Chapter 34
The marina is alive when we pull up, every luxury car known to man parked in front of the port where an insane number of yachts and super yachts are docked.
“Fucking hell,” Ava breathes, her wide eyes trying to take it all in.
“Ava, please, watch your fucking mouth.” I cast her a disapproving glare, not that she notices. She’s too busy gawking at the boats. I cut the engine and climb out, reminding myself of the marina as I round the car. It’s been too long. The buzz, the smell, the clammy nighttime air. “Out you get.”
“Please don’t tell me you own one of those,” she murmurs as she lets me help her out, eyes still on the boats.
“No,” I muse, putting on my shades. “I sold it many years ago.” And I almost wish I hadn’t now. Ava and me sailing around the world? Fuck, being in the middle of the ocean really could keep our bubble intact.
She looks at me, alarmed. “So you did have one?”
“Yes, but I didn’t have a fucking clue how to sail the stupid thing.” I should have hired a captain—got them to teach me how to sail. I walk Ava along the front of the port, past the endless cars.
“Why did you buy it in the first place then?” she asks, curiosity rampant.
I don’t want to talk about Carmichael. “Over there is Morocco,” I say, pointing toward the horizon.
“Lovely,” she drones, rolling her eyes.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.” I tuck her into me and bite her ear in warning. “What would you like to do?”
“Let’s mooch about,” she says, looking around us.
I smile, unsure. “Mooch?”
“Yes, mooch. Like browse, peruse, mooch about.”
“Okay. I feel another Camden coming on.”
“Yes,” she sings, thrilled. “Exactly like Camden.” A frown. “But no funny sex shops.”
My laughter bursts out of me. Need I remind her that she was the only one between the two of us that actually bought something from the funny sex shop? “Oh, there are plenty of funny sex shops on the back streets,” I tell her. “Want to see?”
“No, I don’t.” She falls into thought, and I’m not sure I’m keen if her semi scowl is a measure. “You didn’t find that attractive, did you?” she asks, her voice quiet. Is she talking about the dancer that was there? The leather-clad, busty, brash one? The one who struck an alarming resemblance and aura to Sarah? Does she not know me at all?
“I’ve told you before,” I say, taking her face, making sure she’s looking at me. “There’s only one thing that turns me on.” I get closer to her, breathe across her face as she looks at me with hopeful eyes. Insecurity. I don’t like it. But I’ve read that somewhere in my book too. Or was it on the internet? I can’t remember, but it struck me. Lots of reassurance. Lots of validation. I’m here for it. “And I love her in lace.”
I push my lips to her forehead, breathing her into me, hearing her whisper a quiet, “Good.” I hate that she asked me that.
“Come on, Mrs. Ward. Let’s mooch.” Taking her hand, I walk us past a few restaurants and up through one of the side streets to the back of the marina. It’s busy, people dipping in and out of stores, others wandering lazily armed with ice creams.
We pass an ice cream parlor, and I notice Ava craning her neck to see the various colorful tubs on display. “Want one?”
“Maybe after dinner,” she says, moving closer into my side, lifting my arm and draping it around her. I dip and push my lips into her hair, holding them there as we wander on. We pass a few souvenir stores, all full of cheap tat, and some stalls selling handmade coasters, wine stoppers, and beaded bracelets. I frown as Ava directs us to one, and she browses across a pillow loaded with rings.
“Fifteen euro?” I ask, looking at the collection dubiously. “They can’t be real silver for fifteen euro.”
“Of course they’re not,” she says, plucking one from the display—a thick silver band with a few emeralds. “It’s costume.” She slips it onto her middle finger and inspects it, holding her hand out.
“It complements your platinum and diamond wedding rings perfectly,” I mumble, making her look at me tiredly. “Just saying.” I point to a display of beaded necklaces. “One of those will look amazing next to your sixty-grand diamond necklace too.” I notice the stall owner has narrowed eyes on me. I smile, feeling Ava nudge me in the side. “We’ll take them,” I say, rootling through my pocket and pulling out two twenty euro notes before pulling one of the necklaces off the stand. “The ring and the necklace.” I hand over the cash.
