This Woman Forever

Chapter 8

I pass through the glass doors of Lusso with Ava in my arms, feeling her smile on my cheek. Isn’t that what any man wants? A happy wife? But there’s this awful underlying tension lingering, and I absolutely can’t go into another week with it hanging over us. Get her inside, sit her down, and talk. It’s all that’s been on my mind since I pulled away from The Manor. I’ll have to speak my truths, I know that. I’ll have to explain my reasoning, show her my vulnerability, I know that. She’s pregnant. She has to be. Everything points to it—the emotions, the vomiting, the tiredness.

We’ve been through so much, I know we can get through th?—

I stop abruptly halfway across the marble floor, my head emptying when my eyes and brain register someone behind the desk. Someone who definitely isn’t my usual old, round concierge. Who the fuck is this?

He looks up at me as he talks on the phone, and I take him in. All tall, good-looking, young inch of him. Jesus Christ, is this the new concierge? My eyes naturally narrow as he looks back at me with a wary gaze. Yes, be wary, kid. Be very wary. I feel my chest expand of its own volition and my grip of Ava tightens. He definitely takes a step back, despite the meters of marble between us. How old is he? Mid-twenties?

His stare finally moves from me.

Onto my wife.

My beautiful, sexy, mid-twenties wife.

I’ll dig his eyes out with a spoon.

“Where’s Clive?” I ask shortly, feeling Ava wriggling in my arms, trying to remove herself from my hold. Absolutely not. “Stay where you are, lady.”

She laughs a little but does as she’s told. For once. Did I miss the funny part? “You’re behaving like a caveman,” she whispers.

I have nothing to say to that. So I double down on my knob-ish, arrogant behavior. “Shut up, Ava,” I say, making her eyebrows arch in disbelief. She looks like she’s going to slap me. I hope she waits until we’re in private. “Clive?” I ask again, returning my scowling face to my issue. Where the fuck is the old goat who’s been bleeding me dry of cash since I moved in? I like the old boy. We have an understanding. An agreement.

His call now ended, the imposter walks out from behind the desk, and I instinctively peek out the corner of my eye to Ava. Is she checking him out? With a poorly concealed grin on her face?

“I’ll be working alongside Clive, sir,” he says. I flip my wife a scowl she can’t appreciate because she’s too busy taking in the new concierge. “I was supposed to start my new position some time ago. Personal reasons delayed the commencement of my employment here.” Personal? What, like he had to finish school? “I’m Casey, sir.” He comes at me with his hand offered. “I look forward to assisting you with anything you may... well”—he smiles, awkward—“need assistance with.”

There is nothing in this world that this kid could help me with.

The kid that looks about the same age as your wife?

“Mr. Ward,” I tell him, ignoring Ava trying to get herself on her feet again and ignoring the new concierge’s hand, because mine are currently busy locking down their hold. I hear her huff. She can huff all she likes. This pubescent thing has the hots for my wife. It’s written all over his face.

“Nice to meet you, Casey,” Ava says, chirpy and upbeat. Oh? So she’s happy? I see her hand come up in front of us. I step back. I didn’t tell my feet to move. They just... did. I can feel her incredulous stare on my profile. I hope she’s thinking about how handsome her husband is as she drills holes into me. How talented he is in the bedroom. How much he loves her. How?—

Ava’s suddenly out of my arms and in front of the concierge, giving him her hand. Take it, you die, kid. Stupid fuck takes it. “Welcome to Lusso,” she chirps.

“Thank you, Ava,” he says, flicking a wary look my way. I narrow my eyes further. Ava? That’s very bold. I’m about to give him a lesson in appropriate ways to address residents, but he goes on. “Nice to meet you too. You’re in the penthouse?”

“Yes,” Ava says. “That’s us.”

Us. Husband and wife. Possessive husband and wife.

“Maintenance called to say your new front door has arrived from Italy,” he says.

“That’s great, thank you.”

Am I supposed to just stand here like a spare part while my wife and the concierge have a nice old natter? “Have maintenance fit it without delay,” I snap.

“Already done, sir.” He dangles a pair of keys, and I snatch them, chucking him my car keys before claiming my wife and escorting her to the elevator. “Bring the cases up,” I order as I hit the call button, peeking down at Ava. She’s amused. Good for her. I’m not. And is she forgetting that she is quite the pro at this trampling business too?

