Chapter 35
I think we’re both sick of mooching a few hours later. The newfound feeling of hunger is stirring in my stomach as I put Ava’s purchases in the car and assess the restaurant options on the front of the marina. “God, I’ve missed you,” I say, seizing her, finally able to get both my hands on her now they’re free of bags. I swallow her yelp as I kiss her, my lips slipping across hers. “Hmm, you taste good.”
“If you want to wear ladies’ lipstick, do it properly.” She attacks me with her lipstick, beaming up at me. “Better. You’re even more handsome with shimmery lips.”
“Probably.” But what color is it? “Come on, I need to feed my wife and peanuts.” Standing her up, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, checking. No color, just shimmer. “These need tightening,” I say, noticing the top of her dress getting lower on her boobs, the straps lengthening.
She slaps my hands away and walks off, and I recoil, injured, insulted, and everything in between. “That was uncalled for, wasn’t it?” So fixing straps doesn’t fall under acceptable levels of fussing? But painting toenails does? Help me out, someone, please. “I was only trying to help.”
“Where are you feeding me?” she calls back.
And feeding does too? I’m so confused. And annoyed. Her terms. Always her terms. I reach for Ava’s wrist and pull her to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me,” I grumble, turning her to face me again, confused by her smirk. She’s playing? “And you can wipe that grin off your face.” I move in and take it upon myself to do what I originally intended. Fix her fucking straps. “You’re fucking intolerable sometimes,” I mutter, moving to the other side. “I know you only do it to get a rise out of me.” I check each strap. Double-check. “Better,” I conclude. “Ridiculous dress.” Had I known the straps weren’t reliable, she wouldn’t have left the villa in it. “Why do you insist on being so difficult?”
“Because I know it drives you crazy.”
And there it is. An admission. Proof, not that I needed it. “You just enjoy reducing me to a crazy madman.”
“You make yourself a crazy madman. You need no help in that department, Jesse. I’ve told you before; you do not dictate my wardrobe.”
Maybe not, but I buy the clothes, that earns me some rights. “You drive me crazy,” I mutter for the sake of it, reinforcing it.
“What are you going to do?” She’s still fucking grinning. Why am I taking the bait? “Divorce me?”
I beg your pardon?“Watch your fucking mouth,” I snap, stunned.
“I didn’t even swear,” she says, laughing.
“Yes, you fucking did.” I scowl at a man who passes, his eyes on Ava for slightly longer than is acceptable. And no time at all is the only acceptable amount of time. “The worse word,” I confirm, watching him quickly correcting himself when I catch him in the act, admiring my hysterical wife. “In fact. I forbid you to say it.”
“You forbid me?” she asks, her laughing ramping up.
“Yes, I forbid you.”
“Divorce.”
For God’s sake. “Now you’re just being childish.”
“...ish,” she whispers, her lips puckered delightfully, ready for me to kiss. How she drives me wild. “Feed me.”
“I should fucking starve you and reward you with food when you do what you’re fucking told,” I mumble, turning her toward the restaurant nearby. “I’ll feed you here.”
“Looks lovely,” she says as I guide her with my hands on her shoulders.
“I love you,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her body tense and her face push to mine.
“I know.”
“Table for two, please,” I say to the host. “Outside if you have it.”
“Certainly, sir.” He plucks two menus from the stand and shows us the way. “Drinks?”
“Water, thank you.” I help Ava into her seat, pushing her close to the table. My smile is huge. Her chair will get farther away each week. “The tapas are sublime,” I say, handing her a menu.
“You pick,” she says, not bothering to look at the options. “I’m sure you’ll make a suitable choice.” Is she being sarcastic?
“Thank you,” I say, unsure.
“You’re welcome.” Definitely sarcastic. She pours water and drinks a whole glass.
“Thirsty?” I ask, eyes wide as she glugs down another. “Be careful, you might drown the babies.”
She snorts, spraying some water, and I smile as she wipes herself up. “Will you stop with that?”
“What?” I ask, injured. “I’m just showing some fatherly concern.” The atmosphere suddenly goes from playful to tense, and I watch, confused, as Ava studies me, thinking. What?
“You don’t think I can look after our babies,” she says, her voice small. “Do you?”
What? Where’s that come from? “Yes, I do.” Although, admittedly, I’m concerned that she’s relying on me to share all the dos and don’ts of pregnancy. Which, annoyingly, is the catalyst for many of our current disagreements. If she would only read the book. I know she wants this, has come to terms with it, is happy about it, but my life would be a lot less stressful if I didn’t have to worry about what she’s eating and whether it could be harmful to the babies. Am I being over the top? I don’t think I am. Only a father who’s lost a child might understand.
Which is why Ava never will.
“What the hell do you think I’m going to do?” she asks, her tone somewhere between scathing and wounded. More the former. I glance at her in question. Wait. What does she think I think she’s going to do? I’m talking about food choices. Being careful. Taking it easy. Putting all the necessary things in place to make this risk-free and ensure both Ava’s and the babies health and safety. What the hell does she think I?—
Oh no.
“Don’t,” she whispers, her eyes flooding with tears. Shit, and now I’ve made her cry.
