This Woman Forever

Chapter 42

I feel her naked warmth all over my front, her soft boobs and belly pressed tight. I hum, happy, the peaceful sense of half slumber too glorious to leave just yet. Her soft voice in the distance is encouraging me to wake up. My dick hears her too, and my hands skate down her bare back to her bottom, my palms cupping her cheeks. Her breath on my face tells me her mouth is close. “If I open my eyes, I’m going to see big chocolate fuck-me ones, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re going to see big, wide, disturbed ones. Open your eyes.”

I squint, peeking at her. She’s right. Her eyes are, indeed, wide and worried. Then she flicks her head, and I catch sight of her problem. My dear, old housekeeper is standing at the foot of the couch, her face silently amused. “Oh,” I murmur. “Morning, Cathy.”

“You too love birds need to buy some pajamas.” Pajamas? Not a chance. “Or at least keep your underwear on.” Nope. “I’ll be in the kitchen preparing breakfast.”

I laugh, feeling Ava’s mortification. “Morning, baby.” Now Cathy’s not got direct line of sight to between my legs, I open them, getting Ava nestled comfortably. “Let me see your face.”

She burrows deeper into my neck, trying to disappear.

“She’s all bashful.” While I’m not. Cathy’s copped a load of my fine form more than is acceptable for a housekeeper. “Shall we get you upstairs?”

“Yes.” Ava pushes herself up and looks around, as I use my stomach muscles to lift and peek over the top of the couch to the kitchen. Ava snorts, laughing loudly, all embarrassment lost.

“What’s tickled you?”

“You look like a meerkat.” She collapses to her back and pulls her bra into place, semi gaining her dignity. “Wind your neck in.” She snorts.

What the hell is she talking about? I fight my legs free from under hers and gather her up from the couch, lifting her onto my shoulder. “Where I’m from, that means something entirely different,” I say, giving her bum a sharp slap as I carry her up the stairs, smiling, remembering last night. It was the perfect end to a shitty day. But today is a new day. “It is you who needs to be doing the winding.”

“I know what it means,” she says, sighing. “I was being ironic. And there will be no winding of necks here.”

“A man can live in hope.” I carry her into the bathroom and put her down, turning the shower on. “There. In you get.”

“I hope you’re going to lock your office door now.”

“Only for our eyes, baby.” I laugh, although Cathy’s not a prude. “I have a key and I’ve hidden one among the piles of lace in your underwear drawer, okay?”

Her eyes darken, a certain sign of mischief appearing. My semi-hard-on is in her hand a second later. “Ava,” I whisper, wondering why she’s not yet flown into a flat-out panic over the time. Surely she’s realized that with Cathy’s arrival, it’s close to eight, which means she’s late for work. Maybe she doesn’t care? I withdraw, if only to test my theory, but rather than escape, I get a long, firm stroke of her hand down my shaft, bringing it to full hardness. Fuck. I slap my hands on my cheeks, hiding from the temptress’s inviting gaze. “If I don’t take you now,” I say, “my cock is going to be aching all day long.”

“Take me.”

Oh? She’d rather morning sex than getting to work on time? She might get fired at this rate. I lower my hand as she steps into me, her head tilted, her smile small and demure. Take me. That’s a demand. “Oh, I will.” I lift her and sit her on the vanity unit, and a whole heap of memories flood my mind. Look at us then. Look at us now. “You can’t escape now,” I whisper, trapping her with my arms braced either side.

“I don’t want to,” she replies easily.

“Good.” I kiss her gently, my body temperature rising. “I like your dress.”

“I’m not wearing one, so we can’t lose it.”

“Fond memories?” I say quietly, breaking our kiss and looking at her closely. Mine.

“Very.” The lust in her voice, how I love it. “Can you pin me against the wall now?”

I move in slowly, extending the anticipation, breathing hard, eyes darting across her face, everything inside singing.

“Oh my God, no!” Cathy’s distraught yell hits my ears, stopping my mouth just shy of Ava’s. What the fuck?

I bolt out of the bathroom, grabbing some boxers off the chair, and race downstairs, my hand holding my dick to stop it swinging around. Cathy has her back against the door, like a human barricade pushing it shut, but there’s a foot wedged between the door and the frame stopping it. “Cathy,” I say, stepping into my boxers and pulling them up.

