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 reach for her knee under the table a squeeze, dragging her attention from the back of the restaurant to me. “I cannot believe you did that.” She shakes her head as I remove the champagne, pushing it out of smelling distance.
“Why?”
She doesn’t reply, her attention on the back of the restaurant again. She’s distracted. “Do you know that woman?” she asks.
“What woman?” I follow her gaze.
“There.” She nods her head, making me crane mine more. “The woman with the pale blue cardigan. Can you see?”
Pale blue cardigan? I can’t see a pale blue cardigan. I start to turn back toward the table, but someone a few tables away gets up from their chair, clearing the way to the next table at the back of the restaurant.
All air drains from my lungs so fast, I jolt. And when I try to inhale, nothing happens. I can’t breathe as I stare into her eyes.
My mother.
I return to face the table, my body turning cold. Act normal. I try to stop my hands from shaking, clenching my fists. I try to push back the stressed sweat. I try to blink my dry eyes. I’m incapable. It’s been years since I’ve seen her. Seen any of them. What the hell is she doing here? It’s Amalie’s wedding weekend in Seville. She shouldn’t be here!
“What’s the matter?” Ava’s palm comes at me, and I move back in my chair, trying to avoid it before she feels how cold and clammy I am. “Jesse?” she presses, the worry in her voice forcing me to shake my head clear, and hopefully the haunted expression from my face too. “Jesse, what’s wrong?” I blink my focus back, my eyes scratchy, and find Ava staring at me, worried.
I look down at the table. Play it down. But my hands are still shaking, and there is nothing I can do to stop them. “We’re leaving.” Escape. My hand catches a glass as I get up from my chair, my trembling body failing me. Ava looks up at me, her face a picture of concern as I yell at myself to pull it together, rootling through my pocket for my wallet. I drop some money on the table and Ava allows me to pull her perplexed form up from the chair and guide her through the tables with no protest. When we make it outside, I take the lead, urgency ruling me. I steer her toward the car, starting to feel some resistance. Fuck.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks with panic. I aim the fob at my car and yank the passenger door open. She’s unmoving before me, looking up at me in question. Get in, please, baby. I need you to get in the car. But I can’t speak the words. I’ve lost my voice, but I haven’t lost my sight.
My mother hurries out of the restaurant pulling her blue cardigan in, looking up and down the street. I pull in air, my heart beating wildly. In desperation, I take Ava’s arm, trying to get her in the car. Mum sees me. I try harder to move Ava, but she’s rigid.
“Jesse?” Mum says, hurrying over but slowing as she nears. As if approaching a volatile animal. Coaxing it into trusting her. Ava turns to face her, and Mum’s eyes move between Ava, her stomach, and me. Jesus.
“Ava, baby,” I say, quiet but shaky. Her expression isn’t one I’d like to archive. Utter shock. She knows who this is. “We’re going.”
“Jesse, son,” Mum whispers, her eyes unbearably cloudy.
Son? I’m her son? Then why the fuck did she treat me differently to her other son? “You don’t get to call me that,” I grate, trying to get Ava moving. “Ava, get in the car.”
Thank God, she finally moves, walking straight to the open door and lowering to the seat. Closing the door, I stride around the back, avoiding Mum at the front, but she meets me at the driver’s door, blocking it.
Fuck.
“Jesse, please,” she begs. My face bunches, so many painful memories assaulting me. I can’t take it. “Please, I beg you, let’s talk.” She reaches for my arm, touching me. Holding me. Her eyes are beseeching. Sad. Desperate. Eyes that are older than I remember. “It never had to be like this.”
“You and Dad made it like this.” I pull myself free of her hold and back off, unwilling to push past her or move her. She looks so frail.
“We only ever wanted what was best for you.”
By forcing me into marriage? Deciding my future? Reminding me every day that Jake was gone and it was entirely my fault?
Did they, Jesse? Isn’t that what you told yourself?
I growl, physically pushing Jake’s voice away with my hand on my head, turning away from my mother, unable to see her looking so distressed. The floodgates of my past have burst, and the memories are fucking relentless.