The doors open, I get Ava inside, and I don’t wait for them to close before I pounce. She was expecting this. Probably hoping for this. I love nothing more than showing my wife who has the power. “He fancies you,” I whisper, pressing my body into hers, feeling her torso sink with her inhale. Isn’t that just wonderful? No matter how much she anticipates me, calls for me, braces herself for me, she can never control her reactions.

“You think everyone fancies me.”

“That’s because they do,” I whisper, hearing the doors close as I fight my compulsion to push her to her knees and make her apologize for laughing at me. Can’t do that, she might throw up, and I absolutely need us connected on a physical level right now. We haven’t had sex for nearly thirty-six hours. We’ll talk after. “But you’re mine.” I kiss her harder than I mean to, and she welcomes my force with a telling, whimpering moan and by grabbing me, pulling me closer.

“I’m yours,” she vows, going at me, starved.

“You don’t need to reassure me.” I slip my hand under her dress and, I swear, feel her throbbing against my palm as her tongue hardens, fighting with mine. Everything hard. I push my finger into her knickers. Inhale at the hot, wet feel of her flesh. “Wet.” So fucking drenched, just like that. One kiss, one touch, she’s mine. “Just for me. Understand?”

“I understand,” she gasps, her walls sucking me in deeper. “More.”

Breaking our kiss, I lean into her, watching her eyes darken by the second. I pull my finger out and add another, my lips parting as I push them into her, and she breathes in, staring into my eyes. “Like that?” I whisper, watching her taking it, struggling to keep her head up, struggling to speak. “Like that, Ava?”

“Just like that.”

Fuck, I could watch her all day as I fuck her with my fingers. “Or would you prefer my cock slamming into you?” Passion and possessiveness are ruling me. I can’t stop this, the familiar feelings of power overcoming me, the need inside to prove to Ava and myself that I can be the best lover, take her to the clouds, keep her addiction alive and feed it. She swallows as I massage her, her hands moving to my jeans as her gaze drops. Lusty, heavy eyes. Eyes that are so expressive. Eyes that remind me of the first time she succumbed to our chemistry. I saw it back then. The struggle she was having to resist me.

We stare at each other as she undoes my fly and slides her hand into my boxers, claiming me. I bite down on my teeth. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I want this,” she whispers, rubbing over my shaft slowly. “I want you inside me.”

My groan is suppressed as I pick her up, and she wraps every limb around me. “I knew you were a sensible girl.” I can feel the pressure inside building as I carry her out of the elevator and get us inside.

Straight up the stairs.

Straight into the bedroom.

“You make me a desperate fucking mess, Ava.” Straight on the bed.

Her dress off, my T-shirt off, my shoes, jeans, boxers all off.

All while she watches, her chest pumping.

Knickers, off.

Bra, off.

The pressure builds, my dick weeps, and I cast my eyes down her naked body, breathing out my awe. She sits up, pulling me to stand between her open thighs, and kisses my stomach as I comb through her hair with my fingers. Just her lips on my skin. Calm. I take the moment while she’s adoring my stomach with her mouth to watch her. Stillness. I look down at her.

My wife. I keep saying it, thinking it.

Can I believe it?

I don’t think I ever will.

To love her, make her smile, take care of her, protect her.

Complete.

She peeks up at me, her hands all over my torso, and pecks her way up to my neck. I close my eyes as she directs me to her mouth, helping her to climb onto me, accepting her kiss, devouring her mouth slowly and firmly. I take her into the bathroom, the place where she first surrendered to me, and step over the chaise, lowering. “We need to make friends,” I whisper, seeing her brief smile before I bring our mouths together again. “No one will ever stop me taking you, Ava.” I don’t even know what I’m saying—just speaking, throwing out declarations, making sure Ava knows who she belongs to.

“Good.”

I hiss when she tugs on my hair, my cock aching from being so hard for so long. I circle the girth, grunting, the pressure around the base easing the painful throb a little. But not much. A bead of sweat trickles down my temple. I breathe out, searching for restraint before I give in to what she wants, what she’s been trying to get out of me for weeks.

To fuck her hard and fast, without apology.

Can’t.

Releasing her mouth, I pull back, smiling on the inside at her mumble of displeasure. “My girl wants it hard.” But I can bring her round to slow and intense. Always do. It’s never any less overwhelming when we take our time. Love each other. Watch each other.

I ease her down, feeling her resistance.

“Jesse,” she gasps, shaking in my hold, fighting me.

Condom.

Really?