She sees me and loses focus, and the door jolts behind her. Is someone actually trying to fight their way in? “It’s that piece of work,” she hisses, slamming her back into the door again. “I told her, I said, no, not today, and she tried to force her way in! She turned up while you were in Spain too. I warned her, Jesse. I told her to stay away.”

I don’t have a moment to wonder who she is.

“I need to talk to him.”

I stare at the wood, my mouth open. “Coral?” I breathe in disbelief. Fuck, no.

“Yes, it’s me, and I really need to talk to you.”

I look back at the stairs, dread overcoming me. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, going to the door. Ava will be here any minute to find out what had me dashing away as we were about to reenact our first sexual encounter.

“I thought it was Clive,” Cathy says, red in the face, a mixture of exhaustion and anger. I wedge a palm into the door to hold it while encouraging Cathy to the side, out of the way of any flying wood.

“I’ll deal with it.”

“Who the hell does she think she is?” she snaps, yanking at her skew-whiff apron as Coral hammers her fist on the other side.

“Please, Cathy.” I’m breaking out in a fucking sweat here, waiting for the bombs to go off inside the penthouse as well as outside. What the fuck is Coral thinking? And what the fuck does she want? “Go and sort out some breakfast for Ava.” The second I say her name, she appears at the bottom of the stairs, buttoning up one of my shirts, her face an uncomfortable shade of impassive.

“What’s going on?” She looks between my raging, uncomfortable form to the door, as Coral—fuck that woman—persistently hammers on the wood. She’s lost her fucking mind.

“Nothing, baby,” I say, calm but breathless, completely backed into a corner, as Ava stares at the door, wondering who I’m trying to keep out. “Cathy’s making your breakfast. Go.” I jerk my head toward the kitchen. I’m a fucking joke, but I live in hope that my wife might one day actually listen to me and do what she’s told. I don’t need her stressed. Yesterday was bad enough, what with the shitshow her brother brought to the mix. This is not how I wanted today to start.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Ava,” I breathe, feeling my patience fraying. Not with her, but with the fucking nutter on the other side of this door who is hellbent of making my life a fucking misery. “You didn’t eat last night,” I point out. “Go and have some breakfast.”

“I said, I’m not hungry.”

Coral continues to try and push her way in, and Ava continues to stand her ground. God, send me strength, I think as I glance at the ceiling, telling myself to keep my cool. “Ava, why the fuck can’t you do what you’re told?” I ask. “Go. And. Get. Your. Breakfast.”

“No.” She comes at me, eyes on the door, and tries to open it while I keep my back pressed against the wood. “Jesse, let go of the fucking door.”

God damn her. “Watch your?—”

“Fuck off!” She goes all out demonic on the door, fighting to get it open.

“Ava,” I hiss, outraged, using one hand to try and pull her back before she does herself some damage.

“Jesse, we need to talk,” Coral yells, silencing us both, as well as halting our physical tussle. Oh, Jesus.

Ava stares at the wood briefly before moving an incensed gaze my way. “What the hell is she doing here?” she asks, catching me by surprise and yanking the door open. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Coral hardly gives Ava the time of day, ignoring my wife and focusing on me. This is not going to go down well. “I need to speak to you,” she says, throwing a death glare Ava’s way. “Alone.”

Ava’s amused snort fills me with dread. I’ve seen the aftermath of her losing her rag. Coral’s on rocky ground. “You’ve got more chance of having tea with the Queen. What do you want?”

I move in closer to Ava, getting ready to hold her back. Her cheeks are flushed, and it isn’t because I was a heartbeat away from getting my dick inside her.

“I asked you a question,” she presses, her body buzzing with anger and disbelief.

“Ava,” I say softly, nervously. “Calm yourself down, baby.”

“I’m calm,” she snaps, very uncalmly, removing my hand from her back. “I won’t ask you again.” What the hell is she doing? I’m stepping in before Ava blows a gasket. So I move around her and hold a warning arm out, daring her to pass the line I’ve just drawn.

