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)
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?