“Ava,” I breathe harshly, pleading. “I’m taking you now, and you’re not going to stop me with trivial fucking requests.” I tug a little harder, and the moment I have her mouth, I feel her soften, and the moment the tip of my weeping dick brushes her pussy, I feel her complete surrender. The friction could kill me, skin on skin for the first time in weeks, no condom, and no fierce refusal from Ava. My mind bends, the pleasure and sensations too intense for me to consider why now she’s allowing this. Because we’re married? Because she’s accepted the situation? I don’t know.

Her legs wrapped around my hips, she forces her boobs to my chest, moaning constantly, appreciating what we’ve both been missing for so long.

“Oh Jesus, fucking perfect,” I mumble, overcome, trying to focus on kissing her and absorbing her. I close my eyes and soak up the pleasure, feel her mouth on my neck, her nails in my arms, her sweat on my tongue as I lick the small void on her collarbone.

“Move.” Her hoarse whisper heats my flesh where her mouth rests. “Please move.”

“In time, baby.” I need to take a moment and reel myself in. “Just let me feel you for a moment.” I help her hands to my neck, my breathing becoming more labored, and I’ve not even attempted movement yet. I skim the curves of her hips, brush the back of my hand over each nipple, then stroke down and circle her waist, holding her, making sure she doesn’t move before I’m ready. Jesus, I’m struggling on every level, trying to control the deep throb in my dick, trying to control my breathing, trying to control my urge to let loose and sate us. I blow out my cheeks, grit my teeth, and slowly lift her, making sure I have a firm hold to control our moves. She follows my lead, calmly breaking away from her hiding place in my shoulder and gently feeling my chest.

“Don’t try to tell me it doesn’t feel right,” I mumble drowsily, feeling drugged but high. “Don’t try to tell me this isn’t how we’re supposed to be.” Nothing between us, whether that be a someone or something. I grind her onto me slowly, watching her sustaining the unthinkable pleasure. “Not ever.”

“Don’t come inside me,” she croaks.

“Don’t tell me what to do with your body, Ava.” I moan the words, my eyes on her parted lips, wet and inviting. “Kiss me,” I demand, now growling, my body taking over.

My head is forced back by the hardness of her kiss. She can’t get close enough, her torso pressed hard into my chest. Losing her mind. So I must keep mine.

I manipulate all the moves, lifting her, lowering her, grinding up into her.

“You feel so good,” she says, breathless. “Jesse, fuck me.”

“Mouth.” No. “Just like this.” I knew it was coming. No. “We stay just like this.” I’m clenching my teeth again, resisting her demand. I’m outnumbered. Everything is demanding I release my restraint—my cock, my body, Ava. But my head is telling me no. Careful.

“Why are you being so gentle with me?” she asks, sinking her face into my neck, trying to break me down, kissing me, biting, licking my flesh. She’s succeeding. I have to take a moment and a few more breaths.

“Sleepy sex,” I whisper.

“I don’t want sleepy sex.” Her teeth sink into my neck. “Fuck me, Jesse,” she demands huskily, circling her tongue, catching me by surprise and lifting, slamming down quickly before I can stop her.

“Mouth, Ava,” I breathe, sounding drunk, my cock lunging inside her. “Jesus.” I’m losing it. My control is slipping. The tingles are getting too intense. The pressure too much.

I feel her lift again, and I’m powerless to stop her, my dick absorbing the incredible feeling of her walls stroking it. “Yes,” she yells, dropping back down.

My vision becomes blurred. “Ava,” I bark, clamping down on her hips. “No, damn it.” I can’t fuck her like a madman, slam into her, throw her around, pound her hard, knowing of her delicate condition. I’m not making any sense. She’s always delicate. But while she’s keeping our baby safe inside her, I can’t. It feels so... wrong.

Ava locks down every muscle around me, holds me tighter, gasps to match mine. We’re so wet. Inside and out. Slippery. Inside and out. “Stop treating me like glass,” she says quietly, the edge of pleading so loud.

“You are glass to me, baby.” I swallow. “Delicate.”

“But I’m not breakable. I wasn’t two weeks ago, and I’m not now.” She moves, and I fight to hold her in place, worried to face her. Ava wins. She’ll always win. “Hard,” she says, calmly. “I need you hard.”

She needs me. But... “Sleepy.”

“Why?”

I subtly breathe in. She wants to talk now? When I’m balls deep inside her, ready to detonate, and she wants to talk now? Or does she simply want me to confess? It makes no sense to me. She knows. “Because I don’t want to hurt you.” It’s the truth.

“You won’t,” she grates.

I sigh, dropping my eyes, thinking. It’s impossible to think straight when my body is demanding relief.