“Coral, I’ve told you before,” I say, calmly—not feeling it—not looking her in the eye. I thought she was gone for dust. One less problem to deal with. But she’s been showing up while we were away? And Cathy didn’t mention it? How many other times has she shown up, and why hasn’t she called me? Because she knew I wouldn’t answer. Or, perhaps, because she wanted Ava to see her. This isn’t feeling good. But I haven’t got time for her deluded romantic notions. “It’s never going to happen. You need to fuck off and find someone else to stalk.” Don’t tell me I need to get Cook to sort a restraining order too?

“Have it your way,” she says, cocky. That’s confusing. Have what my way? I sincerely hate the look on her face. Enough to want to slap it off, and I’m quite certain Ava feels the same.

Coral produces a small scrap of paper. “What the fuck is that?” I ask, nervous but way angrier.

“Take a look for yourself.”

I whip it from her fingers on a snarl, at the same time keeping Ava back when I feel her pressing into the boundary line that is my arm. The moment I look at the paper, my stomach drops. Oh, fucking hell, no.

“What is it?” Ava asks as I stare, my eyes glazed and burning.

“That is a scan picture of his baby,” Coral declares proudly, and suddenly Ava’s not pushing into my arm anymore.

“Fucking hell,” I hiss, catching her as she wobbles, seeing every bit of color drain from her face. Her dark eyes are wide, her lips parted. “Shit, Ava.” I fucking knew this would happen. She mustn’t get stressed! I pick her up and take her to the couch, sitting her down, looking up over her head when Cathy appears at the kitchen doorway. I hold up a hand, signaling we’re good. “Breathe, baby,” I order softly, pushing her head down between her legs. My head’s about to spin off my neck. “Just breathe.” How the fucking hell did this happen? I’ve always been so careful. Always. I hiss, stroking Ava’s back, as I try to recall the times I ended up in bed with Coral. Mostly drunk. Can I be sure there were no accidents? A split condom, maybe one slipping off. Or maybe she took advantage of my inebriated state? It wouldn’t be the first time. But... it’s been months since I’ve been there. My eyes narrow, turning Coral’s way. Why the fuck does she look so damn pleased with herself? Because she’s about to fuck your marriage and life up. “What the fuck are you playing at, you stupid fucking woman,” I growl. “I’ve not slept with you for months.”

“Four months, and I’m four months gone.” Her smile. She’s happy. “Do the math.”

“You can’t be,” I hiss. She can’t be! “Fuck.” My head falls into my hands, and I silently will myself to wake up from this nightmare. I have not one fucking clue what to say, what to do. Proof. I want proof. I stare at the scan picture on the floor, getting hotter, sweatier. I have the fucking proof. Shit.

Ava’s hand appears in my downcast vision, picking up the picture. “Ava, what are you doing?”

“Yes, what are you doing?” Coral asks, coming forward. Like what? What is she planning to do? I hold a halting hand up, daring her to take one more step. My eyes drop to her stomach. Oh God, it’s Lauren all over again. How didn’t I see this coming? Once bitten, twice shy. But she’s got me.

Wait, no. She hasn’t got me. Does she think this changes things, that I’ll leave my wife? Or is she banking on my wife leaving me? My heart turns in my chest, forcing my fist there to press into my flesh and ease the pain. This is my penance for trapping Ava. But, again, Coral doesn’t get me. The baby, though? Will Ava accept it?

“I’m just trying to figure out,” Ava says, studying the image. “Whether you’re four or five weeks pregnant. I’m guessing just four.”

Weeks? Wait, Ava’s not seriously insinuating I slept with Coral four or five weeks ago? We were planning our wedding!

“I’m four months,” Coral says. “Not weeks.”

“No, you’re not,” Ava says, so calmly. I’m not sure I like this. “When was the last time you slept with her?” she asks, and I become all kinds of uncomfortable.

“Four, five months,” I say. Maybe it was three. I don’t know, but it definitely wasn’t four to five weeks ago. “Ava, I can’t think that far back. I didn’t exist before you.” Jesus, please tell me she doesn’t believe I betrayed her again. “I always used a condom, you know that.”

