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)
“And where is Paradise?”
“Costa del Sol. But it’s a surprise. Anyway, we fly tomorrow from Bristol. I was thinking of bringing her down to see you before we go.”
“That would be wonderful!”
“Great. We’re leaving soon, so should be with you late afternoon.” I look down at my Rolex.
“We’ll go out for dinner! Joseph, Ava and Jesse are visiting!”
I can’t bloody wait to tell them we’re expecting. “I’ll let you know if we hit any traffic,” I say, my phone beeping to tell me another call is coming in. “Gotta go.” I switch the call. “Peterson.”
“Mr. Ward. Sally mentioned a car accident. Is Ava okay?”
“A little shaken up.”
“Any injuries?”
I squint, thinking. “A few cuts and bruises. She won’t be in work today. In fact, she needs some time off.”
“How much time?”
I don’t like this. Bargaining for my pregnant wife’s recovery time and well-being. “I’m taking her out of town.” Out of the country, actually. “To get away from the chaos of London to recover.”
“Oh, well. Okay. She’ll be back on Monday?”
“Tuesday.” I quickly hang up, calling Peterson a few choice names. I’m done with him. With his company. I need to somehow convince Ava she does not need the pressure of a boss. Not when she has a husband. She can’t be trailing round houses and developments while she’s expecting, especially not with twins. She’ll grow faster. Be more uncomfortable. Every side effect of pregnancy will be doubled. Yet I can’t tell her to quit. That would be a mistake. But I’ve bought myself some time with this mini break, and I’m praying we can find a compromise to this problem called a career. I quickly drop a text to Cathy letting her know we’re out of town for a few days, and then message Kate, just in case Sam’s forgotten to mention it. The phone on the wall rings, and I answer to Casey.
“I have delivery for you, Mr. Ward. Looks like wallpaper.”
“Store it. I have decorators coming tomorrow. Cathy will be here to let them in.”
“Yes, sir.”
I hang up and text Cathy again, letting her know about the decorators coming, then stand and wonder . . . who else do I need to tell we’re going away?
A distant, consistent thud comes from upstairs and, curious, I make my way to the stairs, finding Ava wrestling her suitcase down them. What the hell?
“Hey.” Is she out of her fucking mind? She startles, and my heart nearly falls out of my chest when she wobbles. Shit, no. I fly up the stairs like a rocket. “What the fuck are you doing, woman?” I bark, incensed, steadying her.
“For fuck’s sake, Jesse,” she yells, and I flinch. “Fucking hell.” Double flinch. “That was your fucking fault,” she snaps.
I start twitching like I’ve been hit with high voltage. “Will you watch your fucking mouth?” I shout, ensuring her stability before I wrench the suitcase up. “Wait there.” I stomp down the stairs, infuriated. “Absolutely zero sense,” I mumble. “Fucking ridiculous. And she thinks working is an option? No. She can’t be trusted to be sensible.” I dump the case and make my way back up, picking her up. “You’ll break your fucking neck, you stupid woman.”
“I was carrying a case.” She scowls at me. “It was you who made me jump.”
“You shouldn’t be carrying anything, except my babies.”
“Our babies.”
“That’s what I fucking said.” I get to the bottom and lower her, checking the footwear situation. Flats. That’s one wise choice she’s made. “No doing stupid shit, lady.”
“How is carrying a case stupid?” she asks, fixing her clothes.
How? Did she miss the breaking news? “Because you’re pregnant.” Lord, send me strength and patience before I explode.
“You’d better rein it in, Ward,” she hisses, wagging an accusing finger. Rein what in? Do I have to read her the list on what pregnant women need from their husbands? Love. Patience. I huff. Why can’t she be—“Cornwall!” she barks.
I chuckle, and Ava frowns. “How many times are you going to threaten me with fucking Cornwall?” There’s not much in this world I’m certain of, except my love for this woman and the hard fact that she would never voluntarily move back in with her mother.
“I’ll go now,” she yells, the volume of her voice making her shake. And perhaps the level of her frustration. She has no idea. It seems I got ahead of myself when I concluded she’s finally accepted my level of commitment to her safety. And now my babies’ safety too.
“Come on then,” I say, serious, collecting her case. “I’ll take you.” I head for the door, smiling to myself. I can’t hear her following. “Are you coming?” I look back, finding her stock-still, eyes a little wide before she corrects it.
“Have you called Patrick?”
“Yes. You need to be back in work by Tuesday.” But I plan on convincing you while we’re away to never return.