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“Well, how old was Carmichael?”
“When he died?” Too young. “Thirty-one.”
Her big brown eyes become even bigger. “That young?”
“There were ten years between my father and Carmichael. He was an afterthought on my grandparents’ part.” And the bane of my father’s life. Smarter, better looking, more popular.
“Oh, so, there was only ten years between you and Carmichael too?”
I smile. “He was more like a brother.” An older brother to me and Jake, although I was arguably closer to him. Jake was too busy being controlled by our parents.
“How did he die?”
The pressure is back. I can’t lie about this. “In a car accident.”
Her whole body deflates, sadness dragging it down. Then her eyebrows pinch and her eyes drop to my stomach.
To my scar.
Oh.
And yet, I don’t put her straight. Instead, I let her believe what her imagination’s telling her, because it’s a fuck load better than the truth. I get her onto my lap. Enough talking. “Don’t go to work.” Pushing my nose to hers, I give her pleading eyes. I’ve talked. Told her so much, way more than I ever thought I could. She can’t possibly claim she doesn’t know me now. “Stay at home and let me love you. I want to take you out for dinner this evening.”With some special guests.“I owe you some special time.”
I’ve got her. She swoons, gets closer to me, smells me, feels me. “I go back to work tomorrow.”
“Fine.” Now, onto the second part of my plan. But there’s not a chance in hell she’ll let me get away with leaving Lusso after I’ve made such a fuss about her staying home from work. “Right, I’m going for a run”—she will never stop me running—“to alleviate some of the pressure that my challenging temptress presents me with.” I smile wide. She looks at me like I’m mad. “And then we snuggle all afternoon and go out for dinner. Deal?”
“Deal, but I challenge the middle part of that statement and trump it with a deluded god.”
I’ll be her god all day long. Deluded or not. I drop to the mattress, taking Ava with me, and give her a demand she doesn’t mind. To kiss me. And she does. Of course she does. Sweet thing, she likes me to be bossy when it suits her. I relinquish her lips—it’s really fucking hard—and ease her onto the sheets beside me before I get carried away. I have some parents to pacify.
I go to the dressing room, getting into my running kit. Not ideal for meeting the parents, but I can hardly go running in a three-piece. I do go to the bathroom, however, and check my hair.
“Have a snooze,” I say, going to the bed and dropping kisses all over her face. “And if you’re lucky, I might indulge you later.”
“Indulge me now.” She grabs my T-shirt and hauls me down, and I bury my fists in the mattress, stopping her.
Fuck. Me.
“Later,” I promise, wrenching myself away and turning her onto her front. I swat her arse, relish her squeal, slip her engagement ring off the nightstand, and head out, swiping up my keys from the table as I pass.
Nervous.
As.
Shit.
51
I don’t needto worry about identifying her mother. She’s the bloody spitting image, just older. But not that much older. Jesus Christ, she looks mid-forties, perhaps. It’s a kick in the gut, because there are clearly less years between Ava’s mother and me than there are between Ava and me. I blow out my cheeks, reality hitting hard. No wonder Ava was so reserved about me meeting them.Cradle-snatcher.
I walk through the long, narrow café just off Bury Street, my eyes trained on Ava’s mum. I can’t see her father as his back’s to me. When I reach the table, I swallow, clear my throat, and take a breath. “Mr. O’Shea. Mrs. O’Shea.” They both look up from their menus and then down at my shorts. I feel like a total tit. “Your daughter’s smart,” I rush to explain. “It was the only way I could sneak out and not raise suspicion.” Ava’s mother just stares at me, and I can’t help but think that she’s wowed. Standard. Just not ideal when it’s your soon-to-be mother-in-law. But, shame on me, it’s an advantage. I motion down my front. “So excuse the state of me.”
Ava’s mother’s eyes bug a little. “Excused.”
And her father’s eyes climb my body to my face. “You’re quite an impressive specimen, aren’t you?” he says dryly, and I laugh, while Ava’s mother gasps.
“Jesse Ward.” I extend my hand.