“I know,” she says, smiling a little. I don’t deserve her trust, not really. “Was she one of the...” She inhales, looking for some bravery that I wish she didn’t need. “Did you?—”

“No,” I say, resting a hand on her shoulder, squeezing some reassurance into her before rubbing at her nape. “Look at me.” I need her to see the sincerity in my eyes. I’m no saint, I know that. I don’t deserve this woman’s faith or trust, but I have not slept with Coral since I’ve been with Ava, and that is a fact. “No,” I reiterate, hating the relief I see fill her. If this baby is mine, it happened pre-Ava, and that’s my only saving grace. I just hope she can accept that. And the child. But never Coral. She’s a deceptive, immoral witch. But, again, that’s not the baby’s fault. Just like it wasn’t Rosie’s fault that her mother trapped me.

Then tried to kill me.

“You’re going to stay with him when he’s having a baby with another woman?” Coral says. “Where’s your self-respect?” My God, I wish I could do the unthinkable and slap her out of this apartment.

“I’m going to trample now,” Ava says quietly. It pulls an inappropriate smile from me.

“Knock yourself out, baby,” I say, pressing my lips to her cheek. “But please, let’s just make this one a verbal trample.” And, sadly, that’s not only because Ava’s expecting my babies. I turn and face Coral. This witch is too. Good God.

“What are you two talking about?” Coral asks.

“Get me your picture,” Ava says, looking at me.

“What picture?”

“The one that you carry everywhere,” she says. “I’m not stupid. Where is it?”

My scan picture? Why the hell does she want that? “In my suit jacket.”

“Go and get it.”

Is she mad? “No, I’m not leaving you with her.” Fuck knows what will go down in my absence.

“Her?” Coral asks, insulted. “Is that the way you’re going to speak to the mother of your child?”

“You are not the fucking mother of my child, you deluded freak!” I will only ever see her as a smear on my life. And now one that can’t be rubbed away. Ever. Fuck!

Ava walks away, so fucking calm, leaving me with Coral. “I can’t believe you’ve done this to me,” I hiss. “This is low, Coral. So fucking low.”

“I didn’t plan this, Jesse,” she says, moving closer. “It was obviously meant to be.”

“What, like we were meant to be?” I ask on a laugh. “Then why the fuck did I marry another woman, Coral?” She’s fucking loo-la, I swear it.

“We had something special.”

I practically dive from her outstretched hand. No. She’ll never touch me again.

“Special?” Someone, knock some sense into her, please. “I screwed you for a while,” I remind her for what feels like the millionth time. “I fucked you and then kicked you out. How the fuck is that special?”

“You came back for more. That has to mean something. You made me need you.”

“No, you made yourself need me.” There was no worshipping, no devotion, no love, not even any fucking smiles. She’s fabricated a relationship that never happened, and that is on her head, not mine. “I barely even spoke to you when I was screwing you,” I go on. “You were a piece of meat that was handy to have on call.” Before Ava O’Shea arrived in my life and everything except her was irrelevant. “You’re just like the rest of them, but even more desperate.” I sneer, my contempt rife. “Get a good seeing to and you think your life depends on it. What the hell makes you think that I’d leave my wife for you?” I ask, looking her up and down.

“Because I’m having your baby.”

“You’re lying.” If I keep saying it, it might come true. If she didn’t have that proof, I would laugh her out of my penthouse with a boot up her arse. But she’s come armed with evidence, and that changes everything. God damn it, how did I let this happen?

“She is lying,” Ava says quietly.

What?

I feel something inside lift as I look back at her. Again, so calm. Too calm for a woman who’s just found out her husband is fathering a child with another woman.

“I’m not,” Coral says, indicating the picture. “You have the proof there.”

“Yes, I do.” Ava shows her the picture. Wait. I frown. That’s my picture. It’s tatty, the edges worn from me holding it so much. “This is a six-week scan picture,” Ava says.

“No, it’s a four-month scan picture.”

“This isn’t your baby, Coral.”

“Whose is it then?”

Oh my God, is what I think’s happening actually happening? Coral doesn’t know Ava’s expecting?

Ava gazes down at the scan picture. My scan picture. My scan picture with my babies on it. “This is my baby,” Ava muses, almost wistful. “And Jesse’s.”

