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)
“I can walk.” She springs to life in my arms, wriggling like a manic worm.
I seriously doubt she can, but I’m done arguing. Exhausted. So I place her on her feet and watch her, hands braced ready to catch her, as she pulls at her dress. She can pull to her heart’s content. It will never cover enough of her.
As soon as the elevator opens, she takes measured, careful strides to the door, me following. “So stubborn,” I mumble. “Defiant. Difficult.” She ignores me, going into her bag and pulling out the keys, guiding the right one to the lock. I exhale heavily as she fiddles and faffs, trying to get it in. We’ll be here all fucking night. “Let me.” I brace myself for her rejection, taking her hand and helping. I get no thanks. And now she’ll go upstairs and put herself in the wrong bed.
I follow one of her heels as it gets kicked across the floor, then the other, before she paces away, taking the stairs as I throw my keys on the side table and put the ones for her new car in the drawer. Her body sways as I go after her, putting myself a few steps behind, palms up ready to stop her falling. It’s a miracle, but she makes it to the top upright. And as predicted, she turns right instead of left and goes to the last bedroom. The one farthest away from the master suite. From me. “You never disappoint, darling,” I say sardonically, following. The door slams in my face, forcing me to take a minute and a few deep breaths. No more arguing.
Letting myself into the guest room on an exhale of exasperation, I find she’s spread-eagled on the bed, unconscious again. I walk to the edge and stand over her, shaking my head. I’ve been here, drunk, sparko, fully dressed—mostly not—many times. It didn’t feel good on me. It doesn’t feel good on my wife. But she’s home, and my heart is beating calmly rather than limping along in dull thuds. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but she’s here, and it’s a start.
I begin to get her out of her dress, negotiating her limp, unresponsive form, peeling the nonexistent material from her body. “Let’s get rid of that.”
“Aaarrre youuuuu g . . . g . . . going to cuuuut it tooo piec . . . iec . . . ieces?”
I laugh in disbelief at the state of her. “No.” I’m done annihilating things today. “I might not be talking to you, lady.” I heave and grunt as I wrestle her to the side of the bed, getting my arms under her back and legs. “But I want to be not talking to you in our bed.” Where I’ve not slept for five fucking nights all alone.
She slumps into my shoulder on a sleepy, drunken sigh, her legs dangling as I walk her back to the master suite. I place her down and watch, half amused, half staggered, when she flops down, conked out. I get out of my blood-stained shirt. “We’re having a serious conversation on acceptable levels of retaliation,” I say to her useless form. “There will be no shouting either.” I kick my shoes off and reach down to pull off my socks. “We need a holiday.” Slipping my hand into my pocket, I pull my phone out and place it on the bedside table. “No arguments on that either.” Getting out of my trousers, I crawl up the bed, my nose wrinkling at the stench of wine. “Come here.” I tug her close, feeling her body pushing closer to me. Instinct. And to have her back in my arms, whether she’s talking to me or not, feels like the best kind of reprieve.
I look down at her head. “Ava?”
She mumbles a croaky, “What?”
“You make me crazy, lady.”
“Crazy in love?”
I smile mildly, planting my face in her hair and breathing her into me. Breathing life into me. “That too.” I don’t know how a woman can make me crazy but calm me at the same time. Honestly, I just don’t know. “So fucking crazy in love.” I feel her become heavy again, leaning on me. “Let’s not do this week again,” I whisper. “Promise me.”
Of course, she doesn’t reply, and when my phone rings, I scramble to shut it up, answering on a hushed. “Hello?”
“Still alive?” Sam asks.
“Yeah.”
“And Ava?”
“Alive, although I’m sure she’s going to feel dead in the morning.” Her hangover isn’t going to be pretty. “Where are you?”
“At The Manor.”
Do I ask if Kate’s with him?
“Alone,” he adds, as if reading my mind.
“Oh.” So he’s getting on with his life, is he? I’ve heard it before. “Listen, mate, I think Dan’s just fucking with her head.” Ava’s brother strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t like losing.