wouldn’t accidentally reveal anything. After I put Ava to bed and she fell asleep, she woke up half an hour later and walked all over the house before I carried her back to bed and stayed with her until she went under again.
Then I showered, changed, and went to work.
I’m operating on no sleep and I choose to believe that’s the reason why I’m particularly irritable today.
Fine, it’s because she paraded herself around with virtually no clothes on.
“So you really wouldn’t mind either way?” she asks with a note of expectation.
“I thought I shouldn’t since, and I quote, I have no right to tell you what to do with your body.”
“But what about your aspirations? Your goals? Do you even want kids?”
“I don’t see why that should concern you.”
“The fact that you’re my husband, maybe? If I plan on having children, I need to know you’ll be there for them since you’re hardly there for me.”
“Well, there’s your answer.”
It’s a blow below the belt and she flinches as if I punched her in the gut. But that’s better than painting the sky pink and giving her any form of hope.
Not in her state.
Even though I know how much she adores kids and dreams of having her own. She always stops and plays with children and dogs in the street and she volunteers at a charity to offer free cello lessons to children from humble backgrounds.
But that doesn’t negate the fact that she’s not ready for them.
“You know,” she murmurs. “I really hate you.”
“So you keep telling me.”
Staring me down with eyes less sparkling than earlier, she swallows the pill dry and heads to the sofa, then throws her weight on it. I watch her movements, searching for any sign of numbness, but she retrieves her phone and proceeds to text. She’s probably yelling at Ariella about whatever fuckery she witnessed earlier.
Truth be told, my sister-in-law could and will drag Remi down the aisle kicking and screaming sooner or later. I better help her so I can get rid of that nuisance sooner.
Though it’s virtually impossible to concentrate when my wife is sitting there like a snack waiting to be devoured, I try to get some work done.
I send Henderson my decision notes on the meeting—or whatever I attended of it. His answer is immediate.
My father removed me from the project since I lack respect for it. He’ll get Aunt Teal, Remi’s mother, on board with his decision.
Motherfucker.
I roll my wedding band back and forth, back and forth until I nearly snap my finger off.