“What?” Coral asks, unsure.

“Well, I say baby,” she goes on. “What I actually meant was babies. You see, we’re having twins, and I know you’re trying to pull a fast one because this really is a six-week scan picture. And there are two peanuts here, smaller than your one blob, I know, but I can get a feel for it. I don’t know. Maybe it’s motherly instinct.” She smiles, while I stare at her, mouth agape. “Is that all?” she asks.

I’m speechless, wanting to grab the pictures and compare them. Or maybe I’ll just take her word for it. Is she right? Has Coral got herself pregnant and is trying to pass it off as mine?

“Unless you can miraculously produce this missing strip that’ll confirm your dates,” Ava says, pointing at the photo. “I think we’re done.” The picture gets tossed on the floor at Coral’s feet. “Now fuck off and go find the real father of your spawn.”

I flinch on Coral’s behalf, certain I’m not stepping in right now. Jesus, Ava looks on the verge of exploding, although, surprisingly, she’s keeping control of it.

“Are you leaving?” she asks when Coral doesn’t budge. “Or do I have to drag you out?”

Now, I absolutely will step in then. But I don’t need to. Coral grabs her scan picture and scuttles out quietly, and Ava makes a meal of slamming the door, her body heaving. Adrenaline? Fuck, I don’t even know what to say as she turns toward me. She looks so mad. Fuck me, can I put this woman through any more stress?

“Av—”

She walks past me without a word, leaving me standing by the door, feeling lost and ashamed. Dropping my head back, I curse quietly to the heavens. I hate that there was even room for doubt. Fuck. Exhausted, I perch on the arm of the couch, shaking my head in disbelief. Nothing should surprise me anymore, and yet here I am, constantly fucking surprised.

“You okay, boy?” Cathy asks quietly from the kitchen entrance.

“Had better mornings, Cathy,” I say, my body heavy.

“Coffee?”

Alcohol.

I shake the fleeting thought away, struggling to my feet. “No, thanks. I’ve got some serious sucking up to do.” I trudge off, having to use the handrail to help me up the stairs, hearing the shower. She’s under the spray washing her hair when I make it to the bathroom, and I hover at the door, anxious. I can’t leave her on bad terms today. I already know it’s going to be stressful, waiting on information on who the fuck stole my car, not to mention the fact that it’s been confirmed Van Der Haus is still sniffing around my wife, waiting for me to fuck it all up so he can sweep on in and sweep her off her feet. I’m probably being dramatic—she’ll never fall into that Danish arsehole’s arms. But still. I’m feeling uncertain, and particularly shitty for ruining her day before it’s gotten started.

I don’t usually need any courage or push to try and improve my wife’s mood with a potent, underhanded hit of her godly husband, but today feels different. Ava seems... tired.

Of me?

Of our life?

Fuck, Paradise feels like eons ago. Pushing my boxers down, I step out of them and into the stall behind her, seeing her shoulder blades pull in, a sign that she knows I’m close. Defensive? Preparing to brush me off? I take the sponge off the shelf and wet it, moving in and starting to wash her. She pulls away immediately, and my heart sinks in disappointment.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Oh God, the fatal words. I’ve really fucking done it this time. God damn me. Pouting, I try one more time to bring her around, slipping my hand onto her stomach. Skin on skin. It’s what I’ve always depended on.

”I said I’m not in the mood.” She dips out of the shower, escaping me, and this time I know it’s not because she’s worried she’ll cave in to my form of making friends.

“You promised you’d never say that,” I whisper as she dries herself. Her hands stall briefly before she wraps herself in the towel and tucks the top in, looking up at me. I know my eyes are full of apologies. Hers are full of hopelessness.

“I’m late,” she murmurs, leaving, and my aching heart cracks painfully as I watch her go.

“Fuck it,” I breathe, running my hands through my hair, wetting it, finding some energy to wash. I can’t, however, find the energy to dress once I’ve dried off and scrubbed my teeth. Instead, I sit on the bed while Ava gets herself ready for work, ignoring me, my mind circling on loop with millions of apologies, trying to figure out how to voice them.

