This Woman Forever

Chapter 16

I don’t drag Ava out of bed the next morning to go for a run. I don’t tie her to the bed and refuse to let her go to the office. I woke her up, smiled when she demanded sleepy sex, and smiled harder when I told her the time.

Sleepy sex was forgotten.

She leapt up and darted into the bathroom in a panic, leaving me to get dressed. It doesn’t make any sense to me why she wants to live by someone else’s schedule. If she worked for herself, we could have all the sleepy morning sex in the world. Not to mention, no more challenging customers. What Ava said about her difficult client stuck with me overnight. I finally slept more than forty minutes—Ava was beside me again—but I considered how Ava reacted to Ruth Quinn’s demanding nature. She seemed deflated. Exhausted by her. Yes, I’m self-aware and know I’m demanding, but only with Ava because she’s my world. I don’t want to exhaust her. Deflate her. My conclusion after ruminating for a while? I have to work on myself. But in the same vein, Ava doesn’t have to deal with demanding clients if she doesn’t want to. Why on earth would she want to? I don’t understand it.

I pull on a white shirt and my navy suit, grumbling my way through my task, before collecting my grey suit off the back of the chair and emptying the pockets, ready for Cathy to take it to the dry cleaners. I feel around in the inside pocket and pull out a card on a frown.

OWEN CUTLER

I laugh under my breath and slip it into my pocket, intent of throwing it in the bin when I make it down to the kitchen. The Manor’s not for sale.

I’m not looking forward to the day ahead. But definitely still curious about what Dan could want. I need to try calling Steve Cook again too, since his wife clearly hasn’t passed on the message, see what he can find out about Mikael Van Der Haus. Check if he’s got a record, and I should find a way to check in Denmark too. So, yes, lots to look forward to today. I huff to myself as I fasten my belt. This routine really doesn’t work for me. How can I remedy this?

I head downstairs pondering that, tucking my shirt in as I go. If I could just get Ava away from London for a while, somewhere hot and relaxing, somewhere we can both chill out, then maybe I could use my powers of persuasion and convince her she’d be better off working for herself. I won’t mention it would work better for me too, which is exactly what she’ll conclude—that my suggestion isn’t purely selfless. I’ll reframe it. She’s an amazing designer. She’s working herself to the bone, dealing with exacting people like this Ruth Quinn, all to line the pockets of Patrick Peterson. What’s worse, she doesn’t need the money. She doesn’t need to work. But being the reasonable man that I am, I can appreciate why she wants to.

Kind of.

I walk into the kitchen, all smiles, but it falls when I find the space empty. “Cathy?” I call, going to the laundry room and poking my head around the door. No Cathy. Odd. I check my Rolex as I wander back out, collecting my keys off the table by the door and slipping the ones for Ava’s wedding present out of the drawer beneath. Something red invades my vision coming down the stairs, still in a fluster. Just look at her. She’s thrown herself together in record time and looks exquisite. I pout to myself. “I’ll take you.” Down to your new car so you can drive yourself to work, just as you always insist you want to.

“Where’s Cathy?” she asks, doing a terrible job of resisting an ogle of my suited form.

I pull at my lapels, standing taller. “I don’t know. It’s not like her to be late.” Now to her gift. Finally. “You got everything?”

“I have.” She comes without fuss, gripping my hand firmly, and I look back, having my own ogle. She looks gorgeous. God damn work. Who’s going to get to appreciate her today? The difficult client? Will Van Der Haus rear his ugly head?

I hum to myself, stepping into the lift and hitting the button for the ground floor as Ava releases my hand and rootles through her bag. I hear her car keys jangle, but I know she’s not looking for those because I just told her I’m taking her. Her new supply of pills? I crane my neck to see and retract it again when she looks up.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.” Didn’t I read somewhere that it takes a week for the contraceptive pill to get into a woman’s system? And yet she’s not demanded I wear a condom all weekend. Again, has she, like me, concluded I’m infertile? I add a call to a fertility doctor to the list of amazing things I need to do today.

