Chapter 13
ROMAN
I 've walked the length of this fucking city at least three times in the past two hours, unable to sleep.
Ava won't answer my texts, I'm sick of sleeping in this hotel alone, and I miss my family.
I know I'm the only person to blame, but other than punching myself repeatedly in the face, I'm not going to change anything.
God, if I could, I would.
What was I thinking, fucking someone else when I had Ava? Ava, whose throaty laugh made my dick hard instantly, the face she made when she came, how she stared at me with utter love and adoration, not to mention how fucking beautiful she is.
I’m an idiot.
I spot the hotel up ahead and groan. I feel like it’s Groundhog Day, chasing my tail and ending up in the same place each time.
But wait.
A woman crosses the road, her hair blowing out behind her, a beautiful smile on her face. She looks just like my Ava, and my chest aches. She's even got the same jacket as Ava.
I freeze.
Surely not...
I stop, glancing back at where she'd come from—the hotel I'm staying in—and clock where she's going.
The coffee shop. Ava loves her morning coffee—but loads of people do, right? I'm probably hallucinating.
That can't be Ava. I check my watch—it's eight in the morning. Why would Ava be leaving a hotel at eight in the morning?
My legs stop moving as she turns to let a lady leave the coffee shop, laughing and smiling before she ducks in, disappearing from my sight.
That's fucking Ava. That's my wife.
And she's just left a hotel early in the morning.
My soul drops.
"What the fuck?" I mutter, striding to the coffee shop, checking who she's meeting in there.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's not Ava.
Please let me be wrong.
My heart thuds in my chest as I stop by the coffee shop window, scanning the line until I see her peering at the pastries.
"Raspberry croissant," I murmur as she places her order, blood draining from my face when the barista selects that exact fucking croissant.
It's her. It's my wife .
I can't help but stare at her, watching how she smiles, the glow in her cheeks, her mussed up hair.
She looks as sexy as fuck, and my gut churns.
She looks like she's just been fucked, like she spent the night with some guy banging the fuck out of her—out of my wife. My fists clench, and I try to think rationally—Ava would never sleep with another man. Even after what I did. She’s better than that—better than me.
Maybe she came looking for me?
Hope blooms in my chest, and I nod, trying to convince myself that she didn't spend the night with someone else, that she came to see me, and I probably just need to check my phone. I yank it out, keeping an eye on Ava as she finds a table for two and sits down, placing two plates down.
So she's hungry. That's fine—most people order two things.
Right?
No texts.
Nothing from Ava.
She pulls her phone out and texts someone—not fucking me—and smiles when she gets a reply.
Who is she fucking texting?
Her face...she looks so happy, nothing like she did the last time I saw her which was barely two days ago. How can she be like this when she's been distraught and barely able to leave the house?
What changed?
Then she gets up, smiling at the barista while he hands her two drinks.
Two drinks .
There's no denying it; she's meeting someone.
I back away, unable to cope with that thought. Maybe it's Shannon.
A girls’ night away?
Yeah, that must be it.
But when I step away from the window, before she sees me, turning back toward the hotel, I see someone striding out of it, laughing with the doorman.
Someone I recognize, and a pit forms in my stomach.
No.
It's Kieron. Her best friend . Her best friend who must've flown over the fucking Atlantic Ocean to be there for her.
Of course, he fucking did.
I turn away so he doesn't recognize me, then follow him back to the coffee shop.
By this point, I don't care who sees me; the fucking reporters could film me all day long for all I care.
I want to know why my wife spent the night in a hotel room with her male best friend who has wanted her for fucking years .
Kieron heads into the coffee shop with a cocky swagger I detest, giving her a little wave. She blushes and looks at him with a smile that tells me everything I need to know. He leans down and kisses her forehead, and I tell myself I must be overreacting. He hasn't done anything to suggest?—
But then his hand strokes her thigh beneath the table. He leans in close— too fucking close —and she giggles like a lovestruck teenager.
I can't help it—she's my fucking wife, and he can't touch her.
Who does he think he fucking is?
I storm into the coffee shop, barging past the people in the line as I head for their table, staring at Ava as she glances my way, doing a double take.
"I’m not interrupting anything, am I?" I rasp, my voice raw, my adrenaline pumping in my ears.
Ava sighs heavily and crosses her arms, apologizing to Kieron before turning to me. "Roman, I'm having breakfast with my best friend. Do you mind?"
Her tone shocks me. It's ice cold with no sense of love or warmth in it at all. I almost stumble on my disbelief when she turns her attention back to Kieron.
Is she insane? What the fuck is she doing?
"Ava," I say, trying to calm my racing heart. "I saw you leave the hotel. Both of you. "
Kieron, the fucking prick , says nothing, letting Ava answer. And as soon as she does, I wish she didn't.
"Yes, and?" She regards me coolly, like I'd told her I liked the colour blue.
Why isn’t she telling me it was just platonic? That I’m overreacting?
My fists bunch beside me as Kieron finally speaks.
"I think you should leave, mate."
The fucking audacity of this cunt.
"I'm not your mate ," I respond through gritted teeth, looming over him. "And you just spent the night in a hotel with my fucking wife."
Kieron begins to rise to his feet, but Ava jumps up, eyes locking onto mine.
"Outside, now ," she hisses before pushing past me, leaving no room for argument.
"If you touched her—" I tell Kieron through gritted teeth, just as Ava practically drags me to the exit, "I'll fucking kill you!"
"For fucks sake , Roman!" Ava whirls around once we're outside, her eyes flashing. "This isn't about me and Kieron!"
Her and Kieron?
"What the fuck does that mean?" I snarl, ready to go and kill the bastard for even looking at my wife. "You and Kieron?!"
Ava laughs, tilting her head as she says, "Aww, are you jealous, Ro?"
I freeze, shaking my head.
My wife wouldn't screw Kieron—she wouldn't. They're just friends. But the way she's looking at me—like she doesn't give a fuck if I'm jealous or not—tells me otherwise. Because this woman is not my wife. My wife is faithful, caring, loyal—she's not like this.
"You know what, Ro?" she continues, moving closer so I can smell her signature scent: vanilla and cashmere, and something else. Something that isn't her. Something that smells of him . "I like this whole screwing other people thing. Maybe this is exactly what our marriage needed."
I shake my head, a heaviness forming in my gut. "Ava, no."
My world is falling apart.
This can't be happening.
"You didn't..." My voice is hoarse, my heart slamming in my chest, rage blinding my vision. "You would never...let him..."
"Fuck me? Make me come?" Ava says, her eyes glinting. "Oh, I let him, Roman. And you know what? I think I'll let him again. Don't you fucking dare say anything to me after what you did to us. You. Did. This." She jabs me in the chest, punctuating each word.
She looks me up and down, her lip curling in disgust, then shakes her head and strides back into the coffee shop, glancing behind her one last time.
"Oh, and don't even fucking think about going near Kieron. I instigated everything. I crossed the lines. This is all on you, and I want a divorce."
Then she's gone, leaving me on the sidewalk with nothing but a broken heart and a rage that knows no bounds.
There's no way she's getting a divorce, and no way he's touching her ever again.
Not a fucking chance.