She moves too fast for me to stop her, rising and falling onto my lap on a yell laced with frustration. I cough over my shock. “Fuck!” I’m back to fighting my compulsion, fighting my body’s instinct to feed Ava’s want. “Fucking hell, Ava, no.”

“Do it,” she hisses, holding my jaw as she kisses me hard, moving her lips to my cheek. “Own me.”

I shake my head, despite my tongue leaving my mouth and entering hers, returning her kiss. She rises and falls onto me again. “Fuck!”

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” she says, hypnotizing me, breaking me down. “Tell me it feels good.”

“Jesus, Ava. Please,” I beg. “Don’t.”

Bang.

“Hmmm,” she hums, holding my face, kissing me, rubbing her cheek against mine, licking the sweat trailing down my temple. “You taste good.” My mind blanks. My body wins. “I need you,” she whispers, driving down.

I roar at the ceiling, willing my dick to calm down.

It’s a battle I can’t win.

She’s finally broken me.

Just like I broke her all those months ago.

I take her waist, my lip curling, and smash her down onto my lap. She was expecting it. But it doesn’t stop her eyes from widening or her yell of surprise at the deepness. I’m so fucking hard, so fucking pent-up. Her fault. “Like that?” I yell.

“Yes!”

Her scream only adds to the pressure.

How loud do you think you’ll scream?—

I stand, flashbacks of Ava standing before me in her little red dress on the launch night of Lusso, looking at me like she wanted me, but acting like she didn’t.

I get her against the wall. “You want it hard, baby?” I growl.

“Fuck me.” Her screamed order bounces off the walls and pistons my hips into action.

“Stop swearing.” I pound into her, choking on every drive, watching her throw her head around, pulling my hair, holding on for dear life. “Better?” I ask. She’s lost the ability to talk, only scream. “You wanted it, Ava. Is that fucking better?”

She blinks, her eyes becoming heavy.

“Answer the fucking question,” I yell.

“Harder!”

“Fuck.” I gulp back some air, banging into her fast, out of my mind with her, all control lost, and focus on reaching the peak of pleasure. No condom. Her cries are constant, her fingernails scratching at my back. I can no longer see straight. I can only hear her muffled cries and my distorted bawls. It’s mad, frenzied, out-of-control fucking, and I can’t stop it. Her walls clench hard around me, trying to slow my moves. She’s coming, her body solid, her eyes rolling with her head. “I’m not done yet, Ava.”

She gasps, climaxing, softening, my sweaty hands gripping her under her thighs, my hips going faster.

Claim the pleasure.

Let it bend me.

Let it put me on my arse.

I blink, chasing my release, looking into Ava’s eyes, feeling her body hardening again. Fuck me, she’s come down and is on her way back up again, her eyes looking panicked, as if she’s not sure she can deal with the intensity so close off the back of her last orgasm. She’s got no choice. She seeks comfort in my mouth, smashing our lips together as hard as I’m pounding into her. My tongue battles with hers. Come on, come on. The sweat pours from my body. Come on, come on. My hands begin to slip on the backs of her legs. Come on!

“Yes,” she yells, giving up my mouth, slamming her head against the wall. “Oh God!”

“Eyes,” I demand when she looks up at the ceiling.

She takes in air and does as she’s bid, looking at me, clawing her hands in my hair harshly. Like she’s mad. She’s mad with me? I stop moving. Take a moment to let the burn cool, take a breath, clear my vision and my hearing.

I see her.

Wet.

Breathless.

Fit for nothing.

I slip out slowly, swallowing, watching her, feeling her stiffen.

Bracing herself.

A small voice at the back of my head is telling me I’ll regret this. It’s not loud enough. I slam into her fast, forcing her into the wall.

She cries out.

I repeat.

She stares at me, searching my eyes.

Then she holds on tighter.

I go again, never taking my eyes off her, as she goads me, takes what I’m giving because what else can she do? She started this. I will finish it. “Hard enough for you, Ava?”

“Yes,” she yells with conviction, no holding back. So neither will I.

I slam into her over and over, her screams fueling me, her body now limp. Over and over, I chase the end, feeling it teasing me, the pressure stuck, waiting to burst out, needing just a little more encouragement while holding me in that constant, divine state of torture. “Come on,” I grate, dripping wet, adjusting my hands on her thighs, trying in vain to hold on. “Come on!”

Fuck.