“It’s fifty,” he says.
Fifty? “Fine.” I dip back into my pocket and pull out another ten. “Here.”
“You’re supposed to haggle,” Ava whispers, coming in closer. “Fifty is too much.”
Of course it is. “Why would I stand there for five minutes haggling over a tenner?” I give her the necklace and get us moving. Christ, The Manor makes more than a tenner every second.
“Haggling is part of the fun. They never give their final price straight away.”
I smile and get her back into my side, locking her neck in the crook of my arm and tugging her close. “We’ll haggle when we get back to Paradise.”
“Haggle for what?” she asks, coy, peeking up at me.
I raise my brows. “You’re sex mad.”
“Oh, please.” She laughs, tucking her new purchases into her bag. “Says he who owned a sex manor.”
Is she joking about The Manor? I never thought I’d see the day.There’s just one thing, though. She said owned. I still own the sex manor. Naturally, Owen Cutler comes to mind, and I wonder if John is right. Will they come back with a sweeter, less insulting offer? It’s not about the money. I have enough money. So what is it about? Have I subconsciously concluded it’s priceless, therefore no amount of money could buy it? A defense tactic?
“Are you okay?” Ava asks, knocking me from my ponderings.
“Yeah.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Let’s look in here.” I nod to the next store and immediately feel Ava’s resistance.
“Oh no, Jesse, come on.”
“What?”
She frowns at the store front of Dior, her lips straight. “It’s not in my price range,” she says through her teeth, well aware of what response she’ll get.
I growl. “When will you ever get your head around us, not you and me?” Little Miss Independent needs to remember that she’s married, as well as who she’s married to. Me. Lord of The Sex Manor. Rich Lord of The Sex Manor. Her price range has shifted up the scale since she met me.
“It’s not the point.”
“What’s the point?” I need enlightening. “Do you want to go halves on everything?” I ask. “Like Lusso, cars, jets?”
She stares at me, annoyed, while I wait for her to come back at me. Nothing.
I sigh. What the hell are we doing arguing over this kind of stuff still? It’s old fucking news. “Baby, I’m very rich, and until now I’ve never had anyone to spoil.” Only myself with women and alcohol. And I was lavish with both, although the women didn’t cost me a penny. “Please humor me.” It’s like Harrods all over again. I jut my bottom lip out, give her wide, hopeful eyes. I know I’ve got her when her shoulders lower. She’s softening.
“You can buy me one thing,” she breathes. “Just one.”
I smile, chuffed. We both know one thing means limitless things. Like I said, Harrods again. “Come.” I collect her hand and tug her into Dior. “Mooch to your heart’s content,” I say, releasing her and lowering to a cream chair.
She eyes the rails, chewing her lip. “Can I help you?” an assistant asks.
“No, I’m just brow?—”
“Yes, she needs help,” I say, blasting the assistant back with a megawatt smile. “The budget is really offensive.”
Ava’s mouth drops open, and the assistant suddenly looks curious, her eyes passing back and forth between us. Shit, did I just pull a Pretty Woman on my wife?
“Oh, she’s not a hooker,” I say, laughing nervously, wary of the incredulous expression on Ava’s face. “We’re married. I was just trying to say, you know, look after her. There’s no budget.”
“Oh my God,” Ava says, closing her eyes, hiding from the doubt on the assistant’s face.
“No, really,” I say, seeing the doubt too. “She’s pregnant. It’s twins.”
“Jesse?” Ava breathes.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
I recline back in my seat. Stung. “Okay,” I murmur, biting at my lip, watching the assistant flick uncertain eyes between us. But I do as I’m told and shut up. She’s my wife! God damn me.
Pulling my phone out, I lose myself in that before I dig myself deeper, leaving Ava to mooch. A message from John greets me, telling me to call him when I can. “I can now,” I say quietly, dialing. “All right?” I ask when he answers.
“Owen Cutler has come back and requested another meeting.”
