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)
“Yes.”
I look up. “What?”
“I said yes.” He reaches for my hand and pats it a few times before returning to his coffee. And that’s that. I have his blessing. I’m floored. Thrilled too, naturally, but really fucking floored.
“Oh my God, our girl is getting married,” Elizabeth sings, silencing the café.
“Well, let’s be quiet, shall we?” Joseph says. “Since our girl doesn’t know it yet.”
I refocus on my coffee. Guilty. She knows . . . but doesn’t know. “I’d love it if you would come to dinner at ours tonight.”
“The manor?” Elizabeth asks, and I cough.
“No.” Jesus Christ. “The penthouse.” I need to clear out The Manor before Ava’s parents come within a mile of it. “We’ll get married at The Manor.”
“Oh my,” she breathes, relaxing back in her chair. “What a treat.”
I smile. She has no idea.
* * *
I leave Joseph and Elizabeth to finish their coffees and head back to my car, an unstoppable grin on my face. Everything’s coming together. Everything will be okay.
I cross the road and find a traffic warden standing beside my car taking a picture of the registration. I look down at my watch to check how long I’ve been here. Barely over an hour.
“I paid to park,” I say as I approach.
He hardly looks up. “Only for an hour.” He peeks at his watch. “Your ticket expired at twelve fifteen.”
I look at my own watch. “It’s twelve eighteen.”
“It’s twelve twenty, according to mine.”
“What is that?” I ask, trying to see his wrist.
He looks up. “What?”
“Your watch. What make?” It looks like it came out of a Christmas cracker.
He peeks down at it. “A Casio, I think.”
“Well, mine’s a Role—” What the fuck am I doing? “You know what, give me the ticket.” I hold out my hand on a smile, and he cocks a brow that’s definitely wary. “Can you speed things up?”
He goes back to his little computer, and I sigh, resting my arse on the bonnet of my car and sending a few messages about tonight’s plans. I smile while I do that too.
“Sir.”
I look up and find the warden looking past me on a furrow of his brow. “Do you know that woman?”
“What woman?” I ask, looking around. I see no one.
“That woman, there. She’s . . .” He pouts, stepping to one side then the other, searching the street, and I find myself mirroring him, my cheerfulness fading. “Oh, she’s gone.”
“She was looking at me?” I don’t want to sound like a dick, but many women look at me.
The warden looks me up and down. “I expect you’re used to it.” He holds the ticket out and nods to my car. “Young, fit”—he waves at the Aston—“rich.”
I laugh and take the ticket. “I’ve never been issued compliments at the same time as a parking fine.”
“First time for everything, sir. Have a good day.”
“You too.” I hop in my car and pull out and, naturally, I have another scan of the street, my skin prickly. It’s as if my mind can’t allow me to have this newfound freedom from the shit that’s always held me prisoner in guilt and grief.
52
She sleeps for England, all day long. Cathy’s left one of her famous lasagnas on the counter with a note to freeze it if we don’t eat it today. My stomach growls at the sight of it. I’m hungry, but we have dinner plans tonight, so I serve myself a small portion and put the rest in the freezer. I go to my office and sit at my desk while I eat it, running over my words, my plan, but I’m constantly distracted by the bare wall before me, and not for the first time I wonder why Ava never had anything hung there when it so obviously needs it. I open my laptop, smiling, and google Bespoke Wallpaper.
A few hours later, I’ve uploaded all of my favorite pictures of Ava and I have what can only be described as a masterpiece on my screen. Happy, I order way too may rolls. Then I search for a wedding planner while I eat. We’re going to need one if I’m going to turn this around as fast as I want to.
After I’ve put my plate in the dishwasher, I head upstairs, brush my teeth, strip down, shower and shave, and by the time I’m done, she’s still asleep. I stand at the end of the bed, watching her as I dry off. “Ava, baby, it’s time to wake up.” Her forehead bunches, her lashes flutter. “Good morning, baby.”
She looks around the bedroom a little disorientated. “It’s not, is it?”
“No, it’s five o’clock.” I drop the towel and join her on the bed. “You’ve been asleep all afternoon. How does your back feel?”
“It feels okay,” she says, rubbing into the sheets. “I’m a lazy arse, wallowing in bed all afternoon on a workday.”