As soon as the elevator opens, the mystery of my missing housekeeper is solved. Cathy and Clive are chitchatting, laughing. Since when has Clive laughed, except when he’s rinsing me dry? I narrow an eye on him as I pass, mentally telling him to watch his back.

“That would explain,” Ava muses as we pass.

“They’re just talking.” I can’t let my mind go to those places. I saw them at our wedding. Close. Dancing. I shudder.

“They look very friendly.”

I think Clive wants more than friendly.

“Oh,” Cathy sings, happy. “I was just on my way up.”

“No problem.” I narrow both eyes now as Clive watches me pull Ava past. “I’m out of peanut butter,” I mutter, a little reminder to Clive that Cathy is here for me, not him.

“There’s a whole box of it in the cupboard, my boy,” Cathy snaps, disgruntled. Is there? Which one, because I looked in all of them? “Do you think I’d let that run dry?”

“It should be in the fridge, not the cupboard,” I say under my breath, knowing what’s good for me.

I hear Ava chuckling. “Don’t be so moody. They’re only talking.”

Sure. Friendly talking. I huff my thoughts and put on my Ray-Bans when we break out into the sunshine, inhaling the fresh air. It’s going to be a good day. Please be a good day.

“It’s not right,” I say. Cathy’s always been prompt. Clive’s obviously a bad influence.

“Oh, she might be inviting him up when we’re not there,” Ava says seriously, her hand plunging into her bag again. What the hell is she looking for because, clearly, she can’t find it? And I definitely didn’t take anything. This time. “I did notice the sheets in the spare room were a little”—she hums, pouting—“ruffled.”

“Ava,” I splutter. Is she serious? “Don’t.”

“Stop being ageist.”

“I’m not.” Anyway, enough about the housekeeper and the concierge. I want to give her my gift. I feel in my pocket for the keys, excited.

“What are you smirking at?” she asks, finally giving up on whatever she’s searching for.

“I bought you a present,” I declare, pulling my glasses off as I move in, nuzzling her cheek before offering my mouth.

“You have?” she asks, wary as she pecks my lips. “What?”

“Turn around.”

She withdraws on an unsure, questioning face and slowly turns away from me. I pull the keys out and hold them over her shoulder. She doesn’t say a word, not for quite some time. Has she realized? I jangle the keys. “Over there,” I say. You can’t miss it. It’s sparkling.

“You mean that spaceship?” she finally asks.

Spaceship? Okay, it’s very new and very sleek, but I wouldn’t go as far as to call it a spaceship. And she didn’t sound too thrilled. “You don’t like it?” I ask, my excitement sinking.

There’s a moment’s hesitation. Just a moment. “I like my Mini.”

“It’s not safe.” I round her as I roll my eyes and hate the semi-scowl I find. How can she not like it? “This is safer.”

She gapes at me. What’s so surprising? “Jesse, that’s a man’s car—a John car.” She points at it, looking again. “It’s fucking huge.”

I flinch. “Ava, watch your fucking mouth.” So fucking uncalled for. “I got it in white. That’s a lady’s color. Come on, I’ll show you.” She’ll come round when she sees how much effort I’ve gone to, but she remains unmoving, forcing me to hold her shoulders and walk her to her new car. “Look,” I say, pulling the driver’s door open and smiling at the pristine interior. I take a hit of the smell. Lovely. My DBS hasn’t smelt new for a while. Perhaps I should fix that. I hum to myself, thinking I might pay a visit to the dealership this week.

I find Ava again. She’s staring at the Range Rover, silent, taking it in. “I don’t know what to say,” she breathes. “You could’ve just bought me a watch or a necklace or something.”

I’ve already bought her a watch and a necklace. “Jump in.” I can’t wait for her to see the personal touches.

But her body is suddenly unmoving, her eyes on the headrests. She’s spotted it. I grin, chuffed with how it’s turned out. I might get the Aston dealership to do the same on my new car.

“I am not driving this!” she cries, and I jump, my contentment going down the pan. She looks utterly disgusted. Why the hell wouldn’t she drive it? It’s lovely, bespoke, and, more importantly, it’s safe.