And then she’s ready and leaving. Fuck. I dive up and put myself in the doorway, stopping her. But not touching her. “Baby, my heart’s splitting,” I say, willing her to forgive yet something else from my shitty past that’s infiltrating our lives. “I hate fighting with you.”

“We’re not fighting.” She can’t even look at me. “You need to get the code on the elevator changed,” she says, cold and harshly. “And find out how she got up here too.” That’s a good point. Why the fuck would Clive do that?

She’s past me before I know it, and I’m instinctively going after her. Instinct. Shit, I’m back to depending on that. I reach for her and catch her wrist, stopping her from making her escape. “I will,” I assure her. I’ll also be tearing Clive a new arsehole, but for now I have more important matters to contend with. And I’m rooting for instinct. “We need to make friends.”

“I’m dressed,” she sighs. “We are not making friends now.”

I smile, loving that’s where her mind goes. “Not properly, no,” I say, making her face me. “But don’t make me spend all day knowing that you’re not talking to me,” I beg, getting on my knees. “The days are long enough already.”

She looks down at my sorry form on a sigh. “I’m talking to you.”

“Then why are you sulking?” I ask.

“Because a woman has just invaded our home and tried to stake a claim on you, Jesse,” she says, irritable, like I’m asking a dumb question. Which I know I am. “That is why I’m sulking.”

“Come here,” I order, not giving her a chance to protest, pulling her down and cuddling her. She doesn’t fight me. I’m taking that as a good sign. “I love it when you trample.”

“It’s tiring,” she mumbles. “I really need to go.”

“Okay.” I’ll take that. “Tell me we’re friends,” I order, holding her face. God, she does look tired. I decide here and now that I’m picking her up from work on Friday and taking her back to Paradise. No arguments.

“We’re friends,” she breathes, exasperated.

“Good girl.” I beam at her, happy, but I am mentally plotting the demise of Coral for causing this shitshow. “We’ll make friends properly later. Go get your breakfast. I’ll be two minutes.”

“I need to go, it’s eight thirty already.”

“Two minutes,” I say, standing us up. “You’ll wait for me.”

“Hurry up then,” she snaps, pushing me on. I quickly find my phone and answer John’s missed calls on my way to the dressing room.

“Morning,” I say, holding my phone to my ear as I drop my towel and pull on some boxers. “What’s up?”

“Did I just see Coral leaving?”

“Yes, you won’t believe the fucking morning I’ve had.”

He laughs. “I bet I will.”

He couldn’t possibly. “We’re coming.” I hang up and rush into my suit, trying to call Sam, just needing to vent. But the fucker doesn’t answer. So I try Drew. Nothing. “Where are your fucking friends when you need them?” I mutter, stuffing my feet into my brogues and pulling a tie off the rack, fixing it as I head back down.

“Here he is,” Cathy sings. “And he’s dressed.” She wrinkles her nose, a cheeky glint in her old eyes.

“I’m dressed.” I chuckle. “As is my beautiful wife.” And doesn’t she look beautiful today?.

“Can I go to work now?” she asks on a roll of her eyes.

“Have you taken your folic acid?” I ask, sorting my collar, aware that despite being grumpy with me, she’s still admiring me.

“Yes.”

“Have you had your breakfast?” I ask, and she indicates a bag. I can’t put my foot down. If she feels anything like me, this morning has chased away any appetite. “You better eat that.” I seize her hand. “Say goodbye to Cathy.”

They sing their goodbyes and we leave, ready for another day. But not.

“Morning, Ava,” Clive says, happy as fucking Larry. Not for long. “Mr. Ward.”

“Clive,” I say, reminding myself that he’s an old boy, “how the hell did a woman make it past you and up to the penthouse?”

“Mr. Ward,” he says, laughing. “I’ve just come on shift.”

“Just?” Don’t tell me that young, good-looking fucker is responsible for this. I’ll have him fired.

“Yes, I relieved the new boy only ten minutes ago,” Clive confirms as he checks the time.

“When’s he back on shift?”

“I finish at four. Did he do something wrong, Mr. Ward? I have advised him of protocol.”

Protocol? “For what fucking use it’s done,” I mumble, leading a quiet Ava outside. “John’s taking you to work.”

