Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Oh, we’ve been talking about all the things,” Elizabeth chimes, as I study Ava’s face, searching for any hint of excitement. “Guest lists, the cake, the menu, what season is best to get married.” Elizabeth takes a mouthful of wine. “I do love a winter wedding, but this manor hotel of yours sounds like it has the most fabulous grounds, so I thought a summer wedding. That gives us just over a year to make all the arrangements, if you decide on next summer, of course. Plenty of time, I think. I’m not sure why people wait two years, to be honest with you.” She laughs. “We should set a date to go dress shopping, darling.” She gasps, placing her wine down on the side table and grabbing her mobile. I feel Ava getting tenser and tenser beside me. “It’s Aunty Angela’s birthday in July. Maybe we could make it a day out. Dress shopping for you, outfits for us, a bridesmaid’s dress for Kate.” She frowns. “Wait, you are having Kate as a bridesmaid, aren’t you?” Ava nods jerkily. “I thought you must. Have you asked her yet?” Another gasp. “And best man? Who will be the best man? Sam? He seemed like a nice young man.” She goes back to the screen of her phone. “So, Aunty Angela’s birthday is the twelfth. That’s a Monday, so perhaps we could do the tenth. The Saturday. Oh, we’ll do Harvey Nics. Champagne for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” She chuckles and reclaims her wine, taking another sip before placing it back down. “I’ll text her now and tell her to put it in her diary.”
I glance at Joseph, who looks as exhausted as I feel after Elizabeth’s verbal sprint, his chest rising slowly with his patience-gathering inhale. “Please, please, please let me,” Ava whispers from beside me, obviously detecting my intention to delicately trample all over Elizabeth’s grand plans. Ava’s been in here for a whole half hour with her mother since everyone else left, and she’s not broken the news yet? I have no faith she will now I’m sitting next to her. “Let me get you a beer, Dad,” she blurts, high-pitched, diving up from the couch and hurrying off to the kitchen.
I watch her go, one eye narrowed as I rise to standing. “And more wine, Elizabeth?” I ask, eyes still on Ava’s back until she disappears from view. I don’t want either of them to have another drink. I’d really love for them to leave, actually, so Ava can make good on her previous intention to force me upstairs and rip my clothes off. Where’s that need gone? An hour ago she was practically wrestling me toward the bedroom. It was painful denying her. Agony. But I’m not unreasonable. I would never disrespect her father like that. So what’s changed since I not so subtly told Ava our wedding will be in two weeks and she very willingly agreed?
I snarl to myself. I know what. She’s had too long out of my arms to overthink it. So I must get my hands back on her and reinforce the deal.
“Yes, please,” Elizabeth says, handing me her glass. I leave the soon-to-be in-laws and go to the kitchen, finding Ava bent over the counter, her head in her hands. I look at her arse. Raise my brows.
Then quickly pull my lurid thoughts back into line. There will be no brutal fucking until it’s answered—without dispute—if she’s pregnant or not. “What’s up, baby?” I ask, placing Elizabeth’s wine glass down on the counter and taking her hips, doing myself no favors when I rub my groin into her arse. I quickly wrench myself away and pull Ava up to face me. I hate the despair I find. Joseph’s observations, the distraction and pasty complexion. It’s worry. She’s pensive, listening to her mother’s plans, and feeling quite sick about what her reaction might be to the news that we’re getting married a lot sooner than Elizabeth imagined.
“What’s up?” She laughs but quickly loses all humor, not that it was real humor. I don’t tell her sarcasm doesn’t suit her. Something tells me she won’t appreciate it. “Did you hear her?” she asks, pointing past me.
“Yes, I heard her.” The whole fucking borough of Tower Hamlets probably heard her.
Ava groans, breaking out of my hold and going to the fridge, pulling out a beer for her father. “She’s going to freak out.” The beer hisses when she opens it and overflows onto her feet. “Fucking hell,” she breathes, looking down at her soaked toes. “Fucking, fucking hell.”
My teeth grate, but like I refrained from telling her to mind her sarcasm, I refrain from telling her to watch her mouth. Delicately does it. Today has been a lot. For everyone. I step in, take her hips, lift her, and carry her to the counter to sit her on it. I remove the beer from her hands and slip off her heels.