I move across to the seat next to her, pulling her in for a hug. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice soft and quiet. “Don’t get upset, please.”
“I’m okay.” She snivels, wiping her nose. “I said, I’m fine.” She breaks free, her expression fierce as she swipes up her water. She’s angry. And I know she’s not angry with me. She’s mad with herself, reflecting on her fleeting, desperate, actions.
I’ve got over it, got past it. I realize what she was doing and why she did it. She needs to forgive herself. “Ava,” I say gently. “Look at me.” Her annoyed glower remains in place, her eyes on the back of the restaurant rather than me. For Christ’s sake, it’s our last night together here. This is not how I planned for it to be. Fuck, I need to ease up on the baby talk. “Three.” So we’ll go for some Jesse talk. I don’t appreciate the roll of her eyes, nor the fact she’s still refusing to look at me. Fine. She doesn’t think I’ll act on zero? She really has forgotten who I am. “Two,” I go on, and she sighs, looking at her water as she sets it down, firm in her stubborn stance. “One.” Another sigh. Fuck this. “Zero, baby.” I pull her off the chair and tackle her to the floor with gentle ease, pinning her there, hearing a chorus of collective gasps from diners around us. Ava’s big brown eyes are as wide as I’ve ever seen them as she stares up at my serious face. She can’t believe me? Well, here she is on the floor, and here I am pinning her there. In a crowded restaurant. Wherever, whenever.
“Jesse,” she breathes, motionless, looking positively shell-shocked. “Let me up.”
“I did warn you, baby.” My smile breaks. “Wherever, whenever.” I guarantee my wife will do what I ask in future.
She starts wriggling when I make no attempt to release her. “Yes, okay. You’ve made your point.”
“I don’t think I have.” I dip, my face close to hers. Her cheeks are a glorious shade of embarrassed. “I love you.”
“I know, let me up.”
“No.”
“Please,” she whispers, her gaze pleading.
“Tell me you love me,” I demand.
“I love you.”
I sag. “Say it like you mean it, Ava.” Not like you’re desperate to get all attention off us. Fat chance. Everyone is still silent, all listening. I’m quite surprised there’s been no intervention, though. Lucky for them.
“I love you,” she says again, this time gently, and I study her for a second, before relenting and helping her up off the floor. I remain on my knees before her. I’m not done.
“Get up,” she orders, cautiously glancing around the restaurant.
She cares too much. I don’t. I get close, slipping my palms onto her arse and looking up at her. “Ava Ward, my beautiful, defiant girl,” I whisper, making her eyes widen again. Yes, baby. A public declaration of love. I have no shame when it comes to this woman. “You make me the happiest man on this fucking planet,” I go on. “You married me, and now you’re blessing me with twin babies.” The crowd sings their sigh as I kiss her belly. “I love you so fucking much,” I say with grit. “You’re going to be an incredible mummy to my babies.” Getting to my feet, dropping kisses on her body on my way up, I finish in her neck. “Don’t try to stop me from loving you. It makes me sad.”
“Sad or crazy?” she asks, a nervous tinge to her voice.
“Sad,” I confirm, taking her cheeks, nose to nose. “Kiss me, wife.”
There’s a mild, disbelieving shake of her head before she plants one on me, and the crowd starts clapping. I break our kiss and look around, seeing people standing. Women swooning. Men undoubtedly considering upping their romantic game. Ava dying. Okay, I’ve made a big enough spectacle of us both. Time to eat. “I love her,” I say one last time, sitting us down.
“Twins!” the waiter says, excited as he bursts through the tables. “You must celebrate.” I flinch when the cork pops, flying across the restaurant, and he laughs, happy as he pours two glasses.
Ava stares at the glasses, her embarrassment now gone and awkwardness creeping up the back. “Thank you,” she says politely. “That’s very kind.”
I reach for her knee under the table a squeeze, dragging her attention from the back of the restaurant to me. “I cannot believe you did that.” She shakes her head as I remove the champagne, pushing it out of smelling distance.
“Why?”
She doesn’t reply, her attention on the back of the restaurant again. She’s distracted. “Do you know that woman?” she asks.
“What woman?” I follow her gaze.
“There.” She nods her head, making me crane mine more. “The woman with the pale blue cardigan. Can you see?”
Pale blue cardigan? I can’t see a pale blue cardigan. I start to turn back toward the table, but someone a few tables away gets up from their chair, clearing the way to the next table at the back of the restaurant.
All air drains from my lungs so fast, I jolt. And when I try to inhale, nothing happens. I can’t breathe as I stare into her eyes.
My mother.
I return to face the table, my body turning cold. Act normal. I try to stop my hands from shaking, clenching my fists. I try to push back the stressed sweat. I try to blink my dry eyes. I’m incapable. It’s been years since I’ve seen her. Seen any of them. What the hell is she doing here? It’s Amalie’s wedding weekend in Seville. She shouldn’t be here!
“What’s the matter?” Ava’s palm comes at me, and I move back in my chair, trying to avoid it before she feels how cold and clammy I am. “Jesse?” she presses, the worry in her voice forcing me to shake my head clear, and hopefully the haunted expression from my face too. “Jesse, what’s wrong?” I blink my focus back, my eyes scratchy, and find Ava staring at me, worried.
