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)
This is just typical of Ava. Ignore the problem. Walk away. When will she start dealing with things head-on? We haven’t got time to waste on arguing. I, more than anyone, know life’s too short.
Enough.
I jog past Ava and jump in front of her, and she startles, inhaling her shock. “What are you doing?” she snaps.
Could be me, but she doesn’t look too pleased to see me. Fuck. Even at our worst she’s always struggled to hide her desire, even when just looking at me. Not today. What the fuck? “You wouldn’t answer your phone,” I say, studying her curiously as she shifts on the spot, more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen her. “Maybe you didn’t hear it.”
“You were following me?”
She’s surprised? Does she know who she married? I scowl at myself. “Where are you going?” I ask, moving into her.
She moves away. “A client.”
“I’ll take you.”
“I’ve told you,” she says over a sigh, “I need space, Jesse.”
“How much space and for how long?” Touch her. “I married you on Saturday and you left me on Sunday.” My hand reaches for her of its own volition, sliding down her arm to her hand, holding it. And there it is. Shortness of breath, a shiver, a swallow. But I can’t just depend on that, and I know she’ll fight it with all she has to make her point. “I’m struggling, Ava,” I whisper, watching my fingers entwine with hers, seeing our rings sparkle together. She’s not taken it off. I look up to gage her expression, thankful to see she’s not displaying the same, cold blankness she left me with last night. She doesn’t like to see me struggle. I know she doesn’t. She’s gone to extreme lengths to make sure I know she can’t stand the thought of me being hurt. Well, I’m hurting now, and she can fix it. “Without you, I’m really struggling.”
Her eyes close, hiding from the broken man before her, and her body shakes, fighting the magnet drawing her closer. “I really need to go.” She turns, and her hand slips out of mine.
“Baby, please,” I call to her back. “I’ll do anything. Please, don’t leave me.” She stops, and I feel my hope lift. “Let me at least drive you,” I say. Baby steps. “I don’t want you on the train.” Falling over, hurting yourself, having other men saving you. “Just ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.”
Ava slowly turns to face me. “It’ll be quicker on the tube.”
“But I want to take you.”
“We won’t make it in time with the . . .” She frowns, and I hitch a brow. We absolutely will make it in time. No question. Her shoulders drop. “Where’s your car?”
She’s softening. Thank you. I push my chances a little more, tentatively reaching for her hand and lacing our fingers, waiting for her to retract, bracing myself for the disappointment. She watches as we come together. I definitely catch her subtly gulping. It feels so good to hold her hand.
I gently tug her, encouraging her on, watching her as we walk side by side to the car park. Silence. It’s so fucking uncomfortable, but still better than being alone. I get my keys and finally but reluctantly let go of her hand when we get to the car, opening the door for her. I bend, ready to put her seatbelt on, but withdraw, remembering myself. Too much? I don’t know.
“Where am I going?” I put on some music, anticipating the further stretch of silence ahead of us, filling it while I figure out what to say and how to say it.
“Luxemburg Gardens, Hammersmith,” she replies quietly, not looking at me.
“Okay.”
I can smell regret on her. Sense her hopelessness. It’s . . . I can’t put my finger on it. Odd. There’s no anger, and I know she should be angry at me. She’s so withdrawn. Sad.
Done?
I swallow, returning my attention to the road when the traffic starts moving again. I know I’ve fucked up, I know she has every right to be like this with me, but I have a funny feeling in my gut, and I’m terrified it’s because this really is the end.
No.
I can’t accept that.
Constantly splitting my attention between the road and Ava, I will her to speak up, while I continue to search for the right words and the miles tick down. I’m pulling into Luxemburg Gardens far sooner than I’d hoped. “Here will do,” she says, unclipping her belt before the car’s stopped. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” My mind remains blank as I watch her get out of the car, and panic inevitably sets in. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Will you have dinner with me tonight?” I blurt quickly, seeing her freeze on the curb, the door half closed.
“You just asked for ten minutes,” she says calmly. “And I gave them to you. You said nothing.” The door closes, and I stare at the steering wheel, even blanker, my forehead bunched. Ouch. Maybe I didn’t speak in the car, but I told her how badly I’m struggling. If that’s not a plea for her mercy, then I don’t know what is.