“You fucking are.” I put all of my thought and energy into this gift, thought she’d love having her new name stitched into the leather headrest, but nooooo. Not my wife. My difficult, unreasonable wife.

“I am not.” She snorts, constantly scrutinizing the car. “Jesse, it’s way too big for me.”

“It’s safe.” I lift her in and put her behind the wheel. “Look.” I release the internal computer and touch the screen. “Everything you’ll need,” I say, navigating the screen to my favorite track and playing. I turn up the volume and Ava looks at me in disbelief. Yes, thoughtful, I know. “I’ve loaded all of your favorite music. You can think of me.”

She stares at me for a few moments, just stares. “I think of you every time you call and I hear that track,” she says. That’s sweet. But it’s still not enough.

I frown when she slips out, looking determined in her stance. I’m so fucking confused. Who wouldn’t love a Range Rover bought for them? “I want your car,” she declares. “You can have this.”

“Me?” She wants me to drive it? “But it’s a bit...” How do I put it? “...girly.” If it was meant for a man, it would be any other color except white. Hence, I got white.

“It is,” Ava retorts shortly. “And I know your game, Ward.” She comes at me with her finger, jabbing me in the chest. What’s my game? “The only reason you want me to drive this thing is because it’s enormous and there’s less chance of injury if I crash. Prettying it up isn’t going to convince me.” She’s making it sound like I’m trying to hoodwink her. Didn’t she hear me put emphasis on the fact that it’s safe? She throws the Range Rover a filthy look before marching away, leaving me standing by the car like a dickhead, wondering what the fuck a man has to do to make his wife happy?

Tell her some truths.

“Oh, do fuck off,” I mutter. “My lack of sharing isn’t an issue, because she doesn’t know there’s anything left to share.”

No, but she might understand why you’ve bought this beast of a car for her.

“I bought it because I thought—mistakenly, it seems—that she might appreciate it.”

Oh, please.

“Fuck off.” I sigh but pout when my vision is invaded by Ava’s arse swaying like a pendulum in that fetching red dress as she storms off toward her Mini. That arse. Yum. She gets in, and I wander over to my Aston, getting comfy, leaning on it. Perhaps I should get in the boot, because shit is going to fly very soon when she realizes she’s going nowhere.

I look back when I hear someone coming out of Lusso.

“Everything all right, Mr. Ward?” Clive asks, watching Ava pulling out of her space and driving to the gates. They remain closed as she approaches them. “Oh, perhaps her remote control has run out of batteries. I’ll get the gates for her.”

“Don’t do that, Clive,” I say, smiling when I hear Ava’s angry yell blend with the sound of her car braking. She gets out, heaving, furious.

“Planning on going somewhere?” I ask cockily.

“Oh, fuck off.” She swipes her bag from the seat as I twitch, and marches to the other gate. Oh, no. I break out in a run and intercept her escape, picking her up and taking her back to the Range Rover.

“Will you watch your fucking mouth?” I snap, putting her inside and belting her up. I snatch her keys from her hand and start separating them, putting her pink key to the penthouse on her new set. “Why do you have to defy me on absolutely everything?”

“Because you’re an unreasonable arse. Why can’t you take me to work?”

Oh, now she wants me to take her? “I’m already late for a meeting because my wife won’t do as she’s told.” I’m not late. But I do have things to do before I head to The Manor to meet Niles. I haul her onto my mouth and kiss her hard. “Anyone would think you’re after a retribution fuck.’”

“I’m not.”

Why does she lie to me? And try to resist me? I move in, teasing her mouth open with my tongue, expecting her to be defiant for the sake of it, so when she opens up to me and matches my heat and pace, I’m surprised. But not complaining. Never. “You taste delicious, baby,” I hum. “What time are you finishing work?”

“Six,” she gasps.

“Come straight to The Manor and bring your files so we can finalize the orders for the new rooms.” She’s in for another surprise. I can’t wait to show her our new room. Holding a finger up for her to see, I slowly take it to the control on the window, like... look. This is how to operate the windows. I let it down, close the door, and lean in. She’s so indignant. “I love you.”

