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)
I can’t show Ava my anger, but more than that, I can’t show her my hopelessness. So I pluck a smile from nowhere and place a hand on each arm of the chair she’s in, towering over her. Yet when she opens her eyes and I see the vast bleakness in them, I can’t maintain my false sprightliness. Everything in me sags. “What’s up?” I silently beg her not to try to convince me all is well. I don’t think I’ll be able to hold my temper and stop myself going on a manhunt. But I see her reluctance. Her worry. “Hey, tell me. No more secrets.” What a fucking prick I am. Lowering to my haunches, I implore her to share, to be open with me.
“Okay.” She looks straight into my eyes, and I take her hands, encouraging her, seeing plain as day her lingering hesitance, as well as I can feel my lingering fury. She inhales, and her words come rushing out with the air. “Matt phoned my parents and told them I’m shacked up with a raving alcoholic who beat him up.” She presses her lips together, watching me with wide eyes, moving back slightly, like she’s seeing the unbridled rage rising in me and needs to get out of its reach.
Shacked up? He makes it sound sordid. Raving alcoholic? Slight exaggeration. And I beat him up? I punched him. But I’ll happily make that part of his pile of bullshit accurate.
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“I know.” Her voice is small and timid. “Jesse, how does he know?”
I rise, feeling too coiled crouched on the floor, hoping stretching my body out will release the tension. Good fucking question. “I don’t know, Ava.” But I will be finding out, as well as teaching Matt a lesson or two in telling tales. First, don’t fucking do it, especially when they star me or Ava. Second, if he can’t stop himself, at least don’t fucking embellish it.
But . . . back to today, which isn’t panning out how I hoped. My sole purpose right now is to get on with our day before I let Matt ruin it. “We need to have a chat with Cathy.”
“Why do we need a chat with Cathy?”
“She’s been away. She needs to know stuff.” I get Ava up from the chair, looking down at the half dress she’s wearing. Honestly, I want to march her back up the stairs and get her into something far more reasonable, but judging by the look on her face, that won’t go down all too well and today has already been too much. And it’s only nine.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, that’s why we need to talk to her.” Specifics, Cathy said.
“No. You, Jesse,” she counters, removing her hand from mine, stopping me from taking her into the kitchen. “This is your place, she is your housekeeper.”
Really? She’s going to do this now? Hasn’t there been enough tension for her today? “Ours,” I bark, pulling her into me, trapping her. “You really know how to rub me up the wrong way.” And the right way, actually. When she doesn’t abandon me. I subtlety press against her. “Which reminds me. That was cruel and unreasonable. I waited upstairs and you didn’t show.”
“What did you do?” she asks on a suppressed giggle. This is it. This is more like it. No shit, not today.
“What do you think I did?”
Her laughter is life—erection-inducing stuff—the delighted sparkle in her eyes blinding. Yes, you have the power, baby. I roll into her firmly, shutting her up. But I’m taking it back.
Unfortunately, she escapes my arms and my intention, grinning as she smiles and pats down the front of her dress. “I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” I pull her back and kiss her hard. “Don’t do it again.” And then push her away, relishing the almighty scowl on her face.
“Go talk to your housekeeper,” she grates around her rolling jaw.
“Ours,” I correct her again. “For fuck’s sake, woman.” I take her jaw and get nose to nose with her. “You’re impossible.”
“You go and talk to the housekeeper. I need to make peace with Clive.” Wrenching herself free, she goes to the front door, calling a goodbye to our housekeeper, while I scowl at her back.
“Bye,” Cathy shouts from the kitchen, appearing at the doorway armed with a pad and pen. “Now, what milk does Ava like? Skimmed, semi-skimmed, whole?”
“I . . . I think.” I frown. “No idea.”
“Bread? Whole, granary, white?”
I show the ceiling my palms.
“Brand of shower gel, shampoo, toothpaste?”
I shake my head, lips straight, and Cathy’s pad and pen drop heavily with her hands, hitting the front of her apron.
“How am I supposed to know what to buy at the supermarket?”
That’s not all she’s wondering. She’s wondering how I don’t know this shit when I’m apparently in love with this woman. She’s thinking it’s odd. She’s thinking I should know. “Perhaps it’s best if you talk to Ava yourself.” I get my keys and phone, checking the screen. Nothing. Running upstairs, I grab what I need and race back down, going to Cathy and dropping a kiss on her cheek. “I expect you’ll be gone by the time we’re home. Have a lovely weekend.”