“When do I get my Mini back?”

“You’re not. It’s a write-off.”

“Oh,” she whispers, becoming even more despondent. “Well, when do I get to drive myself to work, then?”

“When I find out who stole my car.” I’m honest as I pull the Range Rover door open, helping her into the passenger seat and getting her seatbelt on.

“Why aren’t you taking me to work?”

“I have a few meetings at The Manor.” I kiss her scowl away.

“Then why did you make me wait for you?”

“So I could put you in John’s car and remind you to speak with Patrick.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re beautiful. Have a good day.” I close the door and give John a look, not that I need to. He won’t let Ava out of his sight, and I’m not resting until I have some answers.

Slipping into the Aston, I pull out of Lusso and drive to The Manor to meet Cook. I order two coffees with Pete and take a seat in the bar rather than my office, knowing Sarah will be in there. I settle and open a message from John, raising my brows.

Peterson is in the office today.

“So let me hear you tell me otherwise, baby,” I muse, dialing John, but I know deep down Ava telling her boss doesn’t really make any difference. If Van Der Haus wants to reach my wife, there are plenty of options for him to take. Unfortunately for him, he has no shit on me now. No bullets to fire. Will that make a difference? I laugh under my breath as John answers.

“How did she seem?” I ask.

“Quiet. What’s happened?”

“Coral showed up this morning with a scan image of a baby. Told us it’s mine.” There’s silence. I can only imagine John’s face. “It’s not mine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I wasn’t, no, because Coral said she was four months gone. Ava worked out from the scan picture she was lying. Things got a little tense.”

“So it’s not yours?”

“Definitely not mine.” Thank the fucking gods, but it’s some poor fucker’s and I’m seriously feeling sorry for that man. “Ava does passive-aggressive well.”

“She’s got a good teacher.”

“Ha ha,” I drone. “Talk later.” I hang up and scroll through my phone, searching for Van Der Haus’s number and dialing. He answers promptly.

“Mr. Ward,” he says, sounding subtly surprised. “How lovely to hear from you.”

“I’m sure,” I say, not offering the same courtesy. “Don’t make me resort to intervention.” I make a mental note to ask Cook whether a restraining order is possible. It’s harassment, after all.

“Ohh, sounds ominous.”

“Leave my wife alone.”

“Our relationship is of a professional capacity, Mr. Ward.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You called her yesterday.”

The small delay tells me he’s surprised. “Work related.”

I laugh, and there’s an undeniable shred of psycho looming in the sound. “She knows about Freja.” Let’s just put it out there and put this to bed. Hopefully.

“Oh, I know Ava knows about your sordid liaisons with my wife at your seedy sex club before you met, but does she know?—”

“She knows, Van Der Haus,” I grate. “She knows everything.” There’s another beat of silence, and I roll my shoulders, wetting my mouth with my coffee. “My brief encounter with Freja post Ava was a grave misjudgment on my part, and I will live with that regret for the rest of my life, but Ava, in all her grace and glory, has forgiven me.” I reach for my collar and pull it, feeling hot. “That’s the beauty of true love.” And something he’s obviously yet to learn, because Freja couldn’t forgive him for betraying her, and she absolutely shouldn’t. He persistently and without a scrap of remorse, cheated on her. “Forgiveness is a gift it offers.” More coffee. “So, again, stay away from my wife.”

He hums, mulling over my warning. “I might find that impossible.”

“Impossible isn’t an option.” I hang up, uncomfortable, wondering where the fuck he gets his kicks. Even without me in the picture to threaten death, Ava’s not interested. I check my Rolex and start typing out a text Cook, asking how long he’ll be, feeling uncomfortable this far away from Ava, but Amalie’s name shines on my screen, stopping me.

I’m very aware of the kick of my heart. My deep inhale. And yet, this time, I don’t even consider ignoring her. “Hey, everything okay?” I ask, tense. “Dad? Is he okay?”

“He’s okay,” she says, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Have you had time to think?”

I laugh. I haven’t had time to piss in the past day. “What am I thinking about?”