“I know.” She starts the car, scanning the dashboard. She’ll get to grips with it soon enough and never look back.

“Have you spoken to Patrick yet?” I ask, knowing the answer, of course. She only woke up half an hour ago. I’m just reminding her.

“Move my car,” she orders shortly, evading my question.

“I’ll take that as a no.” I grin to myself. “You’ll speak to him today.”

“Move my car.”

“Anything you want, lady.”

She takes the steering wheel and looks around the interior. “Where the hell am I going to park this thing?”

That thing practically parks itself. It has sensors everywhere. I take her in as I back away, thinking how dainty she is behind the wheel. “Enjoy,” I murmur, going to her Mini and parking it in a visitor’s space.

Slipping into my Aston, I drive out, waving my goodbye. I’m too far away to see her expression, but I know she’s glowering.

I call my friend at the florist as soon as I’m out of the gates. “Mr. Ward,” she sings, thrilled to hear from me. “You’ve been married for over a week and not sent your wife any flowers. Shame on you.”

I cringe. “Let’s fix that,” I say. “How quickly can you get some across to her office?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Make it twenty. I have something I want you to take with the flowers.”

“Ohh, what?”

“You’ll see.”

My second callof the day goes to Steve Cook. I get no answer. Still. Juliette definitely hasn’t passed on my message. I can’t blame her. But he also didn’t pick up the first time I tried him, or call me back. Again, I can’t blame him. He probably thinks I want to slice him open after what he did to Ava. I do. But... he could help me. My third call is to a fertility clinic. I need to know.

Ava doesn’t—at least not for now.

And if you’re a jaffa, will you keep that from her too?

“Does it matter?” I ask thin air. “She obviously doesn’t want kids.” Maybe that’s a conversation we should have. Not now off the back of the recent traumas, but definitely a conversation for the future. Or maybe not, depending on the results of these tests.

“Good morning, Harley Street Fertility Clinic, how can I help you?”

I’m cringing already. “Yes, hi, how would one go about getting tested?”

“I assume you mean sperm tests, sir?”

“Yeah, that.”

“We would book an appointment for you to discuss the issue with a consultant and they would advise a plan of action.”

“Great. Good.”

“We have availability on Friday if that suits. Around one o’clock with Dr. Richie.”

“Perfect.”

“Let me take some details.”

The call takes the rest of the drive to Berkley Square, and I’m absolutely astounded by the number of initial questions I have to answer in order to get the appointment. I’m not looking forward to the other questions on the day, which will no doubt include being interrogated on my lifestyle. “See you Friday,” I say, seeing a white Range Rover pass, driving shockingly slowly. I chuckle as I slip into a space and get out, crossing the road to the florist and sliding the box onto the counter.

“May I?” she asks, and I wave in prompt for her to help herself. She opens the box and gasps. “Wow.”

“Don’t lose it, will you?” I say on a mild smile as I dip into my pocket, putting some notes on the counter before backing up.

Florist girl chews the corner of her lip. “I don’t suppose you have any friends looking for a younger woman?”

“You cheeky sod. How old do you think I am?”

“Older than your wife.”

“I think I might find another florist.”

“No, you won’t. I’m too prompt for you.” She slips the box under the counter, cocking her head. “What should the card say?”

“No card today. Just the flowers and the box.” I dip my chin, leveling her with a playful look. “With the watch inside.”

“That’ll be extra.”

I laugh under my breath and leave, frowning as Ava’s white Range Rover passes the shop. Is she driving around in circles? I check the time. “Someone’s going to be late.” Maybe she’ll be fired. I hum, slipping my hands into my pockets and crossing the road. Of course, I wouldn’t want her to be fired because she’d be upset. But I’d cheer her up. Set her up in business. Make sure she’s got everything she needs to be a roaring success. Like an assistant, for example, who would take the pressure off and deal with all the admin work, which would free up some of Ava’s time. Less stress, less pressure. And, of course, the less stressed and pressured my wife is, all the better for me too.