I’m losing my grip, my pace, the pressure subsiding. I pull her away from the wall and take her into the bedroom, my mind as frenzied as my body. I throw her onto the bed and flip her onto her knees. The moment I have her arse in my sights, I’m back to where I need to be, on the cusp.

I slide into her on a frenzied yell, dropping my head back, gathering myself but unable to stop my body from doing what it needs to do.

“Jesse,” she yells.

I blink and look down at her, seeing her hands bunched in the sheets. “You wanted it, Ava,” I grate.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

“Don’t fucking complain.” What, it’s too hard for her now? She’s had enough of what she’s been begging for?

“Harder,” she counters, pushing back onto me.

I bark her name in warning, holding her still, watching as her arms begin to shake where they’re braced into the mattress. Here comes number three. And along with a few more smashes of our bodies, it’s the push I need to carry me over the edge.

She screams, her throat hoarse, I bellow, the sound animalistic, and I explode, harder than I’ve ever known myself to come in my life. I can’t see. I’m struggling to breathe. My body is shaking as I spill myself into her, dropping to the bed on top of her, crushing her to the mattress.

Beat.

In more than one way.

“Thank you.”

And she thanks me for fucking her like an animal. Thanks me for losing my control.

I slowly peel myself away from her, staring down at her delicate body. And then down at my big, powerful frame. I’m shaking. She can sustain my force, my dominance, my needs.

But a baby?

Fuck.

Ava’s body is rolling as she gasps for oxygen.

Oxygen that our child needs.

And I’ve stolen it.

I shake my head, my thoughts all over the place. I took what I needed. Lost my reason. Lost my mind.

And the guilt that’s just slammed into me hurts. It hurts so bad.

I’m not gasping for air anymore because I’m depleted.

I’m panting because... remorse.

I get up and walk on unstable legs to the bathroom, my head in my hands. How did I allow that to happen? The relief was short-lived, as I always knew it would be, which is why I’ve abstained. Fuck.

I sit on the edge of the bath, looking at my hands, turning them over as they tremble. She asked me why I wanted soft and slow. I didn’t answer. I could have. I should have. “God damn it,” I breathe. God damn me. God damn us.

Enough.

I can’t go through this again. The guilt stings. I hurt Rosie, and I’ll be dead before I knowingly hurt any other child I’m blessed with. And I’m pissed off. Pissed off Ava’s made me lose my control when she knows damn well how hard I’ve fought to keep it. When she knows why I’m treating her with care.

I stalk to the door, ready to face this head-on before I blow up, every inch of my body rolling with my stressed breathing. She’s on the end of the bed, her arms hugging her knees.

She looks as guilty as I feel.

Good. I’m not alone.

What the fuck were we thinking?

“I’ve been taking your pills,” I say quickly, struggling to get the words out, not because I’m reluctant to say it—this ends now—but because my jaw is ticking harder with each second that passes.

I detect only a slight widening of her eyes. Like... shock? Surely not. Her shoulders lift a fraction, making her sit up straight. But that’s all I get.

“I said,” I grate, wondering why the fuck she’s staring at me so blankly. “I’ve been taking your pills.” I think I just need a reaction now. Something. Anything.

I can hear my own breathing. Feel my own shakes. But from Ava? Nothing.

“Ava,” I yell, stepping forward. “For fuck’s sake, woman, I’ve been taking your fucking pills.” My palms slide onto my head and rest there. Come on, give me something. Let’s talk about this. Get it off our chests. “I ne?—”

She moves so fast, she’s a blur, and I back up as she flies at me, stopping directly in front of me. I stare down at her, searching her eyes, seeing anger, fire, and disbelief.

Which just makes me feel nothing but disbelief too. She didn’t click? But she asked me outright. What the fu?—?

Her hand collides with my face, snapping my head to the side, jarring my neck. The burn is instant and intense, the sound ear-piercing, and I blink, shocked, keeping my head and eyes low, not wanting to see the rage in her. Rage I deserve.

But I must face my wrongs and my fears. I don’t know what I expected from this conversation, but the blinding anger pouring from her was not it. I’ve never seen her like this. I slowly, cautiously, lift my head, and the moment I see her eyes, I know another is coming. She doesn’t know what to do, what to say, so she’s lashing out. She doesn’t want to hurt me. She’s not that kind of human.

I lift my hand quickly and catch her flying palm just before it meets my already flaming cheek, but she wrenches herself free and comes at me with both hands, this time balled, hitting me over and over on my chest, pound after pound as she screams and yells.

And I stare at her, taking it, shocked to my core.

I really have made her crazy. Turned her from a level-headed young woman into a deranged, irrational female.

