Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe you just did that,” she splutters, her limp hand indicating the scraps of material decorating the island. Honestly, neither can I. But if she thinks I’ll leave that dress in her wardrobe to brandish like a weapon every time she’s got the hump with me, she’s wrong.
Which is crystal clear to her now the dress is no more.
“Don’t play games with me, Ava,” I say quietly but firmly.
Her mouth drops open, and I watch, slightly amused, as she searches for some words.
Eventually, her fuzzy mind gives her some instructions and she shoves a finger in my face. “You’re crazy!”
Short and to the point. And she’s not wrong, but she’s got a fucking nerve to sound so accusing when it is her sending me that way. “I fucking feel it,” I yell. I have so much more to say. So many words to shout. So many rules to lay down. But, fuck me, I’m exhausted by my anger. “Get your arse to bed.”
She recoils, stunned, as I heave before her. “I’m not getting in bed with you.” Her shoes are removed, and she stomps away, muttering as she goes. I hear the stairs shake under her angry feet, and then a door slam. I stare at the empty space before me, knowing I need to calm the fuck down before I go after her. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, swiping up the scraps of material and stuffing them in the bin. “The woman is impossible.” I get more water, my throat feeling sore. Then I make my way to my room.
I sigh when I find she’s not in our bed, rolling my eyes and backing out. She’s in the last spare room I check, the one farthest from our bedroom. I scan all of the fancy dress cushions littering the carpet, the ones she’s tossed around in a temper, as I pace to the bed and lift her into my arms, and there is not one word of complaint. In fact, she snuggles into my suit jacket. She’s so fucking confusing. I put her where she should be—in our bed—and start stripping down as she buries her face in a pillow. I know I catch an exhale of contentment, and yet when I crawl in behind her, she finds that irritating defiant streak and pushes my hands away when I reach for her.
“Get off!”
“Ava,” I growl.
“Tomorrow, I’m out of here.” She breaks free and I laugh, so fucking amused. She’s going nowhere. She knows it, I know it. For the love of God, she just cuddled me as I carried her here. Breathed me in on the sheets.
“We’ll see.” I seize her and yank her into my front, making sure she can’t break free. She doesn’t even try, and I’m certain it’s because of the peace that is suddenly enveloping us. This is our bubble, and despite her being affronted, she settles in my arms. The arms that will protect her from everything.
I lie for a time, my eyes wide open, my heart rate stabilizing, but my crowded mind becomes busier. She’s sound asleep. Peaceful. It’s a stark contrast to the turmoil within me. But is it only inner turmoil? Of course it’s not. My unrest must be plastered over every inch of my skin. It’s obvious in all the things I do. This evening I shredded her dress. I would try to reassure myself it was a knee-jerk reaction, but I had plenty of time from the bar to Lusso to reason with myself. I chose not to. It wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction. It was a demonstration of my desperation. Only, she doesn’t know that, and I can’t expect her compassion and understanding while she’s so completely in the dark.
My sigh is long and tired as I break away from her body and sit up against the headboard, and with a lack of my chest supporting her sleeping form, she rolls onto her back. I stare down at her beautiful, sleeping face. “I love you,” I whisper, hating myself for not being able to tell her that. And yet, I know I’m expressing my love in so many other ways. She must see that.
I lean over to my nightstand and grab my phone, going straight to the picture gallery. The grid of images that greet me is all Ava. I scroll back to the beginning of the album. To the day she walked into my office. The day my heart started beating again. The day she became mine.
I swallow and cast my eyes back to her, and still when she murmurs and turns, snuggling into my side, her hand resting over my scar. I point my phone down my torso and catch the moment. The moment I decided that tomorrow, I will start sharing my secrets little by little. My time swinging from ignorant bliss to stark, fearful reality is over. I dip and kiss the top of her head, my eyes squeezing closed. “Please don’t leave me.”