Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Now I’m waiting for her in the hallway so we can meet the gang for dinner. I pace, back and forth, over and over. Where the hell is she? I glance down at my Rolex and sigh. Normally, I’d be up there helping her along in my own little way, but nothing about our lives feels normal any more.
Wandering over to the mirror, I take in my Wentworth grey three-piece, pulling in the jacket and straightening my blue tie. ‘Perfect, Jesse,’ I say to myself, smoothing my hair into place. My hand pauses mid-fix. My suit might be dapper, my body carrying it well, but I look tired. Exhausted, in fact. Jesus, I’ve aged ten years in two weeks. I groan and blink my green eyes, feeling at my stubbled jaw. Stress appears embedded in my skin, clouding my eyes. I actually look my age, and that fucking sucks when you’re fifty. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial my mum.
She’s quick to answer. ‘Jesse? Everything okay?’
‘Yeah, Mum. We’re getting there.’ The last thing I want to do is give her more cause for concern than there is, and there’s already a lot. ‘I need to ask you a question.’
‘What?’
‘Answer truthfully.’
‘Of course.’
‘How old do I look?’
There’s a slight pause, and then she starts chuckling. ‘Darling boy, you don’t look a day over forty.’
I catch myself in the mirror again, scoffing under my breath. ‘You’re just saying that to make me feel better.’
‘You’re tired, son.’
‘Fucking knackered.’
‘Jesse Ward, watch your language.’
‘Sorry,’ I grunt and continue faffing with my hair. ‘How’s Dad?’
‘Worried.’ She doesn’t beat around the bush. She doesn’t need to. Everyone is worried. ‘How is Ava? Any improvement?’
‘A little,’ I admit, wishing I could tell her there’s been a mammoth breakthrough. ‘The doctor’s been encouraged by the small signs we’ve seen so far.’
‘That’s good. You must be pleased.’
I hum half-heartedly, telling myself once again that I’m expecting too much too quickly. ‘I have to go, Mum. I’m taking Ava out for dinner.’
‘Oh, how lovely!’ She sounds thrilled. ‘Bet you’re looking forward to that.’
Not really. ‘I am. It’s like we’re dating again.’
‘Then make sure you woo her.’
‘Are you giving me relationship advice?’ I ask, hitching a sardonic eyebrow. I’ve known my wife for over twelve years. I do not need tips on how to woo her.
‘Well, we’ve all heard of your persistence in the early days of your relationship.’
‘I already told you, Ava exaggerates. I’ll call you tomorrow.’ I hang up, ready to yell my impatience up the stairs, but my phone rings again. I answer without looking. ‘Hello?’
‘Jesse?’ Sarah’s voice sinks into my ear and burns my brain.
‘How did you get my number?’ I’m instantly angry. Fucking fuming. Doesn’t she know what’s good for her? I hear the bedroom door closing. ‘Don’t call me again, Sarah.’
‘But I need—’
I hang up on her, working hard to cool myself down before Ava questions my pent-up state. Be cool. Be calm. Then I catch sight of my wife. ‘What the fuck, Ava?’ It just tumbles out of my mouth but, Lord have mercy, what the fuck is she wearing? I gawk, studying the little red number, every little thread. It doesn’t take me long.
‘What?’ She brushes down the front of her dress with her palms. I’m hoping to get some kind of horrified gasp when she sees the thing that’s clinging to her lithe body, thinking maybe she missed the full-length mirror on the way out of the dressing room. But there’s no gasp. Just a questioning, curved eyebrow as she looks back up at my twitching form.
What? What? Let’s start with the length of the damn thing.
‘Where did you find that?’ I ask.
‘It was at the back of my wardrobe.’
I snort. At the back of her wardrobe hidden from me. When did she get it? When was she planning on wearing it? Shit, has she already? ‘You’re not wearing that.’
Her head tilts, making her long hair skim her half-exposed boobs on one side. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Over my dead, decomposed body, Ava. You and I have a deal,’ I tell her, marching up the stairs towards her, set on turning her right around and sending her back to the bedroom in disgrace.
Her eyes follow me all the way until I’m before her, her face plain confused. ‘What deal?’
‘You wear what I tell you to wear.’ I take her shoulders to turn her, but get shrugged off on a scoff.
She’s off down the stairs before I’ve realised she’s missing from my grasp, leaving me a big bag of incredulous man at the top. ‘I’m changing the deal,’ she calls, fixing an earring in her ear as she goes.
Excuse me? I fly off down the stairs after her. ‘You can’t change the deal.’
‘I just did.’ She disappears into the kitchen as I round the bottom of the stairs at one hundred miles an hour, skidding my way around the corner after her.