Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 198235 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 991(@200wpm)___ 793(@250wpm)___ 661(@300wpm)
‘My car’s been stolen.’ I wave my arm at the empty space and turn back to check that I’m not imagining things.
‘It’s not been stolen, girl. Get in.’
‘What?’ I turn startled eyes back to the mountain of a black man. ‘Where is it, then?’
John has a clear look of embarrassment on his mean face. ‘Your mother fucking husband had it picked up.’ He nods his head to the passenger side.
‘Are you winding me up?’ I laugh.
His eyebrows appear over his wraparounds. ‘What do you think?’ he asks seriously.
I take a deep, calming breath and make my way around to the passenger side and climb in. Yes, he needs me all right. He needs me to drive me fucking crazy! ‘I might strangle him.’ I mutter, yanking my seatbelt around and clipping it in place.
‘Take it easy on him, girl.’ John commences strumming on the steering wheel as he drives out of the car park, back into the daylight.
‘John,’ I start in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘I like you, I really do, but unless you can enlighten me on an acceptable reason for my husband’s neurotic ways, then I won’t be taking any notice of your request to take it easy on him.’
He laughs a deep, rolling belly laugh, his neck retracting and revealing those chins he keeps hidden. ‘I like you, too, girl.’ he chuckles, reaching under his glasses and wiping under his eyes. I’ve never seen this big, menacing beast so vivacious. It makes me smile, thoughts of challenging husbands and threatening notes soon making way for the giggles. But then John’s face straightens all too quickly, and I’m left laughing alone with wraparounds pointed at me. The sudden change in his expression snaps me right from my hysterical state. ‘He might get worse. I believe congratulations are in order.’ His face dips, an indication that he’s looking at my stomach, before he returns to face the road.
‘He’s told you?’ I ask disbelievingly. I don’t want anyone to know yet. It’s way too soon.
‘Girl, he didn’t need to.’
‘He didn’t?’
‘No, when I found Harrods baby department on the screen of his computer, it kind of let the cat out the bag. That and the smile on the mother fucker’s face all day.’
I sink into my seat. I can imagine he’s got Zoe sourcing all sorts of luxurious baby equipment. I can also imagine her face when Jesse hits her with his latest shopping list, when it’s just a few short weeks since she met me and set me up with a stunning gown for the anniversary dinner. And just a few short weeks after that, she’s searching for my wedding dress, and then not long later, she’s finding our baby’s christening gown. What must she be thinking? Shot-gun, that’s what. A rush job because he’s knocked me up, just like everyone else will probably think, including my parents and Dan. How long can I hold out before I tell them?
* * *
John pulls up at The Manor, and I waste no time jumping down from his Range Rover and making my way up the steps.
‘He’s in his office.’ John calls.
‘Thanks, John.’ I use my key, pushing my way through the doors, and head straight towards the back of The Manor, passing through the summer room and smiling to myself at the sudden silence that falls. I cast my eyes across the gathering of women, all with drinks in their hands and all with sour faces. ‘Evening,’ I smile brightly and receive a chorus of mumbles in return for my trouble. My smile widens at the thought of those sour faces souring further when they learn of my pregnancy. I’m smug.
As I approach Jesse’s office, the door opens and a man exits, looking tense but relieved all at once. It’s Steve. He looks different, fully clothed and without a whip in his grasp. I halt dead in my tracks, completely shocked, mainly because he’s in one piece. He doesn’t look so cocky now. ‘Hi,’ I stammer, the surprise clear in my tone.
His eyes lift and he smiles, a little embarrassed. ‘Ava,’
I’m staring at him, and I realise it’s rude, but I’m not sure what to say. There are no bruises or black eyes, he’s not limping and he doesn’t look like he’s just been offered burial or cremation. ‘How are you?’ I ask, when my brain fails to give me anything better to say.
‘I’m good,’ He slips his hands into his jacket pockets, looking no less uncomfortable. ‘You?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ This is so awkward. The last time I saw him, he had me trussed up and was whipping the crap out of me. He was cocky and smarmy, but there is no trace of that man now. ‘You’ve been to see Jesse?’
‘I have.’ He laughs. ‘I’ve avoided it for long enough. I needed to apologise.’