Her new Range Rover rounds the corner and I slip into my car, starting it and pulling out, following her. I just catch the back end as she pulls into an underground car park. Guaranteed, she was trying to find a space on the street so she didn’t have to tackle the restricted maneuvering spaces in one of London’s tight car parks. I chuckle. She’ll be fine. Like I said, sensors everywhere.

I indicate and take a left at the bottom of the road, putting my foot down.

But slam down on my brakes when someone on the pavement catches my eye. “What the fuck?” I murmur, turning in my seat to watch her walking up the street. I frown, rubbing at my eyes, opening again and looking in my rearview mirror for her. She crosses the road, her arm in the air. No.

Getting out of my car, I pace after her, my legs breaking into an urgent jog, then into a full-on run, my eyes set on the woman in the road. “Lau...” I fade off, my legs slowing, like my mind and body are telling me to rein myself in, reminding me of the last time I thought I saw her. I grabbed some poor strange woman, gave her the shock of her life. It wasn’t Lauren.

She gets into a cab, and it drives off as I stand in the middle of the road watching. My racing heart bangs in my chest, making me rub at it, my scar tingling. What the hell is going on? I back up, eyes on the cab, pulling out my phone and getting Google up. And I wonder, what the hell do I intend on googling? I squint at the screen. Where she went was never divulged, and I didn’t care as long as she was out of my life. The police weren’t involved, and her family agreed to get her help.

I reach up to my forehead and wipe it, backing up, watching the cab take a corner. I need to find her parents and check she’s still locked up, because I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.

My driveto The Manor is spent constantly shifting in my seat, checking the surroundings around me, and pushing back my nightmare past. When I pull up, John is getting out of his Range Rover. I stalk past him and go to my office, opening up my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keys. I can’t remember their address, and if I did, would they still live there?

“What’s up?” John asks.

Should I mention it? I’ve told Sarah about these episodes, but not John. He’ll be sending me to an asylum to join Lauren. “Nothing,” I say, retracting my hands from my laptop.

“Niles is here.”

“Right.”

“Shall I see him in?”

“Yeah.” I look across my desk. The mess. “Is the camera fixed?”

“They sorted three first thing this morning. The one by the garages needs replacing, but they don’t appear to be in a rush since we’re switching security providers.”

“Of course,” I murmur.

“So did she like it?” John asks.

“What?”

“Her new car. Did she like it?”

“Loves it,” I say quietly, every inch of me tingling. Am I losing my mind? “John, I?—”

A knock at the door cuts me off and Niles falls into the office, literally, a box being juggled in his arms. He gets his balance, saving the box from toppling, and glances around, obviously looking for someone.

“She’s not here,” John says flatly, relieving him of the box and setting it on the table between the couches, slipping his shades up onto his forehead.

“Who’s not here?” Niles asks.

John rolls his eyes and dips inside the box. “So these are the Ferraris of the sex toy world, huh?” He pulls out a glass butt plug.

“Indeed,” Niles says. “The lorry will be here shortly.”

“Lorry?”

“With the larger pieces.” He dips into the box too and pulls out a gold-handled crop and whips the table. “Spanking benches, love chairs.”

Sex, drink, hedonism, women, play, desire, pleasure, dominants, dominatrixes.

Am I losing my mind?

Always.

I get up. “I’m just going to...” I point to the door as John cocks his head. “I just need—” I look out of the window, to the grounds of my manor. “Some fresh air,” I say, walking out of my office in a bit of a daze. I pass through the summer room, looking around the vast space, at the couches set out, at the curtains draped at the windows, the doors lining one wall. The tennis courts. The glass house with the pool.

The rooms upstairs, the communal room.

It’s all always been here, but I feel like I’m looking at it differently. The flowers in the vase on the table are being replaced as I pass. Not callas. Stepping outside, I breathe in deep and take the steps, stopping at the bottom and casting my eyes around the vast estate. It’s so beautiful. But so wasted. No one enjoys the grounds of The Manor, only what the inside rooms offer. I approach the fountain, laughing under my breath when I notice a cherub is holding his less-than impressive dick. The irony. I circle the stone piece, counting another five chubby angels. All holding their dicks. And never have I noticed that the water comes from their cocks. This isn’t irony. This is Uncle Carmichael.

