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“So Ava’s moved in with you,” Joseph says, turning his coffee cup.
“Made sense, since she doesn’t have her own place and I have...well, two.”
“A hotel and a penthouse,” Elizabeth says quietly, so obviously mentally calculating how much that must equate to.
“Everything I have is hers.”
“Everything?” she asks.
Heart, body, soul, and money. But we all know Elizabeth is talking about money when she says everything. “I don’t need money,” I tell them. “I need your daughter. I’ve spent many years alone, lonely, getting unsolicited attention that money brings. All I want is Ava, so if I had to give away every penny I have, I would if it meant I could just keep her.”
“Don’t do that,” Elizabeth blurts, and then recoils, as if she can’t quite believe she’s said it. Joseph shakes his head in despair. “I mean, it’s not necessary.”
I smile down at my cup. “She’s my world. I don’t know how else I can express that.”
“You don’t need to.” She swoons, hand on chest and all. If only her daughter was as reciprocating.
I look at Ava’s dad. His eyebrows are high, as if he knows what’s coming. “Joseph, I...” My eyes fall to my coffee and dart. How the fuck do I ask this?
“Yes.”
I look up. “What?”
“I said yes.” He reaches for my hand and pats it a few times before returning to his coffee. And that’s that. I have his blessing. I’m floored. Thrilled too, naturally, but really fucking floored.
“Oh my God, our girl is getting married,” Elizabeth sings, silencing the café.
“Well, let’s be quiet, shall we?” Joseph says. “Since our girl doesn’t know it yet.”
I refocus on my coffee. Guilty. She knows...but doesn’t know. “I’d love it if you would come to dinner at ours tonight.”
“The manor?” Elizabeth asks, and I cough.
“No.” Jesus Christ. “The penthouse.” I need to clear out The Manor before Ava’s parents come within a mile of it. “We’ll get married at The Manor.”
“Oh my,” she breathes, relaxing back in her chair. “What a treat.”
I smile. She has no idea.
I leave Joseph and Elizabeth to finish their coffees and head back to my car, an unstoppable grin on my face. Everything’s coming together. Everything will be okay.
I cross the road and find a traffic warden standing beside my car taking a picture of the registration. I look down at my watch to check how long I’ve been here. Barely over an hour.
“I paid to park,” I say as I approach.
He hardly looks up. “Only for an hour.” He peeks at his watch. “Your ticket expired at twelve fifteen.”
I look at my own watch. “It’s twelve eighteen.”
“It’s twelve twenty, according to mine.”
“What is that?” I ask, trying to see his wrist.
He looks up. “What?”
“Your watch. What make?” It looks like it came out of a Christmas cracker.
He peeks down at it. “A Casio, I think.”