Irrational? Brother, you’ve decided her future. Trapped her.

But how can she be trapped if she wants to be with me?

I don’t know how long I stand in the middle of our bedroom, naked, being hit repeatedly. My upper body is numb.

Ava eventually gasps, pushing both fists into my pecs, her head coming to meet my chest. She’s drained. I’m about to pull her in for a hug, hold her, apologize, when she thrusts me away and bursts into tears, trembling.

I’m back to staring again. Back to being shocked. I prefer being used as a punchbag than seeing Ava cry.

“Why?” she screams at me, arms flailing.

“You were ignoring it, Ava,” I say calmly, staying exactly where I am, respecting her need for space. “I need you to acknowledge this.” And she’s refused. “I needed to spike a reaction from you.” But this? This, I never anticipated.

“I don’t mean why you’ve told me,” she yells, sniveling, roughly wiping her runny nose. “I knew! I mean why the fuck did you do it?”

Why? Isn’t it obvious? It’s not justified, I realize that, but she knows me. She knows how intense my feelings are for her. She knows I will do anything to keep her. But still, again, nothing can justify it. “You make me crazy.” I gulp, swallowing the lump in my throat. “You make me do crazy shit, Ava.”

“So it’s my fault?” she asks, outraged. “My pills started going missing only days after you took me.”

Took her? She makes it sound like I kidnapped her. That she didn’t want me. But I can’t challenge her. I have to let her vent, let her say her piece, and take it like a man.

Her red-rimmed eyes pour with tears. I can’t watch. “I know,” I whisper, staggering back a step when she charges into me and roughly yanks my face to hers. She looks psychotic. It’s as if I’ve dislodged a blockage to her brain that was stopping her from considering exactly what’s happened.

“You don’t get to evade your reasons for this,” she hisses in my face. “You’ve taken it upon yourself to dictate my life.” Her fingers apply pressure on my face, and it hurts. Everything hurts in this moment. “I don’t want a fucking baby,” she screams. And that hurts the most. She doesn’t want kids? “This is my body! You don’t get to make these decisions for me. Tell me why the fucking hell you did this to me!”

She needs me to say it? “Because I wanted to keep you forever.” That’s my truth.

Her hold on my face loosens. “You wanted to trap me.” She steps away, appearing and sounding calm all of a sudden. But I feel her energy as well as I feel my heart beat for her.

“Yes.” I look at my bare feet, ashamed. Always. But it didn’t stop me when I was hiding her pills. Not the first time, and not the last time.

“Because you knew I’d run when I found out about your business and your drinking problem.”

“Yes.” Like you might run now.Like you might run when you find out about my true life before you walked into my office. When you find out I’m the reason everyone I’ve ever loved is dead.

“But I came back after I found out about The Manor and the alcohol problem,” she says, still calm, still even. Getting everything into place. Trying to understand. I have a horrible feeling in my gut that nothing I say will make a difference. “Yet you still took my pills when I replaced them.”

“You didn’t know about my history then.”

“I do now.”

I flinch. “I know.”

“Stop saying you know,” she cries, gesturing wildly with her hands.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask without looking at her. I’ll say anything. And then I realize I haven’t even apologized. Will it make a difference? Or begged, I’ve not begged for her forgiveness. “I’m...” I look up, seeing her disappear into the dressing room.

I hurry over, my heart crawling up my throat. Why would she go into the dressing room? I stop in the doorway, seeing her yanking some jeans on. What? Oh my God, no. She’s not— “What are you doing?” I ask, my eyes watching her every move as she dresses. Then she gets a bag. “Ava?” I say, my words airy and weak. I go to her, taking the bag. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not leaving me.”

“I need some space,” she says with no emotion at all, snatching the bag back and starting to pack it fast and messily.

Space. “Space for what?” I grab her arm, my panic ruling me. “Ava, please.”

She wrenches herself away, and my heart splits. She’s leaving me? “Please what?” she asks coldly as she takes her anger out on her clothes.

“Please, Ava,” I beg. “Don’t go.” What will I do without her? What will happen? How will I cope?

“I’m going.” She pushes past me, and I reach to grab her again, to stop her, but I’m so worried she’ll fight me and injure herself. She’s not thinking straight. I follow her to the bathroom, searching for the words I need to save this, to save us. I’m coming up blank. My fear is too strong. I can see nothing past it.

She stuffs some toiletries into her bag.

“Ava, let’s talk about this.”

“Talk?” She turns abruptly, her eyes still wild, her persona still so volatile.