Backing away, I turn and walk. I don’t run. I just walk. I walk every inch of the grounds, taking in every tiny thing. I see things I’ve never noticed before. Trellising up one side of a wall, roses climbing it. A stone pot carved with fleurs-de-lis that’s had a few cigarettes stubbed out in it. Some steppingstones through a nearby flowerbed.

I carry on back to the front of The Manor, starting down the tree-lined driveway, the gravel crunching beneath my dress shoes. When I make it to the first two elm trees, one on either side of the driveway, I turn and look up at The Manor. The bay windows, the bay trees lining the face of the building, the huge limestone bricks that make up the structure. The glossy black front door, the gold knocker that never gets knocked. It sparkles. Who polishes that every day?

I continue, passing under the trees, being sporadically hit with bullets of sunlight through the branches, until I make it to the closed gates. Taking hold of two bars, I look through onto the country road outside. How many times have I passed through these gates? Entered my haven?

Except, it’s not my haven anymore.

I think for a few moments before reaching into my pocket and pulling out the gold embossed business card. Spinning my mobile in my grasp, I start walking back to The Manor, punching in the phone number.

Do it, brother. Do it.

But no matter how hard I try to press down on the dial icon, something is stopping me. Guilt? I wish I could be done with guilt.

The trees above rustle as I walk on, and I squint when a bolt of light shoots through a gap. I shield my eyes, lifting an arm, blinking back the black dots as I slow to a stop. The moment I can see clearly again, I see something else new. A bench. It’s set back between two trees halfway down the driveway, tufts of grass climbing up the wooden legs. I let out a short, sharp huff, turning my body toward it. How have I gone so many years not seeing things that are right under my nose?

Wandering over, I lower to the old wood, running my palms over the flaky surface. It could do with a sand and paint. I smile to myself, resting back, taking a moment. Listening to the nature I’ve never heard before, birds tweeting, squirrels doing acrobats through the branches, the odd fox screaming in the distance. Here at The Manor, I’ve only ever heard moans of pleasure, seductive laughs, small talk. I look at the card again, tapping it on my knee.

Talk to John.

I get up and pace back to The Manor, pausing at the door for a second to admire the sparkly gold knob. I can see my face it in before I encase it with my hand and push my way inside. I notice the landscape pictures on the walls mounted in heavy, chunky gold frames and move closer. They’re not random landscapes. They’re of the grounds of The Manor. I laugh under my breath. Carmichael’s way of getting members to appreciate the exterior while being on the inside? The only way these pictures would be appreciated is if they were hung on the ceiling of the communal room. I turn, admiring the staircase that sweeps elegantly up to the first floor. The round table in the center on the entrance hall that I’ve only ever seen a vase of flowers on.

John appears from the summer room. Stops. Looks me up and down. “Drink?” I ask, motioning to the bar. His raised brows are warranted as he follows me in and perches on a stool. I round the bar, getting us a water each.

“Have you thought anymore about Sarah?” he asks, wrapping his sausage fingers around the glass when I slide it across to him.

Not really. I’ve had other things on my mind. “You mean since I said a clear no to her yesterday?” I remain on the other side of the bar, lifting an eye to look at him. “You heard that, right?”

“I heard.”

But he’s still hoping. “I don’t know if my marriage will sustain it, John.”

He nods, thoughtful. “She’s sorry, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know that.” Whether that be because she’s lost everything or not, I don’t know. “She wanted to see Ava. Apologize.”

“If anyone needs to talk to Ava about this, it’s you.”

“Oh, I know,” I say, taking some water. “But we’re just back on track, John, and I’m not sure I want to rock the boat.” I pull out the card and slide it onto the bar.

John looks down at it. “What’s that?”

“A card.”

“I can see it’s a card.” He pushes the tip of his index finger into the cardboard and drags it towards him, removing his shades with the other hand, reading it, silent. Then he exhales and pushes it back.

“Well?” I ask.

“Well, what?”

“He said he wanted to buy The Manor.”

“I know.

