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)
“That depends on whether any of this is sinking into this thick skull of yours.” She pulls my hair.
“Ouch.” I chuckle, both at her and at me. Look at us. Listen to us. We’re fucking perfect.
I roll over to my back and put my wily wife’s legs on either side of my hips, getting us comfortable, me against the pillows, Ava against my thighs. Soon, like this, I’ll be able to stick my tongue out and lick her tummy. Can’t wait.
I consider her fresh, young face, and I wonder how I can ever love her more. But I know I can, because each day that passes, she gives me more. Teaches me more. “Do you remember when I found you at the bar, when I showed you how to dance?” I ask.
She settles into my legs, laying her hands over mine on her knees. “That was the night I realized I’d fallen in love with you.”
“I know because you told me.” It was so fucking frustrating, but it was the way it was supposed to be. It was how our story was supposed to be told. “You were drunk, but you still said it.” And I will never forget that moment. Or her face.
Because I took a picture.
“Hmm,” she hums, stroking over my hands, casual. “Must have been the dancing.”
“I know.” And the body contact, the feel of me against her, the fact she missed me terribly. “I’m good.”
“You’re arrogant.”
She loves my arrogance, even if it’s a front as wide as the Atlantic. “It would seem that I’m a little brighter than my beautiful wife.” I slide my hands down her legs to her ankles, smiling at her deep intake of breath to sustain my soft strokes.
“You’re really arrogant.”
“No.” I shake my head. “Not this time. This time, I’m just honest.” She cocks her head, and I smile at her curiosity. “You see,” I go on, killing that curiosity. “I realized that I was in love with you before then.” Way before then. In fact, I think if I really consider the events from the day she walked into my office and my life, I fell in love with her on the spot.
“Does that make you cleverer than me?” she asks.
“Yes, it does.” Because self-awareness wins. Listening to your heart wins, and considering mine was pretty much dead, I’m winning. “The whole time you were running, I was so frustrated. I was thinking there must’ve been something wrong with you.” Like . . . was she blind? Could she not see me? “You know, because you wouldn’t submit to me.”
Why does she look so pleased with herself, like she’s achieved what no woman has achieved by resisting me? But as I knew it wouldn’t, her self-control didn’t last long. “Like the others did,” she asks, and I nod. “It was only because I knew I’d get hurt. Even though I didn’t know you, it was obvious you”—her lips straighten, her eyes scanning mine—“were experienced.”
Isn’t it interesting? She’s talking about sex. I’m talking about love.
I skate my hands up the backs of her legs. I think we’re breaking records. This is the longest time we’ve been naked without being asleep and haven’t had sex. And I’m good with it. Not that I’d say no. “When I left you for those four days—”
“Don’t.” Her contentment falls, sadness dropping into her eyes, and I feel terrible. But I need her to hear this. “Please don’t talk about that.”
“Just let me explain something,” I beg. “It’s important.” I release her legs and get her closer. So close, she could blink and her lashes would brush mine. “I was so confused by what I was feeling,” I explain. “It took that time away from you to piece together exactly what it was. I couldn’t work out why I was behaving like a madman. I really did think I was going fucking crazy, Ava.” Turns out, I realized I was in love. And that explained everything. Because to me, to love is to lose. And I couldn’t lose again. My heart wouldn’t take it.
Ava stares at me, struck. I get it. I was struck for days after she walked into my office and my life.
“I spent days three and four reliving every single moment with you,” I explain. Day one and two were spent getting over one of the worst hangovers I’ve ever had, and not only because of the drink. “I replayed them repeatedly until I was torturing myself, so I came to find you. Then you fucking ran again.”
She looks apologetic, and she has no reason to. This is on me. I know that. Accept that. And I’ve paid for that. “Ava, the night you told me you loved me, everything became so fucking clear, but at the same time it was a massive blur.” Still is. And the guilt was unbearable. “I wanted you to love me, but I knew you didn’t really know me. I knew there was stuff that would make you run again, but I also knew that I belonged to you, and it scared me to fucking death to think that once you started unravelling it all, you’d be off again.” Justification. I seem to be a master at it. And I’m still playing that game. Justifying why I’ve not told her about Rosie or Jake. Yes, there’s shame. But there’s also so much fucking pain. As strong as it’s always been. I don’t know if I can face saying the words out loud. Don’t know if I can face Ava’s reaction. Or sustain the doubt my past might cast. “I couldn’t risk it, not after it took me so long to find you.” I take a gulp of courage and say what we both know but haven’t really discussed. Because she left me just as I feared. “I took your pills that night.” And many times after that. But she doesn’t need confirmation of what came after in that department. Because . . . she knows. And right now, her face, blank but soft, tells me she understands that level of crazy.