“Please.”

“What is there to talk about?” she asks. “You’ve done the most underhanded thing possible. Nothing you could say will make me understand this. You do not get to make these decisions. You do not get to control me to this extent. This is my life!”

Nothing I can say will help? But she’s not even given me a chance. “But you knew I was taking them,” I whisper.

“Yes, I did!” she cries, obviously not quite believing it. I’m stumped. I know I’ve done wrong, but I also knew she knew, and I took the fact that she knew and hadn’t left me as a good thing. How could I have got it so wrong? “But perhaps because of all the other shit you’ve landed on me since I’ve met you,” she goes on, breathless. “I didn’t consider how fucked up this really is. This is really fucked up, Jesse, and you’ve got no redeeming reason. Wanting to keep me isn’t good enough. That’s not a decision you get to make on your own. What about me?” She gets up in my face, making me retreat. “What about what I want?”

“But I love you,” I say quietly, pathetically. I never thought about what Ava wants. I only thought about what could save me. Her. A baby. A family.

A wife, happiness, forgiveness, mercy.

If anything, I saw all the signs that she didn’t want kids. And I ignored them. I convinced myself she’d accept this because she loves me.

What have I done?

Ava rubs at her eyes, pushes her hair off her face, sniffs, and storms away.

“Ava?” I call, going after her, getting a flurry of flashbacks invading my mind. The last time I chased her through the penthouse. Or tried to. I could hardly walk, the vodka fucking me over. I can’t go back to those places. No. “Ava, stay, please, I’ll do anything.” I race down the stairs, two at a time, forced to hold my limp dick against my thigh as I go. I look up as I reach the bottom, seeing her hand on the doorknob ready to open it. I pick up my pace, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do when I get to her. Force her back upstairs? Manhandle her? Yes, I’ve done it before, but this is different. There is absolutely no element of fun here, which has always seen me through those moments of conflict. This is serious. More than serious. She’s leaving me.

I skid to a stop, just as Ava faces me, the door open. “You’ll do anything?” she asks, her face painfully stoic.

“Yes.” Shut the door, please shut the door. “You know that.”

“Then you’ll give me some space.” She backs out, the door closes, and I stare at the wood, shocked into stillness.

And that’s where I stay, a frozen form of a broken man, for an age.

She’s gone.

“Gone,” I whisper, instantly numb. But in so much fucking pain. I push a hand through my hair, my eyes burning, remaining on the door. The sound of my phone ringing in the distance is what eventually pulls me from my inertness. I don’t rush to answer it, letting it ring off. It won’t be Ava. I drag my heavy gaze across the penthouse, listening to the screaming silence, seeing the empty space. “What now?” I ask myself. I look down at my naked body and rub roughly at my eyes.

Vodka.

“No,” I grate, angry, the devil on my shoulder reminding me of what will fix this.

Not vodka, Daddy.

I gasp, staggering to a nearby wall and placing a palm onto the plaster to hold myself up, my head hanging. “Not vodka,” I say, listening to the angel on my other shoulder. My baby girl. My dead baby girl. I sniff, my lip curling, turning and facing the wide-open space. “Never again, do you hear me?” I bellow, physically smacking at my shoulder, like I can squash that devil. “It will never happen again!” I swipe a hand out and knock a vase off the cabinet, sending it flying across the room. It bounces off the floor twice before finally succumbing to the impact and smashing to pieces. The sound kills the quiet, kills the noise in my head. I savor it, hope the shards hitting the floor echoing around me never stops.

Then it does.

Vodka.

I exhale, try to breathe long, deep, controlled breaths.

Ava.

Raking a hand through my hair, I pad around the glass, watching carefully as I place each foot down, going upstairs. I get my phone, seeing a missed call from John. I can’t even find the will to try and sound okay. I’ll call him back when I can.

Give me space.

I drop my arse to the end of the bed, my elbows to my knees, and dial her, not bothering to lift my mobile to my ear. The silence means I can hear it ringing perfectly well. Voicemail. I hang up, try again. Ringing. Voicemail. Again. The same. I swallow, opening up my messages. Ava’s the last person I’ve texted.

I REALLY love you

I REALLY know

I feel my lip wobble as I type out a message, struggling to see the screen through my hazy vision.

Give me space.

