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)
“Are you going to let me eat anything?” she asks.
“Yes.” What does she think I am, the food police? “Chicken, steak. Both are high in protein, and that’s good for our babies.” I point to the steaks and the chicken, not that she notices. She’s too busy sulking into her water. Neither has she noticed the fact that her parents are staring at us with mouths hanging open.
Bollocks.
Now, if she’d have just ordered steak . . .
“Do it in style, Ava.” I take a deep breath and release it, waiting for the fireworks, because by the look on Elizabeth’s face, there are definitely going to be some explosions. This is not how I wanted this to go.
“You’re pregnant?” she breathes, eyes jumping between us. Ava’s accusing glare is pointed my way, like this is somehow my fault. But rather than glare back, I look at the menu on the table in front of me, silent.
“Ava?” Joseph says.
“Surprise,” she murmurs.
“But you’ve been married for five minutes.” Elizabeth voice gets higher with every word she speaks, and I reach for my forehead, trying to rub the looming stressed headache away. “Five minutes!”
Slight exaggeration. But of course she’d be dramatic—this is Ava’s mother. What did I expect?
“It was a shotgun wedding, wasn’t it?” she blurts, attention all on me. “You married her because you had to.”
I cough over nothing, locking down every muscle before I shoot up and take the table with me. What a fucking insult after what I went through with my ex-wife—not that she or Ava know. That was shotgun. That was toxic. A fucking nightmare.
“Thanks,” Ava huffs sardonically, obviously as insulted as I am. Good. Then she won’t mind if I have a little trample.
“Elizabeth,” I say calmly, sensing Ava preparing to hold me back. “You know better than that.”
She laughs. Oh, she’s pushing me. Thank God Joseph steps in before I’m forced to sew my dear mother-in-law’s mouth shut. “So you didn’t know at the wedding?” he asks, forcing Elizabeth to back down, though her eyes are waiting keenly for an answer.
“No,” Ava blurts.
I stare at her accusingly. She knew. I suspected. What the fuck does it matter now? And why the hell am I sitting here like an errant child being forced to explain myself? This is ridiculous; my patience is fading by the second. I reach for my forehead and rub again, as Ava gives me an apologetic, sheepish smile. Steak. It was a simple choice. Why the fuck did I bring her here?
“I see,” Joseph says. What does he see? Nothing, because they’re both blind to the endless triggers being thrown my way.
Don’t explode.
Elizabeth exhales as dramatically as I would expect. “I can’t believe it. A pregnant bride suggests only one thing.”
“Then don’t bloody tell anyone,” Ava hisses angrily, getting herself worked up. No. I’m not having this. Pregnant women shouldn’t get stressed. I grab her hand and start rubbing some calmness into her. Easier said than done when I’m fucking reeling myself.
“Elizabeth,” I say more softly than she deserves. “I’m not an eighteen-year-old lad being forced to do the right thing after a quick fuck about with a girl.” Been there, done that, and I’ve paid dearly for it. I feel Ava squeeze my hand, her worried eyes on me. God, if she knew. “I’m thirty-eight years old. Ava is my wife, and I am not having her worked up or upset, so you can accept it and give us your blessing, or you can carry on like this and I’ll take my girl home now.”
Elizabeth’s looks like I’ve just slapped her. God, strike me down, I wish I fucking could, if only to knock the prissiness out of her.
“Now, let’s all just calm down a little, shall we?” Joseph says. I don’t miss the single look he gives his wife. Like . . . let me handle this. Thank you, Joseph. And please do a better job than your wife. “Ava.” His tone is gentle and his face soft. “How do you feel about this?”
“Fine.”
I can’t hide my shock. She can’t think of a better word?
“Perfect,” she blurts. “Couldn’t be happier.”
Much better.
“Well, then,” Joseph says, relaxing back in his chair, satisfied. “They’re married, financially stable . . .” He chuckles. I think it’s for my benefit. “And they’re bloody adults, Elizabeth. Get a grip.” He flashes her a rare smile. “You’re going to be a granny.”
I snort, hiding my smile before Elizabeth lays me out. She looks like someone’s just told her I’ve pissed in her wine. My God, she’s painfully exasperating.
“I will not be a granny,” she says, outraged. “I’m forty-seven years old.”
She just can’t help herself.
“I could be a nana, though.”
“You can be whatever you like, Elizabeth,” I breathe, done with my testing mother-in-law for the day. Or the year. One night, I tell myself. Just get through this one night.