I look down at the table. Play it down. But my hands are still shaking, and there is nothing I can do to stop them. “We’re leaving.” Escape. My hand catches a glass as I get up from my chair, my trembling body failing me. Ava looks up at me, her face a picture of concern as I yell at myself to pull it together, rootling through my pocket for my wallet. I drop some money on the table and Ava allows me to pull her perplexed form up from the chair and guide her through the tables with no protest. When we make it outside, I take the lead, urgency ruling me. I steer her toward the car, starting to feel some resistance. Fuck.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asks with panic. I aim the fob at my car and yank the passenger door open. She’s unmoving before me, looking up at me in question. Get in, please, baby. I need you to get in the car. But I can’t speak the words. I’ve lost my voice, but I haven’t lost my sight.
My mother hurries out of the restaurant pulling her blue cardigan in, looking up and down the street. I pull in air, my heart beating wildly. In desperation, I take Ava’s arm, trying to get her in the car. Mum sees me. I try harder to move Ava, but she’s rigid.
“Jesse?” Mum says, hurrying over but slowing as she nears. As if approaching a volatile animal. Coaxing it into trusting her. Ava turns to face her, and Mum’s eyes move between Ava, her stomach, and me. Jesus.
“Ava, baby,” I say, quiet but shaky. Her expression isn’t one I’d like to archive. Utter shock. She knows who this is. “We’re going.”
“Jesse, son,” Mum whispers, her eyes unbearably cloudy.
Son? I’m her son? Then why the fuck did she treat me differently to her other son? “You don’t get to call me that,” I grate, trying to get Ava moving. “Ava, get in the car.”
Thank God, she finally moves, walking straight to the open door and lowering to the seat. Closing the door, I stride around the back, avoiding Mum at the front, but she meets me at the driver’s door, blocking it.
Fuck.
“Jesse, please,” she begs. My face bunches, so many painful memories assaulting me. I can’t take it. “Please, I beg you, let’s talk.” She reaches for my arm, touching me. Holding me. Her eyes are beseeching. Sad. Desperate. Eyes that are older than I remember. “It never had to be like this.”
“You and Dad made it like this.” I pull myself free of her hold and back off, unwilling to push past her or move her. She looks so frail.
“We only ever wanted what was best for you.”
By forcing me into marriage? Deciding my future? Reminding me every day that Jake was gone and it was entirely my fault?
Did they, Jesse? Isn’t that what you told yourself?
I growl, physically pushing Jake’s voice away with my hand on my head, turning away from my mother, unable to see her looking so distressed. The floodgates of my past have burst, and the memories are fucking relentless.
“Please.” Ava’s voice invades my chaos, and I turn to find she’s got out of the car and put herself between me and Mum. A shield. A barrier. “I’m asking you to move,” she says calmly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say to Mum tightly. I can’t cope with the feelings she provokes. Any of them. It’s exactly why I’ve avoided Amalie for so many years too. “Why are you here? It’s Amalie’s wedding weekend in Seville. Why are you here?”
Mum’s eyes bounce between Ava and me constantly. “It’s your father,” she says, her hands now starting to play nervously. “The wedding, it got postponed because your father had a heart attack.” I withdraw, shocked. A heart attack? Is he okay? “Amalie tried to get in touch after you never replied to her wedding invite.”
Is that what she told them? That she couldn’t get in touch with me? Easier than telling them I declined. My sister wanted to save their feelings. God damn her. “Tell me why Amalie tried to contact me? Why not you?”
“I thought you would answer your sister.” She moves forward, and I move back. “I was hoping you would answer you sister’s calls.”
“Well, you were wrong,” I yell, frustration getting the better of me. “You don’t get to do this to me.” I’m in a better place. Finally, I’m in a better place, and seeing her now, listening to her, having all of these unwanted feelings, is no good for anyone. “No more, Mum,” I say, resolute. “Your influence already fucked my life up, and now I’m making it right all on my own.”
Denials.
Throwing blame.
Oh, Jesse. All these years you’ve blamed yourself, and now it’s Mum and Dad’s fault?
Mum withdraws like she’s been stung. “Twins?” she says quietly. I study her, taken aback by the pain in her eyes. Seeping from her old skin. It’s emblazoned on every inch of her. So much fucking pain.
“Ava,” I whisper, my throat thick and tight, my eyes still on my mother. “Please, get me out of here.”
She comes to life before me, as Mum goes back to looking between us, panic rising. Her chance to make things right slipping. “I’m asking you nicely,” Ava says, her tone stern. “Please, move.”
“It’s another chance, Jesse.” Mum crumbles before me, and suddenly the agony inside worsens. The memories hit harder. My heart breaks all over again.
“Come on,’” Ava says, leading me around the car, away from my mother. She doesn’t take her tearful eyes off me. Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, her mind racing to find the right words, the words that will stop me walking away.
Ava guides me down to the seat, and I stare out of the windscreen, numb.
It’s another chance.
For whom?
Them?
Or me?