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)
Because when I close my eyes, I might not like what I dream. Ghosts. All pointing their fingers at me.
Guilty.
I never appreciated how incredibly hard it is to simply talk. Just talk, tell, explain, beg for mercy. But exposing that side of me, all of my depravities, outright confessing my unforgivable sins to the woman I love? It would be as good as handing her a gun and telling her to put a bullet in me. Offering up endless reasons to walk away. Why would I do that? I know I’m not good enough for her. I know I don’t deserve her. I know she could do better than me. I feel like the serpent in the garden of Eden. Like I don’t belong. Like I’m taking something good and ruining it.
My mouth falls to her head buried in my chest. “I love you,” I whisper, like it’s the answer for all things.
But sadly, love ruins more than it heals.
I have firsthand experience of that.
28
My sleep was broken. It’s as if my mind has accelerated into self-preservation mode. Protection. Every time I drifted off, the ghosts came, circling the corners of my conscience, threatening to infiltrate my dreams, and I would wake up with a start. Every hour I found a reason to get up. To use the toilet. To put Ava’s phone on charge. To put mine on charge. To check my messages. To get myself some water.
To talk myself out of effectively trapping Ava into being with me.
By 6:00 a.m. I’m out of things to do and I’ve failed miserably in my attempts to call off my plan. I have had endless opportunities to right my wrongs. Stop taking her pills. Confess. I’ve taken none. I look around the kitchen from where I’m sitting on a stool at the island, waiting for Jake to appear and throw some hard-to-hear words at me. But none come. Perhaps he’s out of sarcasm and jokes.
Perhaps he’s given up on me.
“I’m going to ask her to marry me,” I say to thin air, hoping to maybe prompt him from his grave. I know he’ll think it’s a terrible idea. I’d like the opportunity to explain why it’s the best idea. I know deep down no ring will secure what I have with Ava. But our vows will mean everything, and she’ll know that. She’s a fairy-tale girl. Wholesome, traditional. Just as my previous marriage trapped me, Ava’s would free me. Because I love her. She makes me want the fairy tale too, and I’ll do whatever it takes to give it to her.
I get up and pull my phone off charge, dialing Mikael. Warn him away. Threaten him. Blackmail him. I have to do something. It goes to voicemail, so I hang up and dial again. I get his voicemail again. God damn it. I end the call and dial yet again, and when it goes to voicemail this time, I talk, despite knowing I should keep my mouth well shut. “I don’t know what your fucking game is with Ava, what you’re trying to prove, but I’ll be dead before I let her get on a plane to Sweden. Find yourself another interior designer, Van Der Haus. I won’t ask again.” I cut the call, squeezing my hand around my phone with a force I’m sure could crack the screen. “Fuck.” I slam it down and push the ball of my hand into my forehead. If I could take that call back, I would. I’ve just given him exactly what he wants, and it’s a sign of my state of mind. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I slump down on my stool, rest my elbow on the marble and my head in my hand, slowly turning my phone in circles. I should be looking forward to today. I am looking forward to today.
Focus on today. I swoop my phone up and dial Zoe. I’m a little surprised when she answers, and even more surprised that she sounds wide awake. “Did you bum dial me?”
“No.” I get up and start walking circles around the kitchen, randomly opening door after door, reminding myself of what is kept in each cupboard. “Do you have any available appointments today?”
“On a Friday? No, Jesse. Not in any personal shopper’s world would they have an opening on a Friday at this late notice.”
“Not even for me?” I ask, ashamed of the coyness in my voice.
“What’s it worth?”
I laugh to myself. A few months ago, it would have been well worth Zoe’s while squeezing me in last minute. Both financially and otherwise. These days? “I’m seeing someone,” I blurt, once again ashamed for how I’ve played that down. “Dating.”
“Wow.”
“I know.” I frown at myself. “Actually, it’s more than dating. I’m thinking of proposing.”
She laughs, and doesn’t that speak volumes? “You? Married?”