I stand up straight. “What do you mean, you know?”

“I mean what I say, and I said, I know. He manages the property acquisitions for a luxury leisure company.”

“Wh—” I snap my mouth shut as John dips his chin, drumming his fingers on the bar. “You saw him loitering too?”

“I saw him,” John confirms.

“And what did you say?”

“I said the owner was unobtainable at that moment in time, because he was.”

“Where was he?”

“Barricaded in his office drinking and fucking his way out of a happy ever after.”

I inhale, the sting real. “You didn’t tell me?” That was weeks ago.

“Because you’ve been trying to get back on track since, and I didn’t want to hurt that little brain of yours more.”

I huff. Cheeky fucker. My brain is fine. Not pickled. It’s my reproductive system that’s the problem. “What do you think?”

“I think you should talk to them.”

I cough over my surprise. “You do?”

“Yeah, I do.” He smiles and it’s not a smile you see on John much. Mild. Knowing. “You’ve outgrown The Manor, Jesse. It no longer serves a purpose for you.”

“But Carmichael.” I round the bar and lower to a stool, my legs struggling to hold me up.

“What about him?”

“Well, it was his life.”

“And he’s dead, Jesse.” He shrugs his colossal shoulders. “You’re not dead.”

“But what would you do if there was no manor?”

“Me?” He smiles, and it’s precious. “I’d have a fucking life beyond worrying about you, motherfucker.”

I laugh, but my throat closes up too. Shit. Are we actually having this conversation? “So we talk to them?”

“Sure,” he says, easy as that. “Hear what they have to say. It can’t hurt.”

“Can’t it?” I ask, feeling a stab of pain in my gut. Oddly, The Manor ruined my life. It also saved it, and the deep attachment, no matter how much I have resented it lately, will be hard to let go of.

John stands, and my eyes lift to accommodate him. “I’m not going to mention Jake or Rosie again,” he says quietly. “You know my position. You know I think you should share that part of your life with your wife.” A tilt of his head, and I look away. “It’s your call, but I think you’re making a mistake.” His hand lands on my shoulder and rubs. “Let me know what you decide to do about Owen Cutler.” He nods at the card on the bar before he leaves, and I pick it up and stare at it as I sit in silence alone.

No Manor.

The glass turns slowly in my grasp on the bar, the water crystal clear as I keep my focus on it, watching the small ripples. Could I really let it go? Give it up?

Jesus, no, what am I thinking? I laugh out loud, shaking my head and that crazy thought away. My mobile brings me back down to earth, and I smile when I see who’s calling me, even if I’m more than surprised. “Ava?”

“The gates won’t open,” she cries, and my heart instantly drops into my stomach at the sound of her distress. What gates? Where the hell is she?

“Hey, calm down,” I order, getting up from the stool, my feet moving without me telling them to, instinct taking me out of the bar. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the gates,” she yells, hysterical. “I’ve been pressing the button, but no one’s opening them.”

She’s here?

I’m out on the steps of The Manor looking down the driveway before I know it, even though the gates aren’t visible from here. “Ava, stop it.” I feel in my pocket for my keys. “You’re worrying me.” My mind starts to race with reasons for her distress. Has Van Der Haus shown up? Coral, Freja, Sarah? My heart misses a beat. The woman I saw this morning? I take the steps down to the gravel in a few panicked leaps. Was it really her? Fucking hell.

“I need you,” she whispers on a ragged breath, forcing me to a stunned stop. “Jesse,” she sobs. “I need you.”

Panic chokes me, my legs breaking out into a sprint to my car as I fumble with the fob. “Pull down the sun visor, baby,” I say, breathless with worry. “There’re two buttons.” I get the door open and fall behind the wheel. “One for the gates to Lusso, the other for The Manor gates.” Slamming the Aston into gear, I pull off, tossing my phone on the passenger seat when it connects to Bluetooth. “Ava?” I say when I get no reply. “Ava, talk to me?” I can hear noises, banging and... sobbing. Jesus Christ. “Ava?” The steering wheel in one hand, my other raking through my hair, I race toward the gates. “Ava, please, talk to me.” A stressed sweat dampens my forehead, her cries so loud I can hear them over the roar of my engine. “I’m coming, baby.” I see her Range Rover in the distance, coming at me at speed. The brakes screech, she skids to a stop, and I watch in horror as she dives out of the car and runs toward my Aston. What the fucking hell has happened?

