Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Then why the rush?” Elizabeth cries. “We have to give people notice. I have to find my outfit! No. No, you absolutely cannot get married next Saturday.”
I feel Ava deflate behind me, and she looks up at me, as if to say . . . see? Yes. I see. I see that her mother is a pain in my fucking arse. Ava exhales heavily, defeated, and leaves the room, walking to the kitchen. Of course, I follow, rather than giving Elizabeth a deserved trample and upsetting the situation further.
She’s pouring a glass of wine when I enter, and I don’t miss the slight hesitation as she raises it to her mouth before her lips straighten and she swigs. “And that is why I wanted to tell her over the phone,” she says, resting the glass down and facing me. “And I can’t even blame her for being dramatic because . . .” She laughs. “I’ve known you two months! How could anyone possibly know they want to be with someone forever within two months?”
“I knew in two minutes,” I say quietly, winning her eyes. Guilt. I see it on her. “Don’t tell me you’re changing your mind.”
“Of course I’m not.”
“You agreed a week on Saturday.”
She sighs. “I know.”
Well, this is wonderful. “You could at least pretend to be excited, Ava,” I grumble, passing her and going to the fridge, yanking it open and pulling out a jar of my faithful. I unscrew the lid and focus on the digging some out—anything to soothe my injured state.
I don’t get a chance to get my finger into my mouth, though. My wrist is seized and held still, and Ava takes the jar from my other hand and puts it on the counter. She looks at me with sorry eyes. “Forgive me?”
I pout. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Yes.”
“Then let’s do it, baby.”
She nods and directs my finger to her mouth, slipping it past her lips. I inhale. What the fuck is she doing to me?
“You hate peanut butter,” I whisper, my voice low and husky, my dick twitching. She sucks, licks, circles the tip with her tongue, then pulls it out slowly on an erection-provoking pop.
“But I love you,” she whispers, swallowing. “Need you.”
I back her up into the nearest wall, ready to ravish her, take what I’ve been desperate for all evening and what Ava has tempted me with. I kiss her cheek. “I’ll take care of everything,” I whisper, kissing her other cheek. “All you need to worry about is your dress.” I move my lips to her forehead.
“Everything?”
“Every little thing,” I assure her, dotting kisses down the bridge of her nose. I won’t have her overwhelmed or stressed. She just needs to show up and say I do. “Even the honeymoon.”
“Wait.” She puts her hands into my chest and pushes me back a little. “I can’t go on a honeymoon. Not straight away. I’ve already had too many days off work, and I’ve got to get Ruth Quinn’s contract wrapped up.” She grimaces. It sounds like this Ruth Quinn is a belly ache. But at least she’s not Van Der Haus. “Please, just give me a few weeks before you book something.”
My shoulders drop. I suppose this is compromise. “Fine. Don’t ever tell me I’m unreasonable,” I mutter, moving back in and resuming our closeness, now placing my lips on her mouth. “Can we get rid of your parents now?”
She laughs, and it’s dick-twinging stuff. God help me. But my growing erection droops when I hear my soon-to-be father-in-law clear his throat. I cry on the inside, and Ava cringes as we face him. Elizabeth is silent by his side. A scorned child. “Your mother has something to say.” He nudges Elizabeth. “Don’t you, dear?”
“I’m sorry,” she gushes, coming to us and muscling me out the way to get to her daughter. “It was a bit of a shock, that’s all.” She squeezes Ava to her chest, and I grit my teeth, seeing her shoulders jump up, trying to deal with her mother’s hands all over the lashes on her back. Lashes that never should have touched her skin. “Forgive me.”
“Forgiven,” Ava says quickly.
I breathe out when Elizabeth releases her, and Joseph gives me a nod which I return, a silent thank-you. “So your father and I had a little chat,” she says, looking between us. “We’re going to stay for a few days.”
I choke on nothing, trying to disguise it as a cough.
What?
Stay? In London?
“There’s so much to plan and to arrange,” she goes on.
“It’s all under control,” I pipe up quickly.
“Maybe, Jesse, but there’s one thing you can’t do.”
“Is there?” I ask, scratching through my head for what that could be. “What?”
“Buy her dress.” Elizabeth goes to the fridge and opens the wine. “We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll call Aunty Angela. You call Kate.”