“You know, Jesse,” she breathes. She’s right, I do. But it’s been quite an action-packed twenty-four hours. “Is there a chance?”

I sink deeper into the soft, cushioned seat, rubbing my hand across my forehead. I’m being held back by one thing. Exposure. I can’t make amends with my parents without revealing the final skeleton in my closet. The biggest skeleton. The one that really could destroy us. “Fuck,” I breathe, feeling stifled. Torn. “Amalie, I’m scared,” I admit.

“What of?”

“I’m scared she’ll leave me if she finds out about Rosie and what happened to her.” I swallow, clearing my throat, checking the vicinity. I’m alone, just the staff coming and going, not paying attention to me in the corner.

“God damn it, Jesse, will you stop fucking blaming yourself?”

I frown. “Watch your bloody mouth.”

She huffs. “If anyone is to blame, it’s Uncle Carmichael.”

“What?” How did she conclude that?

“He took Rosie, Jesse. He took her to punish you for something he basically orchestrated. He knew what would happen if he took you to that manor of his. He knew if he shoved you under the nose of that viper, twisted, money-grabbing girlfriend of his you might have caved at a weak moment. He. Took. Rosie. He put her in that car and drove away feeling unwarrantedly injured and betrayed.”

They’re really fucking hard words to hear. And, of course, not true. “He did nothing but be there for me,” I say quietly, uncomfortable. Because Carmichael’s character is being blackened? Or because what she’s saying could be true?

“He took you away from us, Jesse,” she goes on. “He enabled a teenager to rebel when he should have been supporting Dad while you had your teenage strops and placed blame for your attitude and hang-ups at everyone’s door except yours. Yours and Jake’s. You never blamed Jake.”

I inhale. Jake? Why would I blame Jake?

“And do you know what?”

She’s not done? I don’t know if I can take any more. I look at the top shelf behind the bar. My go-to when I can’t face the world. And it all makes fucking sense.

Escape.

“What?” I murmur, making myself listen.

“You couldn’t blame Jake because Jake was basically you. You without the chip on his shoulder.”

Ouch. I reach for my shoulder, as if looking for that chip. “Are you done?” I ask softly.

“Yes,” she sighs. “Except for one thing.”

“I don’t know if I can take much more, Amalie,” I confess. “I’m feeling quite fucking shit right now.”

“I’ve never seen Dad more broken than when you ran away to that manor.”

I wince, wanting to crawl into my coffee cup. “Amalie, please.”

“He loves you, Jesse. Always has. As much as Jake and as much as me.” Her voice starts to break, and that finishes me too. I roughly wipe my face, checking around me. “Why didn’t you ever see that?”

Because I was a bratty teenager with, as Amalie said, a chip on my shoulder. And then I was too bitter or too drunk. Fuck. “I have to go,” I say, needing some air.

“Tell me there’s a chance.”

I stand, swallowing. There’s a chance. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the ache inside, the pain in my heart, rampant.

Have I been ignorant? Not only blind drunk, but simply blind? I’ve been hiding. Arrogant. I inhale, my chest tightening. I feel so mad. Not with myself, but, and it’s a first, with Carmichael. He didn’t mean for something so terrible to happen. But in that moment as he walked away from me and Sarah with Rosie and Rebecca, he was punishing us. And then... tragedy.

He enabled a teenager to rebel when he should have been supporting Dad while you had your teenage strops and placed blame for your attitude and hang-ups at everyone’s door except yours. Yours and Jake’s.

Something clicks.

My parents are the key to complete my happily ever after. I blow out my cheeks, my head beginning to pound. “Fucking hell,” I whisper, stressed, heading for the changing rooms and throwing some running kit on. I sprint out of The Manor and straight down the driveway, my legs like pistons.

I’ve never seen Dad more broken than when you ran away to that manor.

I grit my teeth, running faster.

He loves you, Jesse. Always has. As much as Jake and as much as me.

Faster.

Why didn’t you see that?

Because I was lost in my own hang-ups. Drunk. Angry.

Lost.

“Fuck,” I breath, slowing to a jog, drenched and hardly able to form a sentence, so when Sam calls, I answer with a weary, wheezy grunt.

“I need to see you,” he says urgently. “Now.”