My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling of Dior. “Weird. I was literally just thinking about him,” I say, watching Ava being directed down a rail of leisure wear.
“I’m assuming they’ve done some homework and they’ll come back with a serious offer.”
My stomach flips, and I start to fidget in the chair. It doesn’t hurt to talk. And we talked. Priceless. What’s the point in meeting again?
“Do you want me to set something up?”
“No,” I blurt without much thought, leaving John silent. “I mean, I need to think.” For the first time, the whole situation feels real. Serious. I look at Ava’s stomach as she’s directed toward the display of handbags. Babies. Life as we know will change forever. But life as I knew it already changed forever the moment Ava walked into my office.
“Okay,” John eventually says. “Should I leave it with you?”
Ava looks over to me, her head tilting in question. I must look as uneasy as I feel. I pull myself together and sit up straighter, looking at the handbag the assistant has just collected off the display and is showing Ava. I give the bag a thumbs up. Ava looks at it and dismisses it. “Yeah, leave it with me. How’s Sarah getting on?”
“Like a duck to water, springs to mind. In the office and in the rooms.”
I laugh sardonically. I bet. Fuck, I am not looking forward to breaking that news to Ava. Wouldn’t have to if I sell The Manor.
“Have you heard from Steve Cook?” he asks.
“No.” He’s got until tomorrow to bring me something. “Listen, John, we’re back tomorrow and there’s still been no news on Van der Haus or my stolen car. Ava’s going to want to go back to work.” I’m a realist. “Can?—”
“I’ll drive her,” he says, and I deflate, relieved. He hears me. “And the new security system is up and running.”
“Good,” I say quietly. “Thanks.”
“Safe journey home.”
I get up and wander over to Ava, ignoring the toothy, red-lipped beam of the assistant as I approach. “I like it,” I say, as Ava holds up a cream sweater. “We’ll take it.”
“Of course.” The assistant takes it from Ava’s hand, her attention now on me. Still smiling.
Ava gives her a sideway glare. “There’s no point, I won’t fit into it soon.”
“Then we’ll take the next size up too,” I say, prompting the assistant to flick through the hangers and pull out the sweater in the next size up.
“We also have this design in black,” she says.
“We’ll take black too.”
“Jesse,” Ava moans.
“What?” I laugh. “You said you’d let me spoil you.”
Her forehead becomes a mass of lines. “I never said that.”
“It was to that effect.” I look through the hangers. “They have the trousers to match,” I say, holding up some lovely wide-legged pants. “And they have a stretchy waist.” I grin over the top of the hanger, and Ava’s hand instinctively goes to her stomach. It’s beautiful.
“The matching pants too, sir?” The assistant takes the hanger, her hand laying over mine, her smile getting wider by the second.
I snatch it away. “Yeah.” She’s walking a thin line. My wife’s possessiveness is wild lately.
“I’ll get it all wrapped.” She pouts, backing away, her eyes taking a not-so subtle jaunt down my frame before she pivots and saunters off. Ava’s eyes are narrowed slits on the assistant’s back as she distractedly looks through another rail.
“We’ll take that too,” I say, reaching for the linen shirt Ava’s paused on. “Come, sit,” I say, walking her to the chair, rather than to the counter where she’s closer to the assistant. “Your ankles are getting puffy.”
“Fuck off,” she snaps, and I laugh, crowding her in the chair, my arms braced on each arm, my face close.
“You need to stop swearing in front of the children.”
She snorts. “Are you joking?”
“What?” I ask. “I don’t swear anywhere near as much as you do.”
“Oh my God, you’re deluded.”
I dip and slam a kiss on her mouth. “I’ll go pay,” I say, wrinkling my nose at her exasperated face as I push off, going to the counter.
“Make sure it’s just for the clothes,” she calls.
I stop halfway and turn a scowl back at her, and she smiles sweetly, her hand back on her stomach, circling.
My scowl disappears.
“Keep going, and I might break the rules and give you a Retribution Fuck.”
Her arms are instantly held out in front of her, her wrists together. “I dare you.”
I laugh, fucking delighted, and go to the counter.