I throw my phone aside on a gruff, frustrated bawl and get up, getting some shorts on and slipping my feet into some flip-flops, refusing to look at Ava’s parts of the dressing room, then I grab my phone and head downstairs. I look at the mess before me. This is what I will do. Clean up my mess before I start with the mess that I’ve made of my life. I put on some music—Chasing Cars, because I need to be punished more—and rootle through the laundry room until I find a broom and a dustpan. I take my time, no longer holding back the tears. I feel empty. A shell. Just going through the motions.

I stamp on the bin and empty the dustpan for the last time, taking it back to the laundry room and shoving it on the shelf. Then I go to the fridge. Open it. Scan the shelves. Close the door. I put myself on a stool. Stare at my mobile. I drag it over and dial her again. No answer. So I open my messages and click send on the one I typed out earlier.

I can’t be without you, Ava

Dragging myself to the couch, I drop to my arse and stare out of the glass at London. Holding my phone.

And that’s where I stay until the gray sky disappears and blackness replaces it.

She doesn’t call or reply.

My bones creakwhen I eventually stand. I head upstairs, slow, weary, pull on a sweatshirt, and head out, grabbing my keys from the concierge as I pass. Sam calls me as I’m pulling out the gates of Lusso. I could ignore it, but after shirking John’s call, I’m at risk of raising alarm bells and one of them calling Ava.

“All right?” I answer, hearing myself. Low.

I’m not the only one. “Been better,” Sam replies. “I think Kate and I are done.”

Why aren’t I surprised? I don’t have any energy to spare right now, but I can promise I’ll rip Dan a new arsehole if he’s got anything to do with this. “What’s happened?”

“Good fucking question,” he says over an exhale, sounding beat. “Apparently it really was just a bit of fun to her.”

“What?”

“And now she’s had her fun, she’s done.”

I narrow an eye on the illuminated road ahead. That’s bullshit. She caught feelings, so did Sam. What the fuck do I say? Fucking Dan.

“Has Ava said anything?” he asks before I’ve had a chance to figure out if I should talk and what I should say.

I breathe out. I like Kate. I do not like how she’s handling this. And I am a fine one to talk. “I think she and Ava’s brother were a thing once.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Silence. I cringe. “I didn’t mention it before because you and Kate seemed okay.”

He laughs. “No wonder the prick was hostile.”

“Don’t feel singled out. He’s a dickhead with me too.”

“I think something happened at your wedding between them.”

“Have you asked Kate?”

“What’s the point? We’re over. Are you driving?”

“Just popping to the shop.” Since when do I pop to the shop? “We’re out of milk.” What the fuck am I saying?

“So what do I do now?” he asks.

He’s asking me? Jesus fucking Christ, I’m hardly an ambassador for doing the right thing. Besides, he just said they’re done. Clearly. “Give her space,” I say quietly, my grip of the steering wheel getting tighter. “Give her space and let her figure out what she needs to figure out.” And how long will Ava take to figure it out?

“So just wait while she decides if she wants me or him?” He snorts his disgust.

Is that an advantage for me? There’s no other man in the frame, no competition. But every man is competition. I don’t think Kate wants Dan. Who would, he’s a bellend. “If you have feelings, yes. Give her space. You can’t force someone to be with you.” I clench my eyes closed briefly, discreetly sniffing. Something I’ve proven. Again.

“I hear you,” he says. “I’m sorry, you don’t need my life dramas forced on you a day after your wedding. It was a great day. How’s married life?”

I brace my arms against the wheel, forcing my back into the leather. “Great. Listen, I just pulled up at the store.”

“Sure. What are your plans this week?”

Trying to convince my wife of one day not to divorce me.“This and that,” I muse.

“When are you going on your honeymoon?”

“Ava’s got some work stuff to sort out.”

“Have you spoken to Drew?”

“No, he left the wedding without saying goodbye.”

“I’ll call him. Speak later.” Sam hangs up, and I exhale, my cheeks ballooning, my sweat real. It’s only a matter of time before everyone finds out Ava’s left me. I smack the steering wheel hard, wincing on impact, seeing the aftermath of my encounter with the handcuffs glowing in the shadows.

Deserved. All the pain, deserved.

Ava, however, didn’t ask for any of this.

And I’m so fucking sorry.

I drive aimlessly, reliving my regrets, the guilt and pain increasing, until I pull into Kate’s street. I see Ava’s Mini parked outside by Kate’s van. It’s a mild relief. I knew she’d be here. I drive past slowly, looking up at the windows, seeing the lights all on. She’ll be in there telling Kate... everything.

I don’t pull over or even think about calling or knocking on the door.

Give her space.

How much, and for how long?

Because I feel like I’m slowly dying.