Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“You had a visitor late last night,” he says when he answers. “Mike.”
“What did he want?”
“To talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I don’t think he agrees.”
I look at the jar in my hand, grimacing and screwing the lid back on, my appetite gone. “I’ve made it clear to Coral.” I move my phone to my other ear, sliding down off the counter and putting the jar back in the fridge.
“Perhaps you need to make it clear to Mike.”
I slam the door a little too harshly, accepting what needs to be done. “Fine. Tell him I’ll call him. I’ll be over soon. Ava’s got some work to do on the extension.” She doesn’t know it yet, but she will, when she comes back from the land of the dead.
“Is that wise?”
“It’s Sunday.” The Manor is notoriously quiet on a Sunday daytime after a Saturday night.
“You could just tell her and save yourself this stress.”
Stress? I didn’t know the meaning of the word until recently. “I’ll tell her,” I assure him. “Just not today.” I hang up and spin my phone in my hand, thinking. I’m thinking so much lately, I’ve got a constant headache. A non-alcohol related headache. Just tell her. After all, she did declare her love last night. Or, again and very troubling, was it the drink talking? My eyes divert to the sink. My mind sees the pills swirling around the bowl. Instinct told me to do it.
And instinct might have fucked you over, Ward.
I go back upstairs and enter the master suite to find Ava slowly edging her way out of bed, her face a picture. Beautiful, even with her smudged eye makeup and tangled hair. I smile and rest my shoulder on the doorframe, every troubling thought forgotten. And there is the reason I took those pills. She’s distraction incarnate. Heaven wrapped up in a body to die for. My greedy gaze journeys down her neat, tight little body, my hungry cock yelling its approval. But it’s my heart I hear the loudest. Beat after beat.
She takes a moment, concentrating on not falling flat on her face, frowning deeply. I hope she swears to never drink again. I hope her head is hurting so much, she won’t even be able to look at alcohol.
She peeks up at me, and I see with perfect clarity that she feels like death. I smile and make my way over, certain she’s going to topple at any second. “And how is my lady lush this morning?”
“Terrible,” she mumbles, and I laugh, delighted.
I take her in my arms, ignoring the stale stench of wine. “Do you want some breakfast?” She immediately convulses against me, and I chuckle. “Just some water then?”
“Please.”
God love her. What a mess. “Come here.” I dip and lift her, and her head goes straight onto my chest. I carry her downstairs, and it’s an effort to release her. I place her on the worktop like I could be handling a priceless china doll.
She yelps, stiffening when the cold marble meets her arse. I laugh again. They just keep coming. I leave her when I know she’s stable, trying to remember which cupboard Cathy put the glasses in. I open one. No glasses. The next. No glasses. The next.
Ah. Glasses.
I snatch one down and pull open a drawer, riffling through for my faithful Alka-Seltzer.
“You don’t know where you keep your own glasses?”
“I’m learning,” I give the sachet a little shake. “My housekeeper tried to tell me, but I was a little distracted.” By you, I add in my head, mixing the powder in the glass with some water and taking it to her. I shouldn’t be offering a cure. I should be leaving her to suffer all day to increase the chances of her swearing off drink. She frowns at the glass. “Alka-Seltzer. It’ll sort you out within half an hour. Drink.”
She accepts willingly, closing one eye to focus on the glass, her hand shaking terribly. I know how that feels. Hate how that feels. I claim the glass and move in, lifting it to her lips, now keen to take away her pain. She downs it like she’s not hydrated for weeks.
“More?” I ask, and she shakes her head. I set the glass aside.
“I’m never drinking again.” She plummets forward, colliding with my chest, and I smile mildly as I caress her back, hoping for both our sakes she doesn’t.
“That would please me to no end. Promise me you won’t get in that state when I’m not around to look after you.” Or ever at all.
“Did we argue?”
“No, I submitted power temporarily.”
“That must have been a challenge.”
I smile at her sass and ping her bra strap. “It was”—she has no idea how challenging—“but you’re worth the effort.” And the stress, and the headache, and the whole heap of crazy she brings into my life. Burying my face in her hair, I silently beg her to forgive me for . . . everything.