Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“The St. James’s Hotel and Club.”
“Nice.”
“So, your address? We’ll head over now.”
Oh Jesus, this is not ideal. “Actually, I was heading out for a run shortly. I’ll be around the royal parks—seems crazy not to meet up.”
“And Ava?”
I look at the door. “She has some work stuff to catch up on.” I slap my forehead with my palm. “Truth is, Mrs. O’Shea, I was hoping to meet you and your husband before I tell Ava you’re here.”
“Why?”
Lord, she’s hard work. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”
She gasps. “My God, she’s pregnant, isn’t she? That’s why she’s moved in.”
I balk. “God, no.” Someone slap me. Dan’s obviously spoken to his parents about Ava’s living arrangements. Fucker. “Would you mind? Meeting? I’m sure you’ve got plenty you want to know about me, and I know it’ll make Ava uncomfortable if you’re firing your questions at me while she’s there.”
She laughs. “God, you do know her well.”
I smile. That feels good. “About an hour?”
“Call me when you’re nearby.”
“Thank you.” I disconnect the call and stare at the wall. It really is quite bland. Needs . . . something. I tilt my head. Look down at my phone, thumbing through the pictures. All Ava. I smile, put Ava’s dying phone on charge, and head up to the bedroom. I find her dressed. For work? Shit. She looks at me in the reflection of the mirror briefly before going back to applying her makeup. “Where are you going?” I ask, nervous.
“I’m going to work.”
“No, you’re not.” I flinch. Dickhead.
“Yes,” she counters, calm and collected. Determined. “I am.” She brushes at her cheeks, and I don’t miss the slight jar of her body as she stands tall again. Her back hurts. Another reason for her to stay home. But she would never admit she’s uncomfortable.
“How’s your back?”
“Sore.”
I sink my teeth into my lip, searching for the words. God damn it, Amalie leads to my parents, my parents lead to Jake, Jake leads to Carmichael, Carmichael leads to Rosie . . .
I can’t tell her about Amalie without turning out the whole dirty story.
“Where’s my phone?” Ava asks, looking at me for an answer, her head slightly tilted.
“It’s charging in my office.”
“Thank you.” Collecting her bag, she leaves, and her walking out on me feels so much worse than telling Ava about Amalie. I rush forward and jump in front of the doorway, blocking her escape, and she gasps, stepping back, looking up at me. I can see her body bracing to be manhandled.
“Let’s talk,” I blurt. “Please, don’t go. I’ll talk.”
She can’t hide her surprise. “You want to talk?”
Yes, and I’m as surprised as you. “Well, I can’t fuck any sense into you,” I say, moody. “So I guess I’ll have to talk some into you.”
“That is the conventional way of dealing with things, Jesse,” she says on a sigh. Conventional? Since when have we been conventional?
“Yes, but my way is much more fun.” I smile when I see her holding her own back. But she won’t release it. Trying to be a grown-up, I expect. Or demonstrate control. Whatever. I absolutely cannot go back to fearing if we have a relationship left to salvage.
I get closer. It’s tactical. And I hold her hands. That’s tactical too. But I give her words to go with our super-charged energy. “I’ve never had to explain my life to anyone, Ava.” Never wanted to either. “It’s not something I relish the thought of talking about.”
“I’m not marrying someone who refuses to open up,” she says, soft but firm. “You keep holding information back then we end up in a huge mess.”
“I didn’t tell you things because I was scared you would run.” And she did. Endlessly, and she’s doing it now.
I’m not helping. Her sigh tells me so. “Jesse, I’ve found out some pretty shocking stuff,” she says. “And I’m still here.”
“Ava, you know more about me than any other living soul. I’ve never been close to anyone, not like you.” And I’ve definitely not wanted to be close to anyone. “You don’t tend to get caught up in conversation and life stories when you’re just fucking someone.” Did I say that out loud? Her flinch says yes.
“Don’t say things like that.”
I shouldn’t talk at all. It doesn’t get me anywhere. Someone wise once said actions speak louder than words. I like that someone. But I reluctantly accept that Ava is actually right. I don’t want her to be, but she is. I’ve got to open up about that part of my life. It just hurts. It hurts so bad.
I take us to the bed and sit us down. “The last time I saw my parents it didn’t go particularly well,” I begin, trying to lock away the emotions and give it to her as it is. “My sister was a bit underhanded and set us up to meet. My father had a rant, my mother got upset, and I got very drunk.” My go-to solution at the time to escape. “So you can imagine how it ended.” Messy. Really fucking messy. From what I can remember, anyway. Which is a lot of swearing. A lot of accusations. A lot of truths. I yelled at them, and they yelled back. Actually, Dad yelled. Mum mostly cried.