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“What?” I ask, heading for the exit.
“How’s Ava?”
I stop. I notice she doesn’t ask howIam. I’m here, she can see me, and it’s clear as fucking day that I’m not okay. My handling of the police. My short temper. And the fact I look like death warmed up. But she doesn’t ask about me. No. She just wants to know if Ava’s still around.
I turn slowly to look at her. She’s been busy tonight. I can tell by the haphazard fastening of her bodice, her boobs not perfectly even, and her red lipstick is smudged away. “Did you let Ava in last Sunday?” I ask, my head tilting. I know John didn’t. AndIdefinitely didn’t. Which leaves only Sarah. We’re the only three who have remote access to the gates, the members have codes, and Ava doesn’t know the code.
She looks injured. It’s not a look Sarah carries well, her heavily worked-on face unable to stretch to accommodate the expression. “No, I would never do that. The gates have been playing up for a few weeks.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you were kind of busy with the interior designer, who, by the way, still hasn’t produced an actual design.”
“Don’t start, Sarah.”
“And while you’ve been busy trying to get in her fucking knickers and be all fucking crazy while you do, John and I have been run off our feet.”
In her knickers? Wrong. I’ve been trying to get into her fucking heart. “That’s what you think?” I ask, astounded. “All this madness just because I want to fuck her?”
“What else could you possibly want? She’s in her twenties, Jesse.”
“I’m not listening to this shit.” I point a finger at her, seething. “Back the fuck off,” I warn.
“I’m—”
“Just leave me the hell alone.” I storm out and slam the doors of The Manor behind me. Then slam the door of my Aston once I’m in the driver’s seat.
And hit the steering wheel.
“Fuck,” I yell, heaving, my hand feeling like it could explode. I hate her sometimes. And I hate the guilt that’s hitting me now. I have no more room for guilt. No space. I’m riddled with it.
I look up at the front of The Manor. The building is beautiful. The grounds immaculate. And yet all it’s ever brought me is ugliness.
I wince and start the engine, pulling off, mulling over all of the people who could want to fuck with me. I laugh. Where the hell do I start?
I’m still reeling off names to myself when I pull up at Lusso. I have a list as long as my arm and zero brain capacity to analyze it. I enter the lobby and find Clive snoozing at his desk. I don’t wake him, keen to get upstairs and put myself back within the reach of peace.
The doors of the elevator open, and I let myself in the penthouse, my eyes homing in on the couch, expecting to find her there snoozing. She’s not. “Don’t panic, don’t panic,” I whisper to myself, my eyes jumping around the space as I toss my keys on the table. I walk into the kitchen calmly, fighting the urge to run, and stop on the threshold of the empty space, willing my heart to calm the fuck down. “Ava?” I call, backing up, heading for the stairs. I left so abruptly. No explanation. No apology. Just left. Holding out on her again.
You’d think I’d fucking learn.
I dial her as I take the stairs in leaps, urgency feeding my weary limbs, and push my way into the bedroom. Empty bed. Her phone goes to voicemail, and I dial again as I jog to the bathroom. Empty. And I get her voicemail again. My jaw rolling, my stupid fucking heart speeding up, I charge into every bedroom, flicking on the lights, dialing her on repeat. By the time I make it to the farthest bedroom, I can hardly breathe, and I charge in, dialing her yet again.
I stagger to an abrupt halt past the threshold as her scent hits me. I don’t need to turn on the lights. She’s in here. My shoulders drop, like a release of pressure from my entire being leaves me. “Shit,” I say on an exhale, taking a moment to regulate my out-of-control breathing. Once I’ve gathered myself, I tread carefully across the carpet to the bed, and then I just stand there. Stand there and stare at her looking all wrong in the spare bed. Enough is enough. She wants me. I need her. Why the fuck are we going through this process? Because Ava needs answers? Because she’s trying to prove to herself that she can be sensible? Keep me at a distance while she figures out what she wants to do? It’s bullshit. She knows what she wants, her heart is telling her but, God damn her, she’s letting her head get in the way again.
“I love you,” I whisper, and her eyes blink open immediately. Sheishearing me. Those words are sinking deeply into her. I lower, lifting her into my arms, my body not letting me down, and carry her to our bedroom. She’s a feather. Perfect in my arms, the perfect weight, the perfect fit against my chest.
“You sleep here.” I place her down gently and strip out of my clothes, climbing in behind her. The moment her back meets my front, energy surges through me. A bolt of life.Peace. Hope when I feared it was lost. “We’re going to be okay,” I whisper, feeling her melt against me, her breathing easy. “I love you so fucking much, Ava. So ithasto be okay.”
She’s silent. Unmoving. And when I rest my mouth over the back of her neck and her pulse starts beating against my lips, I register the rhythm.
She’s asleep.
I lie there the entire night, just feeling her heart beating close to mine. Letting every pulse push a little bit more life into me.
6
By sunrise,I’ve not slept, but it’s been the most peaceful night I’ve ever had. Watching her. Listening to her. Feeling her. Deciding what it is I have to do. This thing between us, the uncertainty, the awkwardness, the lack of contact, it needs to end. We can only get past this if Ava can find it in herself, allow herself, to accept the insane connection that knocked us both off balance in the first place.