I slam my foot on the brakes and get out, using the top of the door as leverage to push off, sprinting to her, adrenaline feeding my urgency. Her body collides with mine, my arms pulling her in, holding her, hugging her hard. “Jesus, Ava.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobs, hardly able to talk through her shakes, her arms clinging to me tightly, grappling at my back, as if she wants to crawl into me.

“What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” she breathes into my collar. “I just needed to see you.”

I stare down at the ground in disbelief. “Fucking hell, Ava.” I try to wrestle her out of my body, but her hold is fierce. Unmoving. “Please, explain,” I beg, my mind spinning with endless reasons for her state, none of them particularly pleasant. “Ava?”

“Can we go home?” she asks, her words broken over her constant jerks.

She needs me. Just needs me. I know this woman inside out. Yes, I know she needs me, but this? “No,” I grate. “Not until you tell me why the fuck you’re in such a state.” I use brute force to pry her hold away from my back, putting her at arm’s distance and checking her over. For what? Wounds? “What’s going on?” Anger is overtaking my worry.

Her body convulses when she lets out a gasped sob, her eyes releasing a steady stream of tears down her cheeks. “I’m pregnant.”

Something enters by body so fast, some kind of force, I jolt violently.

“I lied to you,” she sobs quietly, following it up with an apology.

“What?” I whisper, stepping back. No. She’s not pregnant. The doctor confirmed it. She’s not pregnant. I’m shooting blanks. She went out and got absolutely obliterated on Friday night. Kissed another man! I’ve fucked her hard and wildly since. So hard and wild.

She can’t be pregnant.

“You make me so”—her breathing’s shaky, strained—“mad.” She can’t even look at me, her gaze directed at her feet. Disgrace is oozing off her. “You make me mad, and then you make me so happy.”

I make her mad? I make her mad, so she lied to me? And I can’t even feel any shame for my thought process, because my lies have always been to make her happy. This lie? She told it to intentionally make me sad. She told this lie in a mean fit of revenge. “I didn’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“Fuck,” I blurt in disbelief, holding my head with both hands, staring at her wilting frame. “Ava, are you trying to get me sectioned?” I have to look away from her, can’t bear to see her looking so pitiful. I also can’t bear the cold, hard fact that she’s been so deceitful about something she absolutely knows I want and need. “Are you fucking with my mind, because I really don’t need this, lady.” I laugh. It’s a cold laugh. Or... wait. Has she just found out? Was it a faulty test at the doctor’s office? Did she do another? Maybe she didn’t lie to me. “I’ve just gotten my head around you not being pregnant, and now you are?”

“I always have been.”

My God. No. How could she? I don’t even know what to say. She’s pregnant, always has been? I knew it. I fucking knew it! “When were you going to tell me?” I ask, staring at the woman I love, unable to convince myself to comfort her.

“When I accepted it.”

So she’s accepted it? Does that mean she’s happy about it? Fuck, my head feels like it’s going to fall off. “We’re having a baby?” I whisper. I think I’m in shock, because nothing in me is moving except my lips, emotion clogging my throat. Is this another chance? Is this really happening?

Yes, Daddy. I’m happy for you. The universe had other plans for me.

My weak knees give up on me, folding, taking me down to the gravel, and Ava is suddenly in front of me, her watery eyes scanning mine as she pulls me into her body and hugs me.

Life.

More life than I ever dreamed I was worthy of having again.

Ava’s. Our child’s.

And mine.

I lift my dead arms and hold her, squeezing my eyes closed, squeezing all of the tears out. This is my weakest moment. From now, I’m nothing but strength.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobs against my neck, her tears trickling down my skin past the collar of my shirt, as I silently stare at the gates of The Manor past her.

And hold onto her